#maybe that's why in terms of my psychology

[crumbleclub]

There's this weird and very gory French + Canadian film called Martyrs (exercise caution when looking it up in terms of images if that stuff freaks you out) and the basic concept is like. Some cult trying to understand what happens after death by bringing people to the brink of it in the most traumatic and agonizing ways possible. And I just realized that that's really some William Afton shit, both for the original motive and for remnant extraction.

(Accidentally wrote an essay in the tags so, ah. Read those I guess)

[haarute]

had a bad bout with mother ✌️

[hirazuki]

On this fine Monday morning in the year 2023, I have realized that in my book, shounen protagonists with pink hair = Big Yes, while shounen protagonists with green hair = Big No.

... idk what this means, just felt like subjecting you all to my insanity XD

[viktortittiforov]

the 2010s sure were a time in my life

[spockoholic]

I went to a filipino food/cultural fest with my filipina friend this weekend and tried balut (steamed fertilized duck egg) which was a entertainment hit with both my friends family and with the granny who was at my table who filmed and narrated me eating it 😂 caucasian girl tries balut for the first time

[eileennatural]

what if i was the only nonproblem child in my family bc both of my siblings were mentally ill so to make up for that i never had any feelings ever. what if told you both of my siblings are now healthy happy adults in stable long term relationships and um. i once ghosted a therapist bc i was so viscerally uncomfortable even mentioning the fact that sometimes i have feelings and they are not good.

[topazadine]

Avoiding therapy speak in writing

I think we all know by now that therapy speak is irritating and unrealistic, especially if you are writing in a fantasy world that doesn't even have modern psychology.

Part of the reason that it is so annoying is that it is the definition of telling instead of showing: characters are just plainly informing us of their feelings rather than making us work for a better understanding. It's cheap and boring. Instead of making your characters seem like complex individuals with their own hangups and difficulties, they seem like plot points programmed to tell us things.

But obviously, you want to put these people in situations and have them talk about it! How do you do that without sounding maudlin? Here are some options.

Listen to real arguments/conversations

I cannot stress enough how important it is to listen to how actual real human beings talk to each other during heightened emotional states. They don't have to be nasty abusers, and they don't have to be perfect angels, just everyday people doing their normal thing.

Of course, I'd hope you're not seeing people argue all the time, but if you do happen to see it, listen carefully and notice how people actually address their problems. Think back to tough conversations that you have had, even if you wouldn't classify them as arguments. Consider how people acted and reacted to one another. Notice how normal humans talk about issues outside of therapy, even intelligent and emotionally evolved people.

I've had years of therapy, and even I do not talk in therapy ways about my issues when I'm talking to my family or friends. It just feels cheesy and fake outside of that particular setting - plus, it freaks other people out and can seem kind of manipulative. Try talking like that in a real conversation and see how uncomfortable it is. You'll understand why avoiding therapy speak is important.

Consider the character's own hangups

Just as everyone has their own unique speaking style and mindset, so do we all have our own argument styles. These are often informed by our pasts and upbringing; they are as varied as our own histories. However, there are a few different options.

Someone with a happy upbringing may be more assertive and willing to address their problems because they had that demonstrated to them as children.

A spoiled child will grow up to be a demanding adult who refuses to give any quarter.

Those who got yelled at a lot as children may shut down and fawn to avoid getting hurt.

Someone who grew up in a violent household may mimic that behavior and get incredibly aggressive when upset.

Individuals whose parents didn't teach them emotional regulation will lash out and get loud.

Manipulative people may stay very calm and gaslight the other person, or they may get hysterical to garner sympathy and make people focus on comforting them.

Someone who has gone to therapy may revert to their original argument style, or they may imperfectly apply what they have learned in a way that feels a bit unnatural. They may start out with rage, then force themselves to calm down through grounding techniques.

People who have been coached through previous emotional outbursts could demand a time out, then fail to actually calm themselves down.

Some may refuse to acknowledge they are upset and insist, in increasingly forceful terms, that they are fine.

Others may get quiet or crack a joke to ease the tension, but it doesn't really help.

Keep each confrontation short

IRL, emotional confrontations are generally not that long. They don't go on for hours and hours, though it can feel that way. No one is going on and on about their feelings and sharing every little detail of how they feel (at least not that I know of personally, maybe other people are different).

Even the worst arguments I have had, the real nexus of the argument was maybe an hour or two, though the fallout lasted much longer. I'd say there was an hour maximum of real, active confrontation, preceded or followed by hours/days/weeks of simmering frustration.

Why? Because arguments are exhausting. You don't have the energy for that in the heat of the moment. Yes, feuds and fights can last years, but each actual confrontation is short.

For longer, more serious issues, hash it out over a few sessions rather than all at once. It's rare to get everything out of the way immediately unless the characters already have a strong, loving relationship.

Show incongruencies

Especially for more reserved people, they will likely have their emotions leaking all over the place but won't actually say anything. As such, focus on body language while keeping the conversation more focused on the plot. For example, Character A might be crying but still trying to argue their point about whatever is going on.

Address physical complaints instead of emotional ones

In many cases, people will use "I'm tired" or "I didn't sleep well" or "I'm not feeling great" as shorthand for whatever is actually bothering them. It relieves pressure by not making them talk about upsetting matters while still addressing their discomfort in some form.

You should also consider the fact that some people can't connect physical sensations to feelings, so they may genuinely feel ill and not really understand why. This is especially common in people who can't emotionally regulate or have been through trauma.

For myself, I tend to somatize my feelings, so I might not feel upset, but I will feel physically sick. My stomach will hurt, my chest will get tight, or I'll get a headache, but my emotional state will seem calm. This isn't all that unusual, and many people experience this to different degrees.

As such, you can have your character say that their stomach hurts, or that they have a headache and can't discuss this anymore, or that they need to go lie down because they're dizzy. If we know they're relatively healthy, this can be a clue that they're getting overwhelmed but either cannot pinpoint their emotions or don't want to discuss them.

Let characters advance and retreat

A lot of the time, someone will address a scary emotion and then retreat again, sometimes over a period of hours, days, or even weeks. This is normal: most of us don't have the emotional fortitude to forge ahead through something difficult all in one go. Character A may say something vulnerable, then change the topic, laugh it off, say they're done discussing it, or even leave the situation.

Leave emotions partially unaddressed

Again, it's rare for someone to spill out everything they're feeling all in one go. As such, have Character A address the most important thing - or the least important, depending on their level of emotional maturity - and let it be done for then.

They might say their small piece, but when someone tries to probe deeper, they don't have an answer, or they get "stuck" on that one emotional level and cannot go further.

If Character B keeps pushing, then they may get incredibly upset and push back, or retreat.

Have Character B point out the feelings

Works especially well if the other character is a close companion or a parental figure. Often, people who know us really well will have better insight into our emotions than we do. Or, we might have good insight into our emotions but are still too afraid to open up. Having Character B point out the issue gives Character A grace to be more honest.

I can't tell you how many times I've been really upset, so I've distracted from the issue by getting angry about something completely different. Then, my mom will gently point out that I'm not actually crying about my new plastic cup being broken or whatever; I'm actually upset about XYZ. In that moment, I realize I've been caught out and admit that yes, that's what I'm really upset about.

Have Character A address it with a third character

Who among us hasn't gone to someone else to talk about our feelings? Having a third party serve as a sounding board is normal. Sometimes, Character A will feel such catharsis from this conversation that they don't address it as thoroughly with Character B.

Of course, you can use this to your advantage and create more tension if the third character gives bad advice or is biased.

Remember that just because the third party responded well does not mean that Character B does. You also have to avoid omniscience and remember that Character B wasn't privy to that conversation.

Have one confrontation be a stand-in for a larger one

I always think about the "The Iranian Yogurt Is Not the Issue" post when I think about this. Often times, things like not doing the dishes or whatever aren't actually the big deal: it's lack of boundaries, communication, or respect. A minor argument can be shorthand for a larger one that is too challenging for the characters to tackle.

This isn't just creating drama for the hell of it, though; it's about exploring the larger issues without making the characters lay it out on the table. A good reader will be able to see it's not about the Iranian Yogurt as long as you set up the relationship well.

Currently, I am writing a story where Uileac and his sister Cerie go to rescue Uileac's husband, Orrinir. On the way there, Uileac idly comments on how he wonders where a waterfall comes from because he's trying to distract himself from thinking about the fact that his husband is kidnapped and possibly dead.

Cerie, being pretty wound up too, starts arguing with him about it because she's like "why is this relevant? We're kind of too busy to think about geology right now!" Uileac gets annoyed at her for being so aggro, and she gets annoyed at him for being so irreverent. Both of them are upset about something completely different, but they're too scared and panicked to actually address that, so they release their frustrations by complaining about waterfalls.

Those bad vibes have to go somewhere, but neither of them are very good at talking about their feelings (though very good at stuffing them down). As such, they take the pressure off by sniping at one another. You've probably done this too, when you get into a dumb argument about something absolutely pointless because there's something you don't feel strong enough to discuss.

There's also the fact that if you're mad at someone about something but feel it's too stupid or petty to discuss, that frustration will leak out and everything else they do will annoy you, leading to a bunch of irrelevant arguments.

Use "reaffirmation" gestures

I talked about this in a different post, but after an argument, the "make up" stage doesn't always involve going "ohhh I forgive you" and big hugs and kisses, especially when the two characters aren't emotionally mature.

Instead, Character A makes gestures that reaffirm the relationship. This could be offering to do something Character B needs, making plans for later, or changing the topic to discuss something the other character cares about ("how are your cats doing?") etc.

Note that these "reaffirmation" gestures aren't the same as the cycle of abuse. This is more when two characters have had a difficult emotional conversation but aren't really sure how to continue being emotionally open, so they revert to something safer that still shows they care. They're not over-the-top gestures either, but more a special attention to something the other person loves. Knowing what the other person loves also demonstrates the depth of their relationship.

As always, I can't tell you what to do with your writing.

You are the crafter of your own story, and if you want people to talk like therapists for whatever reason, that's your choice. However, we want characters to feel like real people, and most real people don't lay it all out on the table every single time they're upset. If they do, they might be trauma vomiting, which is icky in and of itself.

Healthy communication isn't always perfect communication. People can have strong, loving relationships and still get things wrong - we're human. Having people calmly and rationally and easily talk about their feelings every single time is not only kind of boring, but it also feels weird, because unless we're primed to discuss those difficult topics and know we're perfectly safe, we're not going to do that.

People don't even do that in therapy, where they are paying for the service of talking about their feelings! Therapists also don't always do that IRL!

We're humans, and your characters need to feel like humans as well. That means letting them be imperfect communicators and using context clues rather than making them do all the work for the reader.

If you liked my advice, consider purchasing my book, 9 Years Yearning, for $3!

[zedecksiew]

DECOLONISING D&D

In 2019, after seeing yet another round of alarmist discourse in Xwitter about how Dungeons & Dragons is FULL of COLONIALIST tropes and patterns, and needs to be revised, SCRUBBED of its PROBLEMATIC FILTH---I rage-tweeted this brainfart:

"Decolonising D&D"

I've seen this thread round the community, since. Humza K quotes it in Productive Scab-picking: On Oppressive Themes in Gaming. Prismatic Wasteland quotes it in Apolitical RPGs Don't Exist. Most recently, it was referenced in a 1999AD post about Western TTRPGs (an interesting discussion on its own merit; one that already has a counterpoint from Sandro / Fail Forward.)

If folks are still referring to it five years later, maybe I should give the thread a little more credit? Perhaps the fart miasma has crystalised into something concrete.

In the interest of record / saving this thought from the ephemerality of Xwitter, here is the text in full, properly paragraphed, and somewhat more cleanly expressed:

+++

"DECOLONISING D&D"

Firstly: saying "D&D is colonialist" is similar to saying: "the English language is colonialist".

If your method of decolonising RPGs is to abandon D&D---well, some folks abandon English; they don't want to work in the language of the coloniser. More power to them!

For those who want to continue using the "language" of D&D---

Going forth into the "wild hinterland" (as if this weren't somebody's homeland);

to "seek treasure" (as if this didn't belong to anybody);

and "slay monsters" (monsters to whom?)

Yeah. There's some problematic stuff here, and definitely these aspects should make more people uncomfortable.

But! I think it is an error to "decolonise D&D" by scrubbing such content from the game.

That feels like erasure; like an unwillingness to face history / context; like a way to appease one's own settler guilt.

Do you live in the West? Do you live in any Asian urban metropole? White or Person of Colour(tm)---you are already complicit in colonialist / capitalist (yes, of course they are inextricably linked) behaviour. (I can't speak for urban metropoles elsewhere, but I bet they are similar centres of extraction.)

Removing such patterns from the TTRPGs you play might let you feel better, at your game table. But won't change what you are.

I think it is more truthful and more useful NOT to avert one's eyes from D&D's colonialism.

The fact that going forth into the hinterland to seek treasure and slay monsters is a thing, and fucking fun, tells us valuable things about the shape and psychology of colonialism. Why conquistadors in the past did it; why liberal foreign policy, corporations, and post-colonial societies do it today.

Speaking personally:

I write stuff that evokes / deals with the context I'm in---Southeast Asia. An intrinsic part of that is looking at the ways colonial violence has happened to us---as well as the ways / reasons we now, supposedly free, perpetrate it on others.

A long chain of suffering. Heavy stuff.

I also write for people who want to have fun / kill monsters / pretend to be elves, of course. But for those people who want to consider serious stuff like colonialism: I offer no FIGHT THE POWER righteousness, no good feeling, no answers.

Only discomfort. Because the truth is uncomfortable.

Here's a screenshot of the Author's Note for Lorn Song of the Bachelor:

"Any text inspired by Southeast Asia has to reckon with colonialism ... This text presents a difficult situation; there are no easy solutions. "... If I offered a mechanical incentive for you to fight colonial invaders, you wouldn’t be making a moral decision, but a mercenary one. "The choice you face should echo ... the kind of calculus my grandparents faced."

I stand by that.

Also: might we be more precise and more careful about using the term "decolonising", please?

Here I quote Tuck and Yang's landmark and (sadly) still trenchant "Decolonization is not a metaphor":

"Decolonization brings about the repatriation of Indigenous land and life; it is not a metaphor for other things we want to do to improve our societies ..."

+++

Further Reading

So this post isn't just me reheating a hot take, here are some touchstone writings from around the TTRPG community about colonialism as a subject and mode of play in games:

+

"Jim Corbett was called upon to hunt down another fifty maneaters over the course of the next 35 years. Together, those tigers had killed over 2000 people, for much the same reasons as the Champawat Tiger - injury, desperation, starvation, and habitat loss. Would you look at that. The root cause was British colonialism."

D&D Doesn't Understand What Monsters Are from Throne of Salt

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"Another effect of having colonizers in my setting would be giving players the opportunity to drive them away from the islands, their home. This maybe just be for the catharsis. After all, isn’t catharsis a big part of why we play roleplaying games?"

I’m Adding Colonizers To My Setting from Goobernut's Blog

+

"When you have a slime boy and the other characters are a really fat lizard and one's playing Humpty Dumpty, it completely shatters the straight-faced serious authoritarian illusion of race, and replaces it with complete fucking nonsense. I love the idea of proliferating the number and types of "races" into absurdity, to the point where the entire logical structure of it collapses in on itself and race as a category ceases to become coherent or meaningful in any sense."

Interview with Ava Islam - Designer of the RPG Errant from Ava Islam / The Lost Bay

+

"Perhaps most critically, the fundamental basis of power is not land or even money but manpower. That’s what local rulers fight over, and what Chinese commercial networks export, in return for unique island products. It’s what the European colonists really need (even if it’s not what they most desire). There is rich loot to be grabbed in the form of spices, Spanish silver, Indian gold, sea cucumbers (the Chinese love ’em), perfumes, dyes, cloth etc. so there’s ample opportunity for piracy, trade and smuggling, but the key to long-term success – the key to independent survival – is nakedly and unquestionably uniting people."

Counter-colonial Heistcrawl: previous high scores from Richard's Dystopian Pokeverse

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"They worked their own land—which they dispossessed from American Indians—or became small shop owners or opportunistic gold diggers or bounty hunters or itinerant ranchers. To me, substituting these situations for one ruled by industrial monopoly ignores that the Wild West is a perfect example of how capitalism operates outside of (or prior to) mass industry, instead being composed of self-employers and self-sustainers."

Fantastic Detours - Frontier Scum from Traverse Fantasy / Bones of Contention

+

"... using the Western framing and D&D's baked-in imperialist and capitalist structure to get people earnestly participating in the experience of forming imperial power structures and the early roots of regional capitalism ... The PCs aren't the drifters on the train or the townsfolk watching with apprehension - they're the railroad itself."

An Arrow for the General: Confronting D&D-as-Western in the Kalahari from A Most Majestic Fly Whisk

+++

[remxedmoon]

You should tell us about color psychology that sounds cool as hell

YES… HA HA HA… YES!

GGGOD I WISH I WASN’T OUT OF THE HOUSE RIGHT NOW. but i’ve been thinking about colors literally all day so you all get to be subject to my madness! sorry this is long and rambly wauaua. nightmarishly long post under the cut.

okay. first things first, a few basics. color theory and color psychology tend to get confused a lot in discussions, but they usually refer to different things. color theory is more about we physically perceive colors (color wheels and color schemes the like), while color psychology focuses on our emotional response to colors. if you’re familiar with the children’s hospital color theory post, that poster wasn’t actually talking about color theory, but color psychology (and also it’s incredibly surface level and heavily misunderstands the subject because in what fucking universe does the quantity of positive associations with a color matter more than the context it’s used in and sorry i have personal beef with this tumblr post).

color theory is also a special interest of mine but i’m not gonna touch on it too much here because it’s not entirely important. mmmaybe another time…

essentially, certain colors (and color combinations) have associations in our brains and that affect our behavior and emotions. these associations are also very much affected by the context a color is used in. colors don’t exist in a vacuum! so while red can symbolize passion and love when used in something like a dress or a bouquet of flowers, it has a very different connotation when it’s, say, splattered on the walls or smeared on the ground in a snail trail.

or for a less Children’s Hospital Themed example, i’ll put my euphrasie and king designs here!

(of course the saturation and brightness of these blues play a massive part in how they’re perceived but this is not a post about color theory this is n)

and, of course, combining colors in a piece can also change their meanings!! i’m about to get real fucking normal.

i’m gonna be focusing on the color combo of red and yellow here because it’s the one that’s most relevant to my art (and also it’s really interesting.) basically, seeing these two colors together activates the part of our brain that controls our appetite, making us actually feel hungry. this is why so many food companies use red and yellow in their branding! it’s neat stuff!!

also, if you’re familiar with it, this is why the mv for butcher vanity uses this color palette!! along with red’s general associations with danger and blood, the color combo also physically induces hunger. pretty fitting for a song about cannibalism!

(there is also red’s association with lust and passion and how that intersects with the double meaning in the lyrics but i cannot derail this post into being an analysis of butcher vanity i’m sorry. we’d be here all week. maybe another day... wipes a tear from my eye)

and i think this might be the reason why some people feel hungry when they see my art, even when i’m not drawing food. while i don’t tend to use red outright, most of my art has very warm undertones (red-oranges and yellows especially), which could be activating that hunger response??

(ah fuck color theory managed to weasel its way into this post again)

admittedly this part is just speculation on my end. i think my rendering style and Shapes also play a role in it, but it’s interesting for me to think about!!

this is only scratching the surface of how complicated colors can get. i was going to go on an entire tangent about color grading and how green lighting can make a scene feel unnerving but this post is already Too Fucking Long. aaaa super sorry if this is Rambly or hard to understand!! i’m not Entirely sure how much the average person knows about color theory and psychology so if there’s any confusing terms here i’m fine with adding stuff for clarity!

wauauuaa thank you so much for asking!!!! i love talking about colors.

tl;dr colors have a bunch of different emotions and meanings tied to them, but you’ve gotta pay attention to the context in which it’s being used. so maybe take a step back before you put that thick red trail on the floor of your children’s hospital.

[natalchartnurtures]

So tell me Taylor, Who am I gonna take to be my ~Lover~?

Want a sneak peak into who YOU'RE gonna take to be your significant-long-term partner?

(pile 1 to 3- left to right)

~~~~~~~~~~~

Pile 1:

Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close forever and ever? And ah, take me out, and take me home You're my, my, my, my Lover..

Let me say this. You're opening card is the ten of cups, right of the bat.. there's this beautiful love I feel between the two of you. Their presence in your life would either happen as a consequence of you resolving some of your deep subconscious beliefs that kept you limited in terms of love or.. some of you beautiful folks I feel your person will help prove your limiting beliefs around love wrong. This part of your relationship may feel a lil scary and intense but your love for them will end up helping you all the way through.

Oh wow.. I'm getting that you and your person will take on life together, almost with this feeling of being comrades. Especially during your more difficult and uncertain times, your relationship with them will only get stronger. Its giving Bestie energy ✨️ Don't we love that around here? Hehe

They really help you calm down if you're prone to anxiety and/or overthinking. Their energy has a really calming effect on you. Which is probably one of your favorite things about them 😊

I'm getting a strong message of this person being radically different from your previous partners. Maybe you are used to partners who are possessive, lack emotional intelligence and always gave you a reason to worry but I feel your person is a FAR cry from this kinda energy which will surprise you at first I'm ngl 😅 but once you get on board with the newness they bring, you'll have a beautiful relationship with them :')

"Equal give and take" I hear. Aw.

I feel like before you did the inner work with your subconscious mind, you attracted partners that weren't all that healthy but I see that as soon as you put away your wounds and old unhelpful beliefs that you might have picked up from childhood, that may have kept your energy stagnant, to rest they will show up into your life. You won't be able to miss it!

Side note: Ya'll reeeeeally remind me of Zendaya and Tom Holland. I kept having visions of them in my mind while I was channeling for your pile.. Isn't that something 👀

That was your reading, pile 1. Hope you enjoyed it!

Love and light, sweet souls ✨️

~~~~~~~~~~~~

pile 2:

And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you dear Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?

Ooh.. I feel your person being highly intelligent and just really smart overall. They seem quite deep to me.. their energy is direct and doesn't really play around. They definitely come off strong to you when you first meet them. They don't seem to enjoy small talk or socializing "just for fun" they seem to take their social life really seriously which is why they might keep to themselves mostly having a very TIGHT group they let themselves mingle with.

I have to say this.. your person has developed an incredible relationship with their mind. A quite healthy one after years of suffering mental agony they have figured out how to master their own mind and as a result they seem quite mature and come off quite stable. They're giving off a strong regal vibe, like, they have a lot of self respect and/or a lot of people seem to respect your person. Your person strikes me like the kind that not everybody necessarily likes but somebody who is respected and revered (in some cases) nonetheless. Wow. Strong vibes. They could be quite an intense person too ngl. They might like to dip their toes into psychology or simply put, the Scorpionic arts or.. just be interested in the occult from time to time 👀

They may not believe in love before they meet you tbh.

They like to believe in what they have evidence for and seems like before meeting you they simply hadn't find evidence of real love.. aw, that's low-key so cute!

Your person comes off quite practical and earthy. They may move in a very strategic way, keeping their plans (and their life in general) mostly to themselves.. which is giving PRIVATE energy. They seem hella private 👀 haha

So you know they're gonna keep your relationship to themselves like it's a scared, precious thing that they gotta safeguard :')

Meeting you will POSITIVELY flip their world upside down. If there's one thing they don't understand, its love and romance. When you walk into their life, being your cute ass self, they won't know what to do with themselves and despite them being successful in their lives prior to meeting you, they'd feel lost with you. You make them feel.. dumb haha. Or they perceive it that way. You might think it to be ridiculously cute lmao.

They're definitely gonna feel A BURNING passion for you right from the get go and that's how they'll know that you're their person!

That was your reading, pile 2. Hope you enjoyed it!

Love and light, sweet souls ✨️

~~~~~~~~~~~~

pile 3:

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue All's well that ends well to end up with you Swear to be over-dramatic and true to my lover

So.. you guy's person and you come together in an interesting way. This is immediately telling me that your person is someone you don't expect to fall in love with. Ya'll might know each other for a while (depending on each person for how long exactly) and the feelings develop overtime. For some this person might reveal their feelings on accident while being drunk one night or something along those lines lmao (very specific, so take that with a grain of salt) lol but yea it's gonna be one of those really cute friends-to-lovers type situation with you and your person or enemies-to-lovers too maybe? 👀 Some KANTHONY vibes coming through #Bridgerton <3

Haha anyway.

You won't foresee a relationship between you and your person before it happens :p

Your person.. seems to have endured a partner before you (or many partners) who didn't really care for them. This may even be a feminine friend/family member as well. They broke your person's heart in a significant way and may even have manipulated you person into staying in the relationship (be it romantic or otherwise) which they eventually stood up to. Seems like a Karmic situation too btw. This Karmic situation, really helped your person grow and evolve into the person who was truly meant for you tho 😊 yay. They've healed from this previous heartbreak and somehow this road of healing brings them to you. Ah.. The reason why this previous relationship is coming into picture is because- they probably meet you while healing from this old situation.. they'd be hard at work trying to resolve the pain the went through and their reward for doing that is.. your love. AW. STOP IT! THAT'S CUTE <3

Ya'll remind me of that song "You Belong With Me" by our queen Taylor Swift. The lyrics are playing through my head now as I channel your person's energy. You could have additional messages in that song 😊

That was your reading, pile 3. Hope you enjoyed it!

Love and light, sweet souls ✨️

~~~~~~~~~~~~

[glitter-stained]

Jason Todd Meta: My opinion on the csa headcanon

Does Jason's behaviour suggest he was a victim of csa?

There is very little, in terms of clinical signs, that’s going to point to csa specifically, because most symptoms, for psychiatric disorders, aren’t specific to one disorder or cause. One thing that’s usually a good hint would be children making very sexual statements/references/jokes/behaviours that are very inappropriate in context (a good example of this would be Roman Roy from Succession); night terrors are bed wettings amongst children/teenagers over a certain age. But that is absolutely not necessary: many, if not most victims of csa don’t display these specific signs, and a twelve years old that suffers from night terrors is not necessarily a victim of csa. The one thing that tells you for sure, in a person with trauma, that they have been a victim of csa, is that they’re telling you they have been a victim of csa. I’m insisting on that part because there’s a whole bunch of therapists (cough cough psychanalysts) that will tell you confidently that your psychiatric symptoms stem from a childhood sexual trauma (cherry on top of the shit cake if it’s incestuous) that you didn’t know about because you’ve repressed it. I repeat, that’s bullshit. If you meet a clinician who tells you that, RUN. So, a warning: this is probably the least “psychological analysis” of my “Jason psychological analysis posts”, because Jason’s symptoms do not allow us to conclude formally for or against a history of sexual abuse. But that doesn’t mean we can’t do some meta, make sure we're on the same page with what's analyzed here, some textual analysis, discuss what the csa headcanon does and does not imply in terms of his behaviour. I think it’s a good idea to start with it so we know where we’re standing with our analysis, regardless of the fact it’s maybe not the most interesting in terms of psychopathology and neuropsychology.

A couple of disclaimers:

I only talk about the comics I want to talk about. This is for two reasons, which are that 1) I do what I want and if I don’t like/don’t find something interesting, I’m not gonna waste time on it; and 2) I’ve been reading comics for a couple of months only, and there are, like, a lot of them. If there are comics you wanna see analysed under that lense, feel free to suggest them! I might not want to, but it also could be that I haven’t read them yet. Additionally, I'm not interested in questioning the morality of Jason's actions here. Ethics are fun, and I like talking about them sometimes, and morality sometimes has a place in talks about demonization but largely speaking this isn't the space for that. I separate talk about morality and psychology stuff as much as I can for a reason, so if you are looking here for excuses for his behaviour or arguments as to why he is a bad person, you're in the wrong place. Moral judgement is irrelevant here for the most part.

On the events of Red Hood: Lost Days:

Jason has, at some point in the comics, been a victim of csa. When Talia kisses Jason before pushing him off a cliff right after he got out of the Lazarus Pit, and when she initiates sex with him in Lost Days, that’s not consent!! That’s a grown woman taking advantage of a traumatized teenager who is, on top of that, deeply indebted to her. That’s a predatory act, with a steep power imbalance, it’s sexual assault, and on top of that there’s an element of suggested pseudo-incest. That decision was retconned, and thank god, because it was a brutal assassination of Talia’s character based on a good bit of racism, and also because the way it was portrayed doesn’t make it clear that Jason is a victim in a situation rather than that super annoying trope of “teenage guy gets to bang a hot MILF and hahaha lucky him”, writing a male character in a situation of SA without acknowledging it as SA or taking it seriously is one of the tropes I hate most, it reinforces stigmatisation and isolates victims. For all of these reasons, I’m not gonna include that element in my analysis, but it’s important to note that if you do include those scenes in your conception of it, then Jason is undeniably a victim of csa and everything discussed about it applies to him.

What if it were a lie?

I’ve said it before (and I’ll say it again), I deeply, violently hate headcanons/tropes where a character lies about being a victim of csa (whether it’s for manipulation, personal gain, any reason really I don’t care). It’s rare as fuck in real life, however it’s a common trope that feeds into fear of being wrongfully accused that causes push-back and increases social stigmatization. CSA is a painful thing associated with intense feelings of shame and already a deep fear of not being believed. Imagine making a considerable effort to seek help after something terrible happened/is happening to you, and you have to brave your fear of not being believed on top of that, and once you’ve made all that effort you get rejected and villainized because it’s just easier for the person you’re reaching out to not to believe it. So I’m awfully weary of this type of headcanon, and I think a general rule of thumb is “if your interpretation of what the character is saying is that he’s talking about how he was abused, especially if he’s talking about sexual assault, then it happened.” If you don’t like that, if you don’t feel like that’s good representation, then you can question the story, think it should be retconned, or rethink your interpretation of what the character says if it’s ambiguous, but hcing that the character lied about his assault is not a hypothesis we’re going to accept here no matter what. So we can start by scratching that one out: Jason never lies about being a victim of csa, or wilfully hints at it even though that’s untrue, at any point.

Two other ideas I’ve seen floating around that I think are worth mentioning:

No, just because Jason lived in the streets as a kid doesn’t mean the only way he survived was through underage prostitution. I genuinely don’t understand that idea, yes being a street kid makes you extremely vulnerable, yes it makes the risk of resolving to underage prostitution to survive higher but it’s absolutely not a fatality. That idea is, quite frankly, weird. Do you automatically assume if a real life person tells you they were in the streets for some time at a kid that they are a victim of csa? Also, I've seen the idea go around that because some people have a strong reading/hc of Jason as bi (which I have no problem with I love bi Jason), that would be an argument in favour of the csa hc. Please don’t do that. There’s no link between queer sexual orientations and childhood sexual abuse, that’s a harmful myth that we should work to deconstruct or, at the very least, not continue to vehiculate.

Another important thing to keep in mind: childhood sexual abuse =/= childhood sexual trauma.

Now, a traumagenic situation is a situation that might induce trauma (so development of, acute stress disorder, ptsd, cptsd, derealization, any traumatic pathology really). These situations exist on a continuum of probability to be traumatized by this situation. For example, a flood, a car accident, witnessing a murder and being sexually assaulted are all traumagenic situations, but the probability of developing trauma from them are very different. It hinges on personal, situational, social, and environmental risk factors (that have nothing to do with being weak, anybody can develop trauma). A definition for traumagenic situations can be found in the diagnostic criteria for ptsd in the dsm-5:

A. “Exposure to actual or threatened death, serious injury, or sexual violence in one (or more) of the following ways:

1. Directly experiencing the traumatic event(s).

2. Witnessing, in person, the event(s) as it occurred to others.

3. Learning that the traumatic event(s) occurred to a close family member or close friend. In cases of actual or threatened death of a family member or friend, the event(s) must have been violent or accidental.

4. Experiencing repeated or extreme exposure to aversive details of the traumatic event(s) (e.g., first responders collecting human remains; police officers repeatedly exposed to details of child abuse). Note: Criterion A4 does not apply to exposure through electronic media, television, movies, or pictures, unless this exposure is work related.”

Note that the this last criteria has been added from the DSM-5 in order to explain cases of PTSD observed in at-risk jobs like cops exposed to repeated detailed child abuse, first responders collecting human remains, or, crucially, vigilantes repeatedly exposed to brutal crimes. This means that Jason, when he works on the Dumpster Slasher case, when he is horrified to find Gloria in the immediate aftermath of her rape (and later finds her dead body, because witnessing the consequences of these traumatic events is also an important component of that second-hand trauma), is being exposed to a very traumagenic situation. As I said before, that doesn’t necessarily mean you will experience trauma (thank fuck for that), but there are factors that influence that. SA related situations has an already pretty high probability of inducing trauma. On top of that, age is a big factor in that: the younger you are, the less resources, emotional regulation, development and coping mechanisms to face the traumagenic event you have (though there is such a thing as “too young to have PTSD" -when your memory is simply not developed enough for the memory to traumatize you because you will not remember the event.) At fifteen, with his memory fully developed but his brain going through so much changes because of teenagehood and his past history, Jason would be at risk. On top of that, you’re more at risk to get traumatized if you’re already stressed out when the event happens, so Jason’s mental state at this point in his robin run is also a risk factor. All to say, it’s very plausible for Jason to have sexual trauma without being a victim of sexual abuse in relation to canon events. Besides, in headcanon territory when it comes to Jason’s childhood before Robin, there are so many ways to be exposed to sexual violence : witnessing/finding his mother being a victim (considering the position of extreme vulnerability Catherine was in), witnessing assault in the streets, being the victim of attempted SA and escaping, watching street kids get picked up and later find their bodies/being told by other kids, as a cautionary tale, in excruciating detail, testimonies of their own assault… Or for example, if we’re thinking about Arkham Knight, being constantly threatened with SA, it being hinted and joked about and hanging over him like a sword of Damocles is something I could see Joker and other inmates do that could definitely induce sexual trauma even if it doesn’t happen ; what matters most, in trauma, is that the fear is real. Mechanically, when we’re looking at the way trauma works even on a biological level, the overwhelming fear is at the core of the pathology. (This is also why you can develop PTSD after a psychotic episode.) Like, my point isn’t that one of these things happened to Jason, or that he has to have sexual trauma from the events of the Diplomat’s Son or anything -mostly just that this is a possibility, something very serious that happens and an important nuance that I never see in discussions on the csa headcanon, and while it’s not exactly what the debate is about, I think it’s something important to ponder.

Do you consider the csa hc to be canon?

So, there are a lot of Jason stories, and I’m very pro “not take in account what is said in comics you dislike in your conception of canon” because if I did that absolutely no bat character would be readable, I have to believe that no character is defined by their worst writers. And boy, does Jason have a lot of bad writing… On top of the personal retcons, there are also the canon retcons: like Battle for The Cowl is retconned… Unless someone decides to reinject/revamp it into the narrative (please don’t please don’t it’s irrecuperable let it lay with the Flying Todds where it belongs). So, let’s see. There are three writers/arcs that imply/mention the csa hc: Starlin’s writing of Jason’s post-crisis Robin Run (canon though some stuff in it seems to have been retconned), Winick’s writing in Green Arrow: Seeing Red (canon as far as I know), and Battle for the Cowl (retconned). It’s worth noting that one of those are considered to be foundational works for Jason’s character (Jason’s post crisis Robin Run and Starlin’s part in it), and another was written by Winick, who wrote the other two foundational Jason stories: Under The Red Hood and Red Hood: Lost Days. On a personal level, I’m very mitigated about what I like and accept about it. I base my whole love and characterization of Jason about his post-crisis Robin Run, I love that little guy so much, Starlin’s take on Jason’s Robin Run is absolutely canon to me (which does not mean I like Starlin as a writer, thank you very much). On the other hand of the spectrum, the only reason Battle for the Cowl isn’t my least favourite comic ever is because The Killing Joke exists, absolutely not canon, get this thing away from me. And then in the middle, my feelings on Seeing Red (on the entirety of Winick’s Jason really) vary depending on the day, because I do like a revenge story that challenges the status quo with tropes of “bad victim” and it sets up Jason as a character based on love rather than morals which I adore, but there are also some elements of psychophobia in the writing that I (who approach stories through the filter of psychopathology first and foremost) can’t just look past, and also the way it intertwines with classist stereotypes. So do I consider Seeing Red to be canon? In good faith, yes, but whether I’ll accept it as such really depends on the day. In terms of the csa headcanon: it’s heavily hinted in BTFC but not outright said, it’s there as a undercurrent in Starlin’s run because of his intention (to make Jason die of AIDS). And then we have Seeing Red. Basically Jason lists elements about Mia’s life, including her past with underage prostitution (so, just to be very clear, csa), and says they’re very similar, having both lived on the streets, and understand having to do bad things when it’s necessary. This is not the same as saying “I was a victim of csa”, and what he’s saying could be interpreted differently (we know that he was stealing tires, and “only what he needs to survive”, so he could have been referencing small-time theft.) So, it could be a reference to something else, I totally understand why some people want to interpret differently. It just… Feels like such a weird and weak argument to be equating boosting tires to underage prostitution, to me it’s very ooc (in comparison to UTH Jason), and it would feel like weak writing from someone like Winick. Aka it’s not technically canon, and you don’t have to accept it as such(I understand the mentality of "I'm rejecting this interpretation because it feels like demonization of csa victims" perfectly), but personally I think it takes a lot from Jason’s character in Seeing Red and from this story in general.

[weirdmageddon]

the original post i want everyone to see is way out of my hands now, so i’ll repost this again here as new but separate post. it touches on things i want to go into more depth about.

@wasabikitcat gets this idea. this reply—thank you so much for not just understanding what i was going for, but putting my exact thoughts into cleaner words on the bad reading comprehension site.

i can't believe how misunderstood my point was about “spirituality” (i didn’t know it was that much of a loaded phrase!), but thank you for putting what i meant into more nuanced terms.

it's something that can be hard for me to put into words, and maybe i gave people the wrong impression by using the word "spirituality", since words mean different things to different people. i just haven't seen people discussing it so i wasn't sure how to really put it. but regardless of terminology, this reply is exactly what i'm getting at. and this is coming from someone who has a very scientific mind. i wouldnt even consider myself a traditionally “spiritual” person in the normal connotation of the word.

edit: this one as well!

i see this as a cultural/political factor that we shouldn’t ignore, because this sense of meaning has driven people's motivations since the beginning of human civilization.

there's a primal aspect that hasn't really left us but there seems to be no room for it in our modern culture because half of these “guides” seem to be driven by “i cant wait for civilization to collapse so MY ideology can rise from the ashes" and the other half of it seems to be driven by greed. and often they are hand in hand.

i would really like to see actual enlightening ideas stemming from buddhist thought, analytical psychology, collective unconscious, and archetypes to take off in the public consciousness. (completely divorced from jordan peterson. just the original jungian stuff)

i am especially supportive towards getting people interested in carl jung's works. his idea was to get people to understand, "what myth am i living?" based on the same archetypes and symbols that recur time and time again throughout human history that we can all collectively recognize regardless of culture. so it's a sense of meaning based in the self. i don't want people being sent down reactionary paths when looking for meaning in their lives.

i think it would benefit people to who feel lost especially in uncertain/unprecedented times like, with those “there's got to be more to this, something deeper,” insinct. i see that people are looking for this but get taken advantage of or manipulated.

but on this deeper sense of meaning in life thing, the Left isn't doing a great job at providing an option for “lost” people looking for meaning that the Right seems to be having no trouble with. i wonder if this is why we've seen so many of these lost young men flock to reactionary commentators?

this reminds me of an excellent point contrapoints made in her video about jordan peterson, saying,

“The last thing I like is that you talk about deep shit. I was watching a video where you and a couple of zany goons were talking about Plato and Aristotle and the meaning of life. And I thought, ‘Huh… on the Left, we don’t really talk about that kind of thing. All we talk about is how society oppresses people.’ And that might not be enough. Because people need to have a positive purpose in life. I mean, personally, I don’t give a shit. I’m pretty happy to sit here watching the same three seasons of Strangers with Candy until I die. But other people, like Dostoevsky, Camus, other white guys who talk about lobsters…they have this need to have purpose in the face of suffering, and like, not just complain about patriarchy. I guess it’s easier to not complain about patriarchy when patriarchy isn’t the thing that’s making you suffer. But I do think that an education that only teaches people about oppression is inadequate. We spend four years teaching undergraduates why capitalism is bad, and then we say, ‘Well, you’re educated now. Good luck getting a job under capitalism, bye!’ …And that really kind of sucks! But you know, I think that’s a point that can probably be made without comparing transgender activism to Stalin.”

speaking of her, this is a related post i wrote earlier on young men being radicalized and how to approach communication

and by the way, if you are interested in learning jungian psychology and want to see what it’s about, here are some resources to get you started:

i think the jung subreddit has a great collection of resources on its about page.

i highly recommend Demystifying Jungian Psychology to start. it’s meant for beginners. it is available in english and spanish. you can currently find the book in the comments section here. since sometimes these links lead to a 404, i don’t want to link directly to the google drive page. i want you to have a link to the original thread in case it gets broken.

[crsssie]

don't miss me

word count: 9.4k

warnings: smut, nsfw

summary: it's you. It's been you, and it'll be you.

"uWAHHHHH!!" You sob, slamming your head into your hands.

"You have got to stop confessing to people who don't like you." Dick grumbles, sliding you the box of tissues on the table. "He's made it pretty clear that he has no interest."

"I'm bound to get to him at some point." You sit up, blowing your nose. "Come on."

"He's the school's hotshot."

"And you're captain of the varsity football team," You cough. "If I can tutor you and become friends with you, then the captain of the baseball team should be no big deal."

It's a strange place to find himself in. Dick had gone to you for help in one of his classes in exchange for enough money to fund your four years of college, and in exchange, you had taught him everything he needed for his classes. He went from risking the chance to stay on the team to having the best grade out of all of his teammates. He's thankful for you, he supposes, and he's the school's most wanted boy. He has more than enough of a fan club behind him.

He wonders why he was put in a public school instead of the private ones his brothers were put into. It wasn't as if Bruce lacked the money to put him into one.

"ANYWAY!" You toss the tissue into the trash behind you, stand up, and throw your fists in the air. "I will continue to confess!"

"Why not just go out with me?"

You pout at him, batting your lashes. "And potentially end up on a good chunk of the school's hit list? No thank you, Richard."

"Dick. Come on, it's not that bad."

You shrug, going back to the papers in your binder. "I'm not into you."

"We spend so much time together. We're bound to end up together, you know?"

"If you pull a psychology term on me I will punt you."

"You don't have the strength for that."

"I'll kill myself to change the trajectory of your life forever."

"That'd be very flattering for you to do."

"Ew."

But in the small classroom walls that confine the two of you, there's not much for the two of you to argue over. It's just a tutor-tutee relationship. There's nothing more. You don't understand why you rant out all of your frustrations to him when he has nothing to do with them, but you suppose it's not that much. Maybe it was silly to think that he would care. He probably doesn't. Dick was never your friend by choice, after all. It would be foolish to believe that he could care about you at all.

"I like you!" You yell from the bleachers, blowing a kiss, the rest of the school screaming along. The baseball captain shoots down your confession with a flick of his hand, and you pout.

It's fun to waste your youth pining over someone who doesn't love you back. It's not as if it mattered either. You would all scramble once you finished high school. Graduation was just around the corner. It didn't matter if he didn't like you back. It was so much funnier when they didn't.

You hear a chorus of screaming behind you, causing you to glance, just for a moment, at the reason for the screams.

"Oh, look who showed up." You smile. "Miss me already? Our session isn't until Wednesday."

"Don't flatter yourself." Dick's hands guide you to sit back down, standing next to you. "I came to scout out my competition."

"I thought you were still in that friends with benefits thing with Kori." You raise a brow at him.

"Broke it a while back." He hums. "How do you find this interesting?"

"I don't." You hum. "I'm here because he's here." You point at the baseball captain. "Obviously."

Dick clicks his tongue disdainfully. "I come all the way for you and you tell me that you're here for him?"

"I was here first, Dick." You wave happily as the captain stares at you. "I've been here."

"Well, I've come now. Let's get you home."

"I want to watch him finish his game."

"Why him and not me?"

You tilt your head at him. "No reason. I just think the baseball captain's hotter."

"Hotter than me?"

"Yes. Hotter than you."

"Did he reject you?"

"He waved down my kiss."

"I wouldn't do that to you."

"Yeah, but I don't want you."

It's funny. Dick hears all about how you got rejected again in the most delusional way possible, from the way of "oh he breathes the same air as me so surely he's in love with me" to something more mellow like "yeah I got rejected again lol". But that was something he got used to, he supposes. The empty classroom that the two of you always sat in but never got yelled at for was a staple in his life, especially when more than half of the time he was showing up to class with bruises all over his body. Maybe fighting crime at night wasn't something he should promise to do so often. Bruce would let him focus on school if he asked. Maybe.

"You look like shit as always," You click your tongue, raising a brow at the sight of Robin coughing up blood on your balcony.

"Sorry, pretty girl," He chuckles. "Bumped into someone awful today, as you can see. Care to lend me a hand?"

"The joker? The riddler? I don't even know who you fight anymore." You haul him onto the couch, pulling the curtains behind you. "How deep is it?"

"A little wrapping will do the trick." He mumbles. "Sorry for the problem."

"You're here more than I can count on one finger." You sigh. "I'm used to it. Where's Batman?"

"He went back."

"And left you alone?"

"Yes." Robin hisses as you press the alcohol to his wound. "I'm sorry, again."

"It doesn't matter. I was up, anyway." You pause. "How long have you been fighting crime again?"

"I don't know."

"Mm." Silence. "You should rebrand soon. I heard there are two Robins now."

"I'm close." He chuckles, lifting his shirt so you can wrap the bandage around his waist. "What do you think about Nightwing?"

You grumble. "Superman said something about that the other day in his interview. I stayed up all night drawing what I think his suit would look like."

"Can I see it?"

"If you want."

"You're graduating, right? Where are you going after?"

"New York City." You mumble. "Haven't told anyone yet, but I got into my dream school. I'm set."

"Really?"

"Yeah." You mumble. "I'm moving over summer, so don't crash here anymore unless you want to give my parents a heart attack, alright?"

"I'll miss you."

"That's cute. I can't imagine the number of people who would die to hear that from Robin from Teen Titans himself."

"I will."

You stare up at him. Maybe it was strange. It had been three years since Robin would crash land onto your balcony in the city and beg you for first aid. It had been two years since Dick Grayson had asked you for help in math, and even shorter than the time you had started designing suits for him to look at. Maybe that's why you had grown used to the way he would rest his chin on your shoulder and stare through the lazy sketches you had of what you thought he should change his outfit into. He likes the way you picture Nightwing. He's like some disco guy in the first draft and much more chill in the second.

"Can I take the pages?" He mumbles. "Please? I want it."

"So you can steal my design?"

"No. I like the disco suit you drew."

"That was a first draft." You groan.

"I can start with it."

"It's too flashy! It doesn't fit the whole Batman aesthetic!"

"Doesn't matter." He grins. "It looks like my current Robin one but in blue."

You raise a brow at him incredulously.

"I'll buy these off of you."

"With your legal account?"

"I'll send you money each month anonymously like a patent. Wait. I can't see you anymore."

"Yeah." You exhale. "You can take it, though. I can't let anyone know I've been drawing Robin's clothes. I would get targeted by too many villains."

"That's true." Robin pauses. "Has anyone seen it?"

"No."

"Can I take all of them?"

"How are you going to get all of them to Batman?"

"I'll figure out a way." He grins. "I am Robin, after all."

"Well, then, Robin," You rustle the papers, dropping them in his open hands. "I hope you keep all of them."

"I'll pin them in my room's wall."

"That's just creepy."

"Maybe to you."

Dick never expected you to let him in three years ago, in his defense. He expected you to cower in fear like the rest of people or even just slide him a first aid kit. He was not expecting you to drag him into your room and start disinfecting his wound. He learned so much more about who you were through his interactions with you as Robin than he did as Dick. All he hears from you during the day is how you got rejected by the captain of the baseball team again. He wonders if he should just woo you as Robin instead. You seem to like his separate identity more.

"You forgot the number in front of the integral."

"No way." He grumbles.

"Yeah." You point. "Minor mistakes. It'll be fixed with some practice. I'm sure."

"When are we stopping this?"

"Eager to get me out of your hair already? After senior finals, of course."

"Are you going to keep confessing to captain until then?"

"Why?"

"I'm suggesting you give me a chance, of course." Dick stares at you.

"There you go again with that," You yawn. "Are you sure it's not because I'm your type? Scratch that. I don't even think I'm your type."

"And if you were?"

"That would be very interesting considering your dating history." You grimace.

Dick grumbles in response. He didn't have something for that one.

It's ironic to think that someone else in the school would die to date the man in front of you. You wonder why you don't like him sometimes. You're sure he's someone straight out of a movie, a guy who everyone would want to be with at least once in their life. He almost reminds you of the other football boys on his team. Maybe this was a movie. The jock ends up with his tutor. Some sort of cliché love story that you would never touch, ever again.

Robin crash lands on your balcony again before you can think more of it.

"Sorry!"

"What brings you here today? Ivy?"

"Yeah! How'd you know?" He sits up, a grin on his face.

"You smell like herbs all over you." You grimace.

"Woah, sharp nose." Robin mumbles. "Can you ramble about your high school to me?"

"Oh. You wanna hear about how I have a crush on the captain of the football team? The guy I tutor?"

"yOU WHAT? I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU LIKED THE BASEBALL GUY." Robin gasps, jaw dropped in shock.

"I changed my mind." You hum, fishing out the disinfectant from the first aid kit. "I won't admit it to his face, of course, but I think he's kind of fine. That man is infuratingly attractive. Who gave him his bone structure? He looks like a greek statue or something. I want him carnally."

"Are you going to ask him out?"

"And do long distance in this day and age?" You laugh. "No. I'm going to keep pretending that I like the baseball captain until the end of graduation. I'd like to be remembered as a fool. Besides, I don't think Dick actually likes me that way. I heard something about him and Kori in the halls and I don't want to be part of that. I heard he slept with a good chunk of the girls sports team captains too. I don't know. I'd prefer not to know. All I know is that I don't want to be part of that mess."

Robin peels his shirt up, pouting. "I thought you said confessing was the best form of closure."

"Not when dating your crush is going to get half of the school on your back. I've lived without being in the spotlight for long enough. I plan on doing that after school." You press the gauze to his wound, causing him to hiss. "You good?"

"Hurts."

"I'm sure it does." You deadpan.

"Why not tell him?"

"You seem very invested in my love life with this dude."

"I'm bored. I keep getting beat up these days, so I have to listen to something to get it off my mind." Robin pouts as you wrap the bandage around his waist.

"Did you gain more muscle?"

"Does it look that way?"

"A little." You raise a brow.

"I work out more in my free time."

"You know, maybe I like the stupid football guy because he reminds me of you too much."

"You like me?"

"I thought you were a good detective."

"I am."

"And you didn't know?"

"I didn't want to point it out." He mumbles. "Maybe you'd get uncomfortable."

"Alright." You yawn, closing the first aid kit. "This is one of the last times you're crashing. ever."

"Why?"

"I go on vacation in a couple weeks and I'm going to start packing for moving. You aren't going to be able to see me in a long time."

"Can I get a goodbye kiss?" He pouts.

"You're a nightmare, Robin," You help him stand up, pressing your lips to his cheek. "I hope I see you as Nightwing one day."

"I can promise you that."

You wonder some days if you should just tell Dick that you have a crush on him. You call him his government for shits and giggles, and you barely pay enough attention to what he does in tutoring these days. Maybe you were just destined to be stuck with someone like him. Yet, even as graduation approaches, you find there's no use sticking close to those ideas. You'll never see him again. It's pointless to admit your crush now.

"So? What's your answer?"

"I'm still in love with the baseball guy," You sigh blissfully, eyes far away. "He's so... dreamy."

"The only difference between the two of us is that I have better grades." Dick raises his brow.

"Richard." You yawn. "I could fix him."

"You absolutely could not."

"You're right. I could not." You laugh. "Isn't it fun being delusional? I think it's great."

"It is absolutely not."

"Maybe to you, Richard." You yawn. "I find it quite amusing to daydream about myself with a person who would never look at me twice."

"If you ask me." He clicks his tongue. "I'd say he thinks about you a lot more now."

"Oh, really?" You tilt your head. "I still don't find myself believing that fact."

"It's hard to think about it." He grimaces. "He asked me for your number the other day."

"Did you give it to him?"

"You said to ask first. I forgot to ask."

"Are you sure you forgot?"

"I didn't give it to him on purpose." He grins.

"Sly, sly, boy." You chuckle. "Oh, right. I forgot to give you the worksheets."

"I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

"Too bad." You rummage through your bag, handing him a stack of papers. "I'll see you after school."

"You expect me to do this during practice?"

"You're off-season. You barely train." You stand up, dusting off your hands. "Have fun."

Dick glances at the papers. "Wait-"

The door clicks behind you, and Dick sits there, staring at the stack of papers.

Dick lets his curiosity get the best of him, flipping through the pages, reading through your sketches and messy notes. It's neat, uncrumpled, to the point. The drawings are messy, but each part of his suit as Robin has been noted down. His weapons have been detailed, and he wonders if you had been doing more than just checking out his gadgets whenever he crashed your apartment. Maybe you were carefully calculating everything just as you had with his math homework. Perhaps he would get separated from you years later and never see you again.

He finds himself at your final period of the day, knocking on the door.

"Come in."

"Ah, Mrs. Baker," He smiles. "My tutor left this during lunch, so I came to hand it back to her."

You stare at Dick, getting out of your seat to take the papers from him with the actual packet in your other hand. "My apologies. I will see you after school."

A girl in the class faints while the others scream.

You sit back in your seat, staring at the note he left in your stack.

There was no point in caring for things that would inevitably pass.

So, neither of you mention anything ever again. The tutoring goes on as normal, the confessions do as well. There's something consistently hanging in the air between the two of you that neither addresses. The elephant in the room is neither seen nor discussed. The stories of your youth no longer matter to you, and you graduate top of the class, valedictorian, going to the school of your choice. It didn't matter that you had just stopped pining after the baseball captain one day. No one would know why. Maybe. Except Dick.

Dick learns to move on with life, slowly. You sit in the back of his mind when he's bored while on patrol, staring down at the city, wondering if you had ever considered him to even be an option. But he finds no space in thinking about you. He had his own job. The two of you had grown up, maybe you before him. The two of you were just. High school friends. Maybe not even friends. He thinks about your signature in his yearbook often. Maybe he would find you one day. It would come slower. Maybe.

But he leaves your mind as quickly as he had been there, left behind with Gotham when you had stepped foot into your dream school. You find your success in life as easily as you had executed whatever plan it had been in high school. You're quickly where you want to be in life, top of the city, sipping margaritas with your friends when you grow bored. It's something that someone has dreamed of, and it's something that you have considered. Maybe you would consider staying where you are longer had it not been for the obscenely high crime rate lately.

"I heard Jessica got mugged the other weekend." One of your friends sighs. "Are you feeling better?"

"I am." Jessica mumbles. "Oh, but there was this super hot hero who saved me! I tried asking for his name, but he never told me. Black suit, blue bird thing on his chest. He was so... dreamy!"

"Jessica, darling," Another woman chimes in. "I'm sure you've gone delusional. New York City does not have people saving them. Our crime rate is just a nightmare in itself."

"Was it Nightwing? You know, the... superhero?" You furrow your brows. "I think that's what he is."

"Is that his name?!" She gushes. "He's sooo romantic!"

"Jessica, aren't you engaged?"

"Awh, it's not as if I'd ever get a chance with him."

You chuckle. "Did he look good?"

"So good. God. His black hair? I thought I was going to lose my mind."

"Darling," A woman reaches their hand for yours. "How do you know about Nightwing?"

"I read Gotham Daily for fun." You smile. "It's good to keep up with what's been going on in my home city."

"Right! Then surely you know Nightwing?"

"Know is a little bit of an overstatement." You grimace. "I don't know him personally. I know about him."

"Oh, well." Jessica chuckles. "I'm sure you'll get to know him so much more soon."

"What."

"He asked if I knew anyone by your name, so I told him your add-"

"You gave my house address to a random man who saved you?!" You yell. "That's stupid!"

"He was asking for you!"

"Why?"

"I don't know." Jessica holds back a laugh. "I told him your studio address."

"At least it wasn't my house address," You mumble. "But I'm holed up in that hellhole when I get bored, so I suppose it's the equivalent of giving him my house address."

"He's got real defined muscles-"

"Okay, Jessica, I think that's enough for the night. I'll call your fiancé for you."

"Ugh. He's so fine."

"We get it, darling."

You help her into her fiancé's car, watching as the two of them drive away. The other ladies all head off, and you stand there in the night. It's not half as cold as you're expecting it to be, but you suppose being alone at night is a little lonely. You purse your lips, clicking on your phone to call an Uber to your studio. You didn't feel like staying home. Maybe sketching your frustrations out in the studio would do something better.

"Alone at night, sweetheart?"

You turn to face the voice.

"...Nightwing?"

He's in the second design.

"Miss me?"

"I don't know, actually." You mumble. "I was just feeling a little betrayed that Jessica just gave you my address like that."

"I checked it out. It's a nice little studio. Are you still up to big things?"

You shrug. "I bet you read the magazines about me."

"I do." He chuckles. "I have your sketches pinned on my walls still, even when I moved." He leans in, breath tickling your ear. "Shall I take you home?"

"To the studio, if you will."

"Hold on tight." He wraps an arm around your waist, launching the grappling hook. "I don't remember if you've ever flown with me."

"I have not." You cling onto him, grimacing. "Please do not drop me. You aren't Spiderman."

"Should I be offended that you're comparing me to a fictional superhero?"

"I'm going to die if you do."

"We're here." He lands on the rooftop.

"Why the sudden move?"

"Am I not allowed to follow my favorite designer to the ends of the earth?"

"Yeah. It's a little creepy, honestly." You scrunch your nose. "Did something go wrong with your suit?"

"No." He mumbles. "Maybe. I don't know."

You raise a brow at him.

"Nothing went wrong. I just missed you."

"Missed me or having a place to patch up that wasn't Batman?"

"Both." He mumbles. "Can I see your designs?"

"So you can steal them?"

"Not fair. You're the one who let me steal them." Nightwing pouts. "I still have them on my wall, if you want to visit my place."

"That's a little too early." You imitate his pout, leaning back, his arm still around your waist. "Don't you think?"

"For someone who's caught you naked when you were in high school, I don't think so." He hums, hand leaving your waist. "Will you show me around?"

"Since you asked so nicely."

It's strange to see him again after so many years. You were sure that Robin — Nightwing — would come to forget you at some point. You had heard more stories about how he had been such a great protector of the city at dark alongside Batman, so you suppose that inevitably he probably had found someone on the way. You heard he had a thing with Batgirl at some point. You wonder why he didn't stay with her. The newspapers were just as shocked as you were when they found out they broke up.

"I heard you had a thing for redheads." You hum, opening the door on the rooftop. "You know. With the whole dating thing on the magazines."

"I suppose I am weak to them." He follows you down the stairs, pausing when you fish out a key and open the door. "Jealou-"

You cut him off. "Welcome to my studio."

"Are those superhero suits?"

"I was trying to figure out what fabrics would work to avoid acid burns." You shrug. "Old habits. I was thinking of visiting Gotham a little later and I was worried I'd get caught up in another attack."

"You'll be fine. Robin is surprisingly competent."

"Are you guys like one big family or something?"

"No." You catch the way he pauses in inhaling. "Nope."

"Sure." You yawn. "I'm crashing. Please be gone by morning."

"Aw, you don't want to see me?"

"I can't tailor anything for you. Go to bed."

"Superheros don't sleep."

"You're human. Night." You close the door to the bed in the studio, and Nightwing looks around at the papers scattered on the floor. New York could survive a day without him.

You wake up the next morning to Nightwing still in your studio, staring at the sketches on the floor.

"Did you end up giving this one to Kid Flash?"

"There's no use. He's dead." You yawn, opening your laptop.

"Didn't need to remind me like that."

"Nightwing. Don't you have a home to go to?"

"I'm exhausted, true." He yawns. "You're contagious."

"Whatever helps you sleep." You grumble. "Stupid emails. Go home."

"And if I want to stay?"

"I'll peel your mask off." You sigh. "Now go."

"Can I crash some other time?"

"If you can find my apartment."

"Shall I bet on it, sweetheart?"

You tilt your head at him, raising a brow. "Be my guest."

Sometime between where you are now and where you had left Dick, he had caught up. Maybe it had been a chase he was doing unconsciously. Maybe he missed the way you would patch him up in your apartment at night no matter how late he found himself in your room. Maybe he missed the way you would take him out for dinner if he did well on a test. Maybe he just missed you. He finds himself staring at you in the grocery store, lips parted in mild surprise. He wasn't expecting to run into you here. He thought you'd stay holed up in your studio for the day.

"...Richard?"

"Dick." He corrects.

"It is you!" You mumble. "What are you doing in New York? I thought you were working for law enforcement at Gotham."

"Change of plans, change of place." It wasn't exactly a lie. He needed to leave that place. He doesn't know why he picked your city of all places, though. "You?"

"I've been here."

"I suppose." he hums. "Is it nice here?"

"Safer than Gotham." You laugh dryly. "I can't believe Nightwing left that place."

"Why?"

You turn to stare at him. "I figured he'd want to stay close to Batman."

"The first always wants to leave and explore." Dick smiles.

"A psychology fact or just something small?"

"An observation not proven by experiments." He hums. "Why are you here?"

"Low on oat milk." You mumble, reaching for the fridge door.

"You're really living that New York City life, huh?"

"Maybe."

"Do you miss Gotham?"

"Never." You pause. "I only miss it because someone used to crash my place."

"Someone?"

"Secret." You smile at him. "Have fun in New York."

"If you don't mind." He mumbles. "Can we exchange numbers again?"

"I never changed my old one."

It never struck Dick that maybe you would keep your old number. You had no reason to keep it, after all. Yet, as he clicks open a conversation that he hadn't touched in years but still kept, he wonders if the two of you had just stopped in time. Maybe he had just chosen you from the start. It wasn't as if his high school life was conventional. The popularity at school meant nothing to him in retrospect.

So, he finds himself staring at the ice cream aisle for a little too long, staring at your favorite flavor an uncomfortable amount of time. Maybe it would be his housewarming gift for you as someone crashing into your room. He should go home soon, he supposes. The sun was setting quickly, and he had to do nightly patrol.

He wonders if he'll just crash into your apartment out of instinct.

So, after a quick clean-up and call to the police, he finds himself landing on a random balcony. He could be wrong. He was sure this could just be some complete stranger's balcony, but it could also be right. He had a feeling that you were inside, as he always did. He finds a strange sense of deja vu, especially as Nightwing. He wanted to pay you a visit on the first day in your super-suit, but you had taped the notice that you were already gone.

"I'm surprised you actually found this place." You tilt your head at him as you open the door. "Come in."

"Weird sense of deja vu, no?"

"Almost." You yawn, noticing a bag in his hand. "What's that?"

"Housewarming."

"I don't recall telling you my favorite ice cream flavor, ever."

"Lucky guess."

"Sure, hero." You hum. "I'm too tired to be a good host, so do what you want."

"Could you wrap me up? That's all I want."

"You're hurt?"

"It's not easy out on these streets."

"Better be no cuts."

"Just a handful of bruises."

"I'll get the ice." You sigh. "Why do you always come at the most unconventional times of day."

"Maybe I just like you when you're half drunk on sleep depravity, pretty girl."

"I'm going to punch you." You grumble, activating the ice pack from your first aid kid, and throwing it at him. Nightwing fails to notice the way your ears burn from the nickname.

"Is it just one bedroom?"

"Did you think I lived in a penthouse?"

"Kind of."

"I live alone. There's no need." You blink. "Knock yourself out. I'll be in bed."

"Sweetheart."

"Yes?"

"Have you ever considered me to be a man?"

"As in jump me? No." You hum. "I have security cameras in all four corners of the room. If you did, I would have the evidence to prove you as some creepy guy in my house."

"Even if I'm Nightwing?"

"Even if you're Nightwing."

Dick watches as you completely fall asleep in your bed, ignoring the way that he gets up to sit by you, staring at your sleeping form. You were always too vulnerable with the wrong people, maybe. You had handed him all of your designs in a heartbeat, spilling out everything that had ever plagued your mind in a breath. He rests his chin on the plush of your mattress, breathing matching yours, staring at you. He wonders if this was what he had moved to New York for. Crashing your room at the unholy hours of the night and catching up with you. It's a foolish dream of his. You could never love him back at himself, so he resorts to crashing your apartment and asking for patching up as Nightwing instead.

"Pretty girl." He mumbles, sitting up, pressing a kiss to a lock of your hair. "Missed you."

You wake up to Nightwing gone, the balcony door closed, thankfully, and a splitting headache. You wonder if your all-nighters have finally caught up with you. Maybe they have. You're caught between wondering if you should text a friend to bring food for you or just ordering off of some overpriced delivery app in the most overpriced city in the country. You decide against both, falling asleep in your bed covers as your fever rages on. How exhausting.

You wake up to the sound of your doorbell, tugging yourself out of bed, taking your gun with you.

"Who is it?"

"It's me."

You open the door to your apartment, squinting at the man.

"Come back another time. I feel like shit right now." You grumble, reaching to close the door on Dick.

"If you're sick, shouldn't you need someone to take care of you?"

"My secretary can."

"You have a secretary?"

You sniff. "Yeah."

"I heard she's on break from the twitter updates account. Let me in. I promise I won't burn your kitchen down." Dick mumbles.

You frown. "And you're not going to jump me?"

"No."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

"Well, if you do." You mumble, showing him the gun in your other hand. "I have this bad boy."

"You have a gun?"

"You never know who's going to break in." You grumble, opening the door to let him in.

"Do you have groceries?"

"I was at the store yesterday. Make do with what I have. Or something." You blink, pulling the blanket further over yourself. "I feel like I've been struck in half by an axe."

"Go rest up." Dick places a hand on your forehead, resting his forehead on yours. "You're burning."

"I think I know that much." You shuffle back to your bed, laying flat on it.

"Do you have Advil?"

"Tylenol's in the cabinet. Might be expired. I've had it forever."

"It's not." He mumbles, getting a glass of water for you as well. "Come on."

You sit up, swallowing the pills with the water, head still spinning. "Thermometer's in the same cabinet."

Dick presses the infrared thermometer to your head, staring at your temperature. "You're awfully hot."

"Thanks." You grumble. "You haven't said that since high school."

"What do you usually do when sick?"

"I haven't been sick since I moved out." You blink slowly, lying back down. "Don't trash the place."

"I won't."

You pass out.

It's ironic. Dick was in your apartment less than twelve hours ago as Nightwing, and now he was in your apartment cooking you soup that he doesn't remember ever learning the recipe of. He missed this. He missed you. Maybe that was why all those women had looked at him at some point in their relationship and told him that he liked someone else. How pitiful of him. To love someone yet date someone else.

But you recover just as quick. Almost as if you were waiting for him to just enter your apartment and take care of you. It was as if your body just needed him once. You don't know. You wake up to Dick sprawled on your couch and your body all dehydrated. There's a bowl of soup next to you that's still warm, and you start eating it as you take your own temperature. It's day. You don't know if it's the same day or you slept through an entire day, but the sun is out, and you feel a little better.

"Do you want help?" Dick opens one of his eyes to stare at you, and you blink at him.

"I'll be fine. Thank you for staying overnight."

"Of course." He hums.

Nightwing crashes two nights later, tumbling down your fire escape. You clutch the gun in your hand and stare at the balcony.

"Just me, sweetheart."

"What a crash landing." You mumble, opening the window to let him in. "What is it this time? We really shouldn't have that many supervillains here."

"Less, that's true." Nightwing hums. "But I still got a good beating." He laughs.

"You're going to be permanently bruised at this rate." You haul him through the window, sighing. "What do you want this time? More bandages? Gauze? A trip to the ER? My soul?"

"Nope. Just checking to see how my favorite girl is doing."

"Now that's just creepy."

"That is not!"

"Oh, no it definitely is." You sigh.

"Are you feeling better?"

You tilt your head as Nightwing pulls his suit up to show you the bruise. "I had a splitting fever yesterday. I'm better now."

"That's good. You didn't answer when I knocked yesterday."

"So you guessed I was sick?"

"Greatest detective in Gotham, remember?"

"Yeah, but this is New York." You mumble, breaking another ice pack to press to his bruise. "I'm sure there's someone better than you."

"Really?"

"I'm sure of it."

Nightwing swings by your apartment every other night. You don't understand how he has the time for that, but you don't question it or anything else. Too many questions lead to too many thoughts. You try not to think of much when you're hanging out with him every other night.

"At this point, I'm going to become nocturnal." You grumble, hanging off the edge of the couch.

"Just for me?"

You raise a brow. "No."

"Are you still designing?"

"Here's a new sketch." You hand him a random paper from the ones all over the ground, and he stares at it.

"A new design for me?"

"No. Just an alternate outfit."

"Can't you get it sewn up for me?"

"I don't like you that much." You grumble.

Nightwing rests his chin on your shoulder huffing.

Somewhere between the crashing apartments and movie nights, you found yourself tangled in Nightwing's limbs, closer to him than you could have imagined in the past. You wonder if any traces of Robin are there, the bruises and scars littered all over his body. You wonder if he had ever liked you. In the empty nights that you had spent with Robin, you found yourself enamored by him. It was foolish for you to ever develop those feelings, so you wonder if Nightwing can read it off of you. He probably can.

"I can't make it in two days." Nightwing mumbles, adjusting the blanket draped over the two of you.

"Mm," You mumble. "Why not?"

Nightwing goes silent, staring at the screen. "Breach of privacy, don't you think, sweetheart?"

"So now I'm not allowed to hear about what you're doing in your free time?"

"Hero's secret." He rests his hand on your shin, tracing mindless circles on your skin. "You'll forgive me, right? Sweetheart?"

You grumble, looking to the side.

"I'm not going to be patroling that day, anyway."

"Oh, yeah." You mumble. "I'm not home that day either. I'm supposed to help Dick move into his new apartment."

"Cheating on me, pretty girl?"

"I was two timing you guys in high school, sure." You pause. "Speaking of Dick. I don't remember ever giving him my home address. How did he even find me?"

Nightwing taps your shin twice. "You sure you didn't text it to him?"

"I swear I didn't-" You pause when you see a conversation with Dick, sending him your full address. "Strange. I don't remember."

"Are you showing early signs of memory loss?"

"Don't be a dick," You pout. "Maybe I texted him while half delirious."

"I have to go, sweetheart," He mumbles, brushing your hair back and pressing a kiss to the corner of your eye. "The city calls."

"I was thinking about it," You tuck your legs back to your chest, staring at him as he clasps everything back onto his outfit. "We should really stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Whatever it is we are doing." You mumble. "The whole... situationship thing."

"Do you not want me anymore?"

"I'd prefer to actually find someone." You adjust the blanket on yourself, clicking to lower the tv volume. "That's not right. I can't date a superhero. I think that's more normal. I don't even know who you are."

Nightwing opens his mouth, closing it when he remembers he can't argue with you on it.

"Does that mean I can't crash anymore?"

"No." You huff. "No more cuddling."

"And if I ask you out?"

"No point." You grumble. "I'd be dating a superhero and not a human."

"I thought you said I was human?"

You pause. "But I don't know who you are. You could be some creepy forty year old for all I know."

"'Kay, now that's just rude, sweetheart. I am not forty."

"Yeah, yeah," You grumble. "Ask me out in your civilian form if you really want me that bad."

"Is that a deal?"

"As long as it isn't out of nowhere."

Nightwing disappears into the city, and you glance at the movie still playing in the background.

Dick thanks you for the help with moving apartments. You wonder how he managed to end up as your neighbor, but as he kicks the remaining boxes into the complex, you don't really complain. You could be sitting in your room drawing something insane for Nightwing right now. Maybe it was a healthy break from the guy you've been falling in love with. You wonder why he didn't just stop seeing you once he found out you liked him.

"You look like you're thinking hard."

"That's definitely not something you know how to do?"

"Ey. I'm not stupid. Remember? I was salutatorian." Dick raises a brow, opening one of the boxes.

"I forgot." You pause. "Wasn't your brother suspended?"

"Yeah. He was quite a handful."

"He was funny," You hum, opening another box. "I found him really amusing."

"Makes you think hard about family dynamics."

"Really does." You hand him decorations to go around the apartment from the floor, and you pause when you see a binder. "What's this?"

"Oh, you weren't supposed to see that." He takes it from your hands, holding it behind himself. "You were not supposed to see that."

You glance at the paper flutter out of the binder, and you reach for it, pausing at the familiarity.

"Did you... where did you get this?"

"I found it at a thrift store." He smiles.

"Thrift stores don't sell old sketches by people drawn during high school for superheros." You deadpan.

"An antique store?"

"Spit it out, Richard." You furrow your brows, pulling your lip up. "Are you Nightwing or did you rob him? I doubt both of them, so your explanation better be convincing."

"I like you."

"what."

"Let's go out."

"Where is this coming from?" You shake your head in confusion.

"Um. Two nights ago?"

You pause. "I didn't see-"

You blink at Dick tuck the paper back into the binder, placing it on the kitchen counter.

"YOU'RE ACTUALLY FUCKING NI-"

"I'd prefer if you kept that revelation to yourself. These walls aren't soundproof."

You gawk at him. "I was wrapping you up every single fucking night at Gotham?"

"Yes?"

You sit there, hands lax, hanging from the box, questioning every single thing you had ever told him up to this point.

"YOU LISTENED TO ME TALK ABOUT HOW INFURIATINGLY HOT I FOUND YOU IN HIGH SCHOOL?!"

"...yes."

You slam your head into your hands, head spinning from the impact and realization. You told Nightwing you found him hot. You told Dick, who had crashed into your room almost every day at Gotham, all about how you thought he was attractive, but there was no point in telling him. You kissed him on the cheek in high school. The more you think about it, the more you question your presence in the room and the more you want to dig a hole and die in it. You were such an embarassment.

"I think I'm going to dig a hole and bury myself." You look up from your hands.

"Please don't do that." Dick mumbles, stepping next to you. "Do you hate me that much? You said you-"

"Yeah." You purse your lips. "Yes. But this is very out of the blue and I need a couple days to process all of this information."

"Your break ends in a couple of days."

"UGH!" You cry, dragging your hands down your face. "I would say yes but oh my god. This is embarassing. So embarassing."

"Yes."

You blink slowly.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"It's a yes." You answer in a heartbeat. "Please give me a couple days to come to terms with it, though."

"Anything." He mumbles, kissing your forehead.

Dating Dick Grayson is an experience. He's quiet, slow, and he takes his time with you. You find yourself in his apartment more and more despite the ever-sinking knowledge that he's Nightwing. You forget sometimes — only for him to crash through his balcony and roll into your arms. It's worrying now that you're actually dating him. There's a fear that he'd go missing like his brother and maybe even die. The idea that he was returning to the police force wasn't any more comforting.

"Why here?" You mumble, peeling the suit off of his body. "We can go back to Gotham if you really want."

"Why would you move back to Gotham with me?"

"I've been working online for the past year." You sigh. "I never knew when you'd come crash landing into the house during night so I sold my studio. I'm always worried you'll go missing on me one day."

"You're willing to move back with me?"

You heave, picking the mask off of his face.

"Really?"

"Your family is there." You whisper, almost scared as though your voice would give out on you. "Mine is too."

"You'll go back with me?" He holds onto your forearms, eyes sparkling.

"Yeah."

You don't know what prompts you to tell him that at the dead of the night only a month into dating him, but it just felt right. It was strange to believe that you had been so willing to move so quickly despite dating him for such a short time. You weren't even sure if you would be able to last past the three-month mark. Maybe it was a mistake of some sort. To move with Dick so quickly. You don't know how you're supposed to decide so fast.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Dick grabs your wrist, causing you to stop with the wrapping. "You've wrapped four more layers than you usually do."

"Do you think we'll last past the three month mark?" You whisper, almost as if you were asking the wind and not him.

"Yeah." Dick hums, helping you rip the bandage. "It'll be fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He smiles. "I haven't lied to you before, love."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." He kisses you gently, body warmth grounding you. "I promise."

You tuck the rest of the bandages back into the first aid kit, and Dick pulls you into his lap, peppering kisses over your face and neck. It causes you to giggle, smile erupting on your face as butterflies had when you had fallen for him the first time. The worries melt away as Dick runs his hand up and down your back soothingly. You were lucky. The wait was worth it, you think. He was an angel.

"Let me know when to stop," He mumbles against your lips before going back to making out with you, kisses light on your skin.

You squirm in his lap, his hands holding your hips down, giving you just enough space so that you don't bruise. His tongue slips into your mouth at some point, your eyes going half-lidded, welcoming him with fervor. Dick's hands trace circles on your hip, hands snuck underneath your shirt to tug at your bra, unclasping it with his free hand, lips never leaving yours. Your hands reach down for his shirt, tugging at the fabric, fiddling with the fabric. Dick smiles against your lips, pulling away.

A strand of saliva breaks from your lips as he does. "Struggling, pretty girl?"

"Yeah." You huff, watching as Dick pulls it over his head.

"Pretty baby," He laughs. "Feel better?"

"Yeah," You mumble, leaning down to bite his clavicle. You suck on it gently as Dick traces a hand past your shorts down to your clit, drawing lazy circles on your clit, humming lowly, vibrations traveling straight to your core.

"Pretty girl..." He sighs as you let go of his collar with a pop, sliding a finger from your clit into your cunt, sighing slowly as he slides his finger in further, earning a whimper from your lips. "Feel good?"

"Mhm." You gasp. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, pretty girl." He whispers against your skin. "Want me to help you out?"

"Yes, please," You mumble. "Please, Dick."

"Anything for you, sweetheart." His hands speed up, thumb trying to brush circles on your clit as his index finger curls inside of you. You wonder if he's teasing or if he really doesn't remember where your g spot is — You choke on your own thought as he finds it. "There it is."

Your fingers reach for his chest, nails digging into his pecs as he continues curling his finger, adding another one inside of you. He hisses quietly as your nails dig deep enough to draw blood, a trail of red following the scratch as he continues with his fingers inside of you.

"Pretty girl, on the back please."

"Sorry," You move your hands to his back, yelping as he starts again. You clench on his fingers as he curls them once more, your orgasm ripping through your skin; the sweat wraps your body in a thin sheen of white, reflecting the dim lighting of the apartment. You curl into him, your whole body shaking from the orgasm, lips parted in a silent cry. You blink to try and catch your breath, coughing.

"Sweetheart?"

"I get why you've had so many exes now." You mumble.

"I like you the best." He mumbles, pressing a kiss to the corner of your eye.

"I bet you say that to all of them."

"Only to my favorites." He hums. "Just you."

You look at him doubtfully.

"I promise."

You close your eyes, head ringing. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

You move to get rid of your shorts as Dick slides his boxers off, straddling him and sinking down slowly. You stay there to adjust, and wait, mind wandering slowly as Dick starts bouncing you. You keep your voice to yourself, only small whimpers and light gasps slipping past your lips. Your eyes cloud over as your brain goes on autopilot. Dick notices quickly, stopping altogether when you don't seem to respond.

"Babe?"

You stare at him.

"What's wrong?"

"I'll be fine." You smile.

You count with fingers in your mind, from one hand to the next, then back to the original hand, changing so that one counts the fives and the other counts the other single digits, and then the tens and the single digits. You don't know why you're counting them, but it seems like a lot or too little — too little yet too much. Your mind spins gently, slowly, almost as if the thoughts were like murky water, pulling you down slowly, waiting for a moment to drown you wholeheartedly.

"Babe." Dick tries again, calloused fingers brushing over your hip. "Talk to me."

"I thought you were the one who sucked at communication." You blink back slowly, not registering your words. "You know?"

"I usually do, but I learn."

"I suppose you do." You stare at him. "I'm scared."

"Of us?"

"Yeah." You whisper. "It's in the back of my mind constantly. What if you return dead one day like you did to Barbara so many years ago?"

"I wasn't dead-"

"You were shot in the head." You whimper. "You." You go quiet, resting your head in the crook of his neck, closing your eyes. "I've done nothing with you."

"Pretty girl-"

"Your life as Nightwing was in Barb's hands." You start. "The two of you have done so much together. The news went insane when they found out you were engaged to her and set to marry her. I was so ready to see the news of a marriage, and then it seemed that you had just broken the engagement out of nowhere — and then I find out that you moved out of Blüdhaven and disappeared from the very city you poured your whole heart into and find you out here on the streets of New york? What — what kind of madness did I read in the morning newspaper, you, you left the city you fell in love with for the streets of New York?? Do you know how — how preposterous you sounded when you said that? It was as if I had been told that Batman was actually Bruce Wayne or something, it was so—"

"Babe." Dick whispers. "Babe."

"... insane of you to just do something — yeah?" You mumble. "Sorry. We're having sex and I'm—"

"I find it endearing," He laughs, resuming the circles on your hip. "But I'm with you now. Not with Babs." He smiles. "You. I moved here to New York after becoming Blüdhaven's billionaire savior because of you. I didn't move anywhere for any of my exes, right?"

You avoid his gaze, swallowing out of guilt.

"Don't feel bad for doubting me." He smiles. "I understand why."

"I guess that makes two trust issues havers in this relationship." You frown playfully.

"Well," He hums, standing up, switching positions to place you underneath him. "If you don't mind."

"God. I think I should get fucked silly. I hate my brain."

"Then what'll happen to all of my outfits?"

"Just find someone else." You grumble, kicking your legs over him. "I'm sure you can handle it."

"Really?" He thrusts into you sharply, causing you to gasp. "Really."

"Dick Grayson, just get on with it." You grumble.

You wonder sometimes where he had all the energy to patrol, work, and fuck you, but you suppose stamina training might've been part of the curriculum with Batman. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he pounds into you, mess of slick and cum following Dick's cock as he slides in and out of you, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. Dick pants into your ears, head spinning, drunk on the lust as he continues, fingers flying to your clit frantically, desperate to get you off. You're drunk off the same lust, hands moving to pull his lips to yours, mouth open and drool all over you two's chins.

It's messy.

You gasp and curl as you get closer, heels digging into the back of his thigh to try and have him deeper, his name slipping past your lips like a mantra, your mind melting into mush over him. Dick mumbles under his breath, marveling at how pretty you look with drool slipping down your chin and clouded eyes. You're gorgeous when you're reduced to a mess that can only gasp his name and pull at his hair. Crying lightly, you whimper about how you were close, spurring Dick to move impossibly faster. You cum with a clench of your walls and a cry caught in your throat, and Dick joins you, hips stuttering as he spills into you with a whimper.

Dick pulls out and collapses on top of you, a soft 'oof' slipping past your lips as he does.

"So... Gotham?"

"Give me two business days to recover from you."

"Yes babe."

The flight to the Wayne Manor is a little strange to you. You keep your apartment, and Dick ends his lease. You're told you get to fly back and forth whenever necessary, and you wonder if staying at the Wayne Manor and publicly getting involved with Dick was a great idea. Yet, you don't really care. You like sketching suit designs for the family in the Batcave. You also like going through the mess of Batman's closet and looking through every single design he has ever sported. Some of them were atrocious.

You turn to stare at the person enterring the Batcave.

"Pretty girl."

"Hey." You hum, leaning back to look at Dick.

"Drawing again?"

"I got bored and ended up here looking for inspiration."

"I figured." He sits next to you on the ground. "What are you drawing?"

"I was redrawing your original outfit as Nightwing," You smile. "The disco suit that you said reminded you of your parents."

"Does it look better now?"

"Slightly?" You raise a brow at the drawing. "There could be improvements."

"Like?"

"It's too flashy," You giggle. "I like my latter design better."

"What about the red one you hid in the back of the papers?"

"Oh, god, I'm embarassed about that one." You mumble. "But you did look good in it. Didn't it help you pull? I'm sure a good chunk of people were staring at your ass."

"You bet they were." He hums. "Didn't you like staring at me in it too?"

"Yeah. Your cape as Robin got in the way too often." You deadpan. "It had to be out there."

"It looked better out."

"Definitely."

"Do you want anything to eat or drink? Alfred's upstairs preparing dinner."

"Just call me when he's ready."

You sigh as Dick presses a kiss to your cheek.

"Sweetheart?"

"Yeah?"

"Love you."

"Love you too."

[genderqueerdykes]

We're appreciating these pro-endo posts as an endogenic, especially the fact you account for traumatized endogenics (we at least notice "usually" and other such words in a lot of posts, and were taught at a young age how to analyze shit because of being autistic) so like...thanks. :)

Hopefully y'all are okay, anti-endos are really showing their asses this time in your asks. And we hope everyone else realizes they have always been that bigoted.

hey of course, thanks for sending this ask!

yeah i don't know why people don't understand that endogenic systems can... also have trauma. like. endogenic doesn't mean 100% free from trauma. anyone can have trauma. trauma doesn't always manifest in the most extreme forms possible like dissociative disorders. like i cannot stress enough that dissociative disorders are a very specific kind of plurality, and should NOT be used as a metric to gauge whether or not someone's plural experience is legitimate or not. the diagnostic criteria for dissociative disorders is so painfully restrictive that a lot of people who probably do have a dissociative disorder don't get the diagnosis because it's so fucking specific

and again, i just want to stress that endogenic systems literally are not hurting anyone. you are not spitting in my face or talking over me as a system with DID. you are being respectful by using a term that suits your experience way better. like idk how that is offensive to people. endogenic systems developed a term to express a specific type of plurality. that's not trying to mock or ape on dissociative plurality. it's not an attempt to talk over dissociatives. it's creating an entirely new conversation that needs to be had

people getting upset about endogenic systems are creating mountains out of mole hills. it is quite literally a nothing burger of a problem. there IS no problem. nothing wrong is even happening. like i cannot overstate how fucking annoying it is when other dissociatives decide its time to get on their high horses and act as if they're suddenly experts on psychology and mental health. like it really pisses me off when other plurals with dissociative disorders decide the entire plural community is about them. the dissociative disorder communities are about plurals with dissociative disorders. specifically. you can still occupy spaces made for people with DID, OSDD and so on and leave endogenics alone and the world will keep turning. the sun will rise tomorrow regardless.

learn to mind your own goddamn business if you can't respect that other people experience the world differently than you do. maybe, just maybe, the dissociatives who are intentionally going out of their way to mock and harass endogenic systems are the fucking problem, here. you don't get to be a fucking bully just because you have trauma. you don't get to attack and hurt people who haven't hurt you just because you were abused. that's literally fucking perpetuating the cycle of abuse. if you think to yourself that because you are traumatized, that it's okay to take your anger out on people who have no trauma, you seriously need to reassess your life. what does that do for you? temporary catharsis? a rush of dopamine that lasts mere seconds? chasing the high of harassing strangers will not undo what was done to you in the past.

as a dissociative- i only understand what dissociative plurality is like. i do not understand other forms of plurality. and you know what? i don't find the fact that other types of plurality existing offensive to me. it's just not. i've been very close friends with so many endogenic, spiritual, natural, etc. systems out there over the years. i have never found it offensive for anyone to say "oh hey i'm plural too!" and then explain a different plural experience than the one i have. thats why the term plural even exists, because it encompasses a broad range of plural experiences, not just dissociative ones.

like, to the dissociatives who are pissed off that endos exist: literally stay in dissociative disorder-centric spaces and tags. they're right there. you HAVE a community that you can interact with who understand exactly what you're going through. if it offends you that you find a VARIETY of plural experiences in the general plural community- that community isn't for you. like seriously. if it offends you that deeply that other types of plurality exist- the general plural community is not for you. it's literally not made for you if you can't except that numerous types of plurality exist. you have spaces you can occupy that ARE made 100% for people just like you. you can quite literally stay in spaces made for dissociative plurals only. like. you can do that. that's an option. and you can stop bullying other people out of spaces that they rightfully belong in.

trauma is never excuse to be a fucking jackass. it's perpetuating the cycle of abuse. that's nothing to be proud of. break the cycle. stop abusing people just because you were abused.

[morlock-holmes]

A pointless, overly long, barely edited review of White Fragility

Well that book sucked.

The end I guess.

OK honestly the process of reading White Fragility was incredibly draining, I started out annoyed, then became amused and fascinated by Robin DiAngelo’s peculiar definition of “Individualism”, then got annoyed and angry again, then just… drained. It’s an exhausting book.

As I try to put my feelings out there I’m having trouble linking them together coherently but this book is just so exhausting that the idea of editing this and doing several passes is just draining to think about. So here are some scattered thoughts:

Before anything else, it’s just not well written or edited

White Fragility is very repetitive, ambling, and just kind of… not very well arranged in general. It’s clear that the book desperately needed a proper editor, or maybe it didn’t, since it became incredibly successful despite everything wrong with it. Here’s an example I’ve already mentioned. 

Towards the end of the first part of the book, DiAngelo puts together a list of a “common set of racial patterns” that are “the foundation of white fragility” and one of the bullets on that list reads,

“Wanting to jump over the hard, personal work and get to ‘solutions’”

Not once, anywhere in the preceding 111 pages or the succeeding 128 is the idea expanded on in any way whatsoever.

And it’s a truly baffling statement if you don’t expand on it. Why are solutions somehow opposed to “hard, personal work”? Is hard, personal work not part of a solution to some problem? If not why are we doing it?

The whole book has a similarly sloppy vibe; there’s very little factual information inside and what ideas there are are explained very badly.

A Christian apology for non-Christians

The more I read of White Fragility the more it seemed to me to have in common with badly written Christian apologia.

First off, modern, right-wing American Christian religious material often contains a sort of confusion that anybody could respond badly to the Gospels. After all, the good news of Jesus’ sacrifice and resurrection is both obviously factually true AND self-evidently good news, but somehow when you go out and preach the gospels, non-believers will often act with derision or anger.

And there is a certain kind of Christian who will respond to that anger, not by considering that there might be factual or moral objections to the gospel, but by essentially asking, “What kind of bizarre psychological condition would cause somebody to get angry about something that is obviously true and obviously good?”

This is an ongoing thread in DiAngelo’s writing, starting with the introduction,

“In the early days of my work as what was then termed a diversity trainer, I was taken aback by how angry and defensive so many white people became at the suggestion that they were connected to racism in any way…

“I couldn’t understand their resentment or disinterest in learning more about such a complex social dynamic as racism. These reactions were especially perplexing when there were few or no people of color in their workplace, and they had the opportunity to learn from my cofacilitators(sic) of color. I assumed that in these circumstances, an educational workshop on racism would be appreciated. After all, didn’t the lack of diversity indicate a problem or at least suggest some perspectives were missing?”

Well gosh, why wouldn’t these people be excited to hear about all the things they’ve been doing wrong? Truly a mystery.

Secondly, most of the arguments DiAngelo makes are made very sloppily, and are only really convincing if you have already been well-convinced. To demonstrate this I would essentially have to just quote the whole book to you, but for an example see the bit above about wanting to jump over hard personal work. You and I have spent too much time in the fever swamp, we can guess what she means from cultural context, but she never explains it.

Third, as others have pointed out white supremacy in this book takes on the qualities of sin in Christian theology. All of us white people, simply by virtue of growing up in a white supremacist society, are racist. This isn’t really proven so much as assumed. 

You might assume that in Christian circles the fact that everybody is a sinner might level out hierarchies. After all, the Pastor is as much a sinner as you are.

But in many cases there is this kind of passive-aggressive jiujitsu. Oh, sure, the pastor sinned, but why should we criticize him when all men are sinners? Aren’t you failing to practice the virtue of forgiveness? 

Oh, what’s that, you did something bad? Well that’s a different story. It sounds like you haven’t been really giving yourself over to God. Maybe we haven’t been doing enough to help stop you from sinning. You should talk to the pastor and really think about where you’ve been going wrong, and of course we would just be enabling you if we didn’t call you out publicly, it’s an opportunity for growth on your part, and of course if you disagree with how we think you should atone, that's just further evidence of your sinfulness.

Anyway, speaking of passive-aggression:

The Passive-Aggressive style in Woke Politics

Robin DiAngelo comes off as one of the most passive-aggressive people I have ever read. And also, ironically, one of the most clueless people I have ever seen when it comes to the most basic aspects of ordinary human psychology.

Here, have some examples:

“I am typically received well when speaking in general terms–for example, ‘Your requirement that applicants have an advanced degree rather than equivalent experience is automatically disqualifying some of the applicants that could bring the perspectives and experiences you say you are looking for.’ Yet when I point out a concrete moment in the room in which someone’s racism is manifesting itself, white fragility erupts.”

Oh, what, seriously? When you say, “We all need to try harder to improve at this” people agree, but when you go, “Especially you Greg” Greg somehow becomes defensive? Crazy!

“For example, in a conversation about racism, when white people say that they work in a diverse environment or that they have people of color in their family, they are giving me their evidence that they are not racist. If this is their evidence, how are they defining racism?”

I mean… Literally the same way you do? DiAngelo talks extensively about how white people don’t understand racism because we often have very few interracial friendships or relationships. Like a lot. Like it’s one of the major themes of the book and, in her mind, one of the major sources of white fragility.

I mean, imagine you are talking to someone, and you go, “See, here’s the thing that people who have never been to Cleveland don’t understand” they might respond with “Oh, actually I was born in Cleveland and spent the first twenty years of my life there” and their reasons for doing so are so incredibly obvious and natural that it’s kind of hard to even articulate them. Like… yeah of course if you tell a room that they don’t understand racism because of their shallow relationships with people of color, fucking of course the people who have deep relationships with people of color are going to bring it up!

“White people are receptive to my presentation as long as it remains abstract. The moment I name some racially problematic dynamic or action happening in the room in the moment–for example, ‘Sharon, may I give you some feedback? While I understand it wasn’t intentional, your response to Jason’s story invalidates his experience as a black man’--white fragility erupts. Sharon defensively explains that she was misunderstood and then angrily withdraws, while others run in to defend her by re-explaining ‘what she really meant.’”

Sharon, let me stop you right there. Can I just take a moment to completely ignore the substance of what you just said, while pointing out that you are objectively annoying to the people around you?

“When another police shooting of an unarmed black man occurred, my workplace called for an informal lunch gathering of people who wanted to connect and find support. Just before the gathering, a woman of color pulled me aside and told me she wanted to attend but she was ‘in no mood for white women’s tears today’ I assured her that I would handle it. As the meeting started, I told my fellow white participants that if they felt moved to tears, they should please leave the room. I would go with them for support, but I asked that they not cry in the mixed group. After the discussion, I spent the next hour explaining to a very outraged white woman why she was asked not to cry in the presence of people of color.”

Hi, thanks for coming to our meeting where we coworkers can support each other and connect. Before we start, I just want to tell Donna, Tammy, Jim and Bob that your coworkers don’t really want to support you too much, so if you need support please go somewhere else and get it from people other than your coworkers.

Look, I get it, that black lady finds the idea of comforting some distraught white woman in the aftermath of a black man being shot absurd. Maybe don’t handle that in the most ham-handed way imaginable though?

I want you to reimagine some of these scenarios as though they were addressing a less politically fraught issue than racism. In order to do that, we need something with the following qualities:

It is often unintentional;

The people who do it are often unaware that they are doing it;

It is genuinely difficult for others to live with and should probably be corrected because of that;

There is a social stigma to it so people feel embarrassed when called out for it.

I think having really bad body odor is the perfect analogue. But can you fucking imagine some of these if that’s what we were talking about?

Imagine somebody saying, “When I say that proper hygiene is important as a way to respect your fellow employees, I get broad agreement, but when I publicly point out that a particular person has bad BO and many of their coworkers have complained, instead of being grateful for the feedback, they often get angry or defensive”

That person would be a monster!

The dirty secret of Robin DiAngelo and her ilk is that as much as they talk about “systemic racism” they really think of racism primarily as an interpersonal problem.

Here’s another quote, “The dominant paradigm of racism as discrete, individual, intentional, and malicious acts makes it unlikely that whites will acknowledge any of our actions as racism.”

I mean… All the examples I just cited above involve DiAngelo calling out discrete, individual, intentional acts. I guess sometimes the discrete, individual, intentional acts are non-malicious.

That’s the kind of central hypocrisy and profoundly passive-aggressive style of this kind of discourse. You call out a specific person for a specific act in a very public way, and then, if they get defensive, you can talk about how sad it is that when you told them that the specific thing that they personally did was bad, they didn’t realize you were just talking about systemic racism and it’s awfully silly that they are getting so defensive when all you are talking about is systemic problems, not individual faults.

DiAngelo often talks about how whites need to be less sensitive because we are not in any danger, but, like, most of the concrete problems she addresses aren’t dangerous to black people either.

Which brings me to the last section,

What is the goddamned point of all this?

DiAngelo constantly talks about the absence of cross-racial relationships between blacks and whites, but never really addresses the question of why the hell a black person would want to be friends with a white person. Honestly it sounds like it sucks; we’re all racist. Frankly I don’t see what we bring to the table other than an endless parade of microaggressions and neuroses that could just be avoided altogether by sticking to making friends with your fellow minorities.

A couple of people responding to my blog have called the book racist against whites but that’s not quite right, there’s also this bizarre sort of… Apologizing for how much better off we are then everybody else. It’s taken as basically a given that black people all wish they had the position that we do, but we just don’t let them and they’ll never get it unless we shape up and learn to give it to them.

There’s a tremendous amount of guilt but it’s combined with a massive self-absorption. I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that for DiAngelo, the entire world revolves around whites and our conception of ourselves. And I mean that literally:

“...[W]hite supremacy is circulated globally. This powerful ideology promotes the idea of whiteness as the ideal of humanity well beyond the West…

“In his book The Racial Contract, Charles W. Mills argues that the racial contract is a tacit and sometimes explicit agreement among members of the peoples of Europe to assert, promote, and maintain the ideal of white supremacy in relation to all other people of the world. This agreement is an intentional and integral characteristic of the social contract, underwriting all other social contracts.”

Like… All of them? Like relations between China and the Democratic Republic of Congo are underwritten by the belief in white supremacy? White supremacy is in fact integral to the politcal relationship between those two countries?

One of the things I wondered when reading the book was why on earth DiAngelo gets paid so much money to consult. In her telling there are two forces, a white supremacist overclass dedicated to ignoring and minimizing evidence of systemic racism and a minority underclass which is nearly helpless in the face of white supremacy. Which of these groups is paying her five figure speaking fees?

Anyway to continue that quote, 

“Mills describes white supremacy as ‘the unnamed politcal system that has made the world what is is today.’”

I mean… I feel like it has a name. It’s named white supremacy. Robin DiAngelo wrote a best-selling book about it that people only bought because they already agree about it existing and being really, really important.

Hey, so, how does Tammy from HR crying about the police shooting a black teenager maintain a global white hegemony that undergirds literally all other social forces?

One thing, at least, that made me glad that I finished the book was seeing DiAngelo state overtly something that I feel has been implicit on much American thinking about race lately:

“When white people ask me what to do about racism and white fragility, the first thing I ask is, ‘What has enabled you to be a full, educated, professional adult and not know what to do about racism?’...”

Uh… You’re asking me how I graduated college without knowing how to upend a massive collusion between every nation in Europe that undergirds all of global politics and economics?

I mean I didn’t actually graduate, maybe “Overturning the entire global paradigm 101” was one of the classes I didn’t get around to.

“If we take that question seriously and map out all the ways we have come to not know what to do, we will have our guide before us. For example, if my answer is that I was not educated about racism, I know that I will have to get educated. If my answer is that I do not know people of color, I will need to build relationships. If it is because there are no people of color in my environment, I will need to get out of my comfort zone and change my environment, addressing racism is not without effort…”

Hey, yeah, but what about the part where I make minimum wage and probably can’t even overthrow Luxemburg, let alone all of Europe?

“Next, I say, ‘Do whatever it takes for you to internalize the above assumptions’ I believe that if we white people were truly coming from these assumptions, not only would our interpersonal relationships change, but so would our institutions. Our institutions would change because we would see to it that they would.”

This is exactly what I have been saying seems to be the dominant belief in America today. If we just teach Sharon from accounting to stop talking over her black co-workers, if Sharon internalizes exactly the right ideas about white supremacy from exactly the right corporate consultants, eventually, once we get our heads straight, there will be a kind of spontaneous eruption of will which will end racism forever.

From talking to more right-wing acquaintances I have come to the belief that many of them essentially agree with that premise. That racism sort of emerges as a kind of spontaneous emanation of wrong-think, and once we have used social pressure and the threat of being fired to get everybody to say the correct things about racism, racism will vanish.

And so the debate in America is no longer about policy; we don’t believe in a racial policy. The debate is about how we ought to talk about racism, with the parties disagreeing on what kind of talk will ultimately cause racism to disappear.

Do we solve police shootings by hiring a diversity consultant to tell the employees of our tech firm about white fragility, or should we hire a different consultant to teach them about color-blindness and treating people as equals?

[neoplatinum]

hold me tight - bts | kim dahyun

summary: maybe cupid could save us

pairing: dahyun x fem!reader

themes: angst, fluff, tension, use of flashbacks in italics, marriage counseling, reader insecurity, past physical violence (against original male character, not any member of twice), implied sex, some of twice!

wc: 7.2k

polished silverware, two table napkins, two sets of forks, and knives. a draped tablecloth, and the long wooden table stretching down the dining room. on two ends are two lost souls, once connected with bountiful joy and prosperity. now sat farther apart than the two ends of a colossal ship. barely stitched together by unspoken words and exhaustion.

"what time?" you dig into your steak, back and forth sliding it down the tender meat.

"2pm tomorrow. should i call your assistant?" dahyun digs at her roasted potatoes, a little sweet, just the way she likes it.

"no need, i'll be there." you counter, stabbing the slice of steak, digging into it. pushing the green peas a bit to the left, and sipping the wine. a delicacy truly.

"good." she says quietly, "pass me the pepper?" you look up, the bottle is in the middle.

the dmz line, you lean foward, grabbing a hold of the glass bottle, placing it into her hand.

"here."

"thank you."

the rest of the dinner is followed by the sounds of silverware, and only silverware.

--

dr. yoo jeongyeon, phd, lcpc

you stare at the plaque, gold serif lettering, bold face on top of a black rectangle, sitting directly in the middle of the edge of her desk. your loafers gently tapping the carpeted floor, in time with each tick of a second.

she looks confident, shoulders back and sinking into her leather chair. glasses perched on her nose, a montblanc in hand. eyes a little empty, but inviting, a little too inviting.

"thank you both for joining us today, first time?" dr. yoo starts, eyes taking a slow drift from dahyun to you.

dahyun's legs are tucked together, low heels and a brown suit. she leans forward at dr. yoo's question. "yes, first time."

a simple nod, and a scribble along her notepad. you tilt your head to the right.

"each session with me runs fifty minutes, no longer. if needed, it can be cut short." she says, placing some files away, shuffling paper away, and fixing her glasses. you both nod at the terms. "lovely, could i have you both introduce yourselves?" she continues, eyes back on you and dahyun.

you stare at dahyun.

"i'm dahyun, 26, a fashion designer and a wine enthusiast, lovely to meet you." dahyun stands up, offering a handshake. dr. yoo smiles lightly and shakes it.

"and you?"

"i'm dahyun's wife, 26, ceo and founder of future consultants llc, and a tennis enthusiast."

dr. yoo's eyes stare at you, but her pens moves quickly along the page.

dahyun stares at you, before looking back at her folded hands.

"thank you both, now could you both explain why you are here?" her eyes come back up, those glasses hanging so low is making you mad.

dahyun coughs into her hand.

"we need help." a little unsure, but a desperate plea. your foot stops tapping on the carpeted floor.

dr. yoo scribbles along a new line.

"and you?" the doctor stares at you. you sit up, fixing the buttons on your blazer.

"we're...not the same as we used to be." you say, pulling one leg over the other. dr. yoo nods at that, another line filled.

"alright, now, let me give you some insight on me. i'm dr. yoo jeongyeon, did my phd in human psychology, masters in counseling and bachelor's in neurology. and i'm a lcpc: licensed clinical professional counselor. you can say i'm a people enthusiast." she smiles lightly, dahyun laughs under her breath.

your foot goes back to tapping.

"let's get into it." she sets down the notepad. "could you tell me how you both met?"

--

"what's the maturity date for a treasury bond?"

"20 - 30 years, you seriously have to try harder, sam." you laugh, taking another sip of your beer. sam just grins and flips over a new flashcard.

"okay smarty pants, what are floating-rate notes?" sam taps the index card on the bar table. eyes a little playful, he always did like making you work for your reward.

"they're-"

"stop it ryan." behind you is the voice of a woman, her back hitting yours, nearly spilling your beer. you turn around, a man towering over her, hand on her wrist and his firm grip, stopping her. no matter how hard she tries to pull.

you signal sam.

"take your hand off her." you press down on his wrist, holding his arm in place. the woman stares at you and sam, bewildered eyes and still pulling against ryan's hold.

"fuck off." he spits in your face.

"yeah? let's see how your face looks after this pretty boy." you slam into his chest, him tumbling backwards, foot hitting the barstool and a loud thud hitting the floor. you spot the submariner on his wrist shining under the bar light, fuck.

sam's at the ready, hand on a switchblade, you signal him back, not him.

the woman gasps, hand immediately shooting her sore wrists, shit it looks bad. ryan's still on the group, and then he shoots up. hands at the ready to land a punch, weak form though. you sidestep him, letting him fall forward.

"daddy can't pay to fix your crooked nose?" you smirk at him, taunting him to do anything. his eyes ablaze as he tries again. what a foolish boy.

you let him try and land a left hook, before you start punching his jaw, one good liver punch and he topples over. damn, your jaw hurts too, men like him throw too much of their power into their punches.

"fuck, sam." you groan to your friend, hand trying to pop your jaw back into place. you do, letting out a low shout, before getting your stuff.

stay too long and then he'll call the cops, the last thing you need is another fine print on your academic file. you stumble forward, feeling blood dripping down the side of your head, cheeky bastard, he had rings on.

you barely manage to push the bar door, string of curses falling out of your lip, the cold air immediately frosting your breath. damn it all, and you left your beer half finished.

"excuse me!" the woman's voice carries from the door, and you can see her, urgently trying to get to you. "thank you so much back there."

she's trying to offer you some napkins from her clutch, all you can do it hope that liver punch suckered him to stay on the ground long enough for you to dissapear.

"you have anyone safe?"

"safe?"

you gesture a bit. "like a friend maybe? did you come alone?"

you lean to the side trying to get a glimpse of pretty boy, but he's no where in sight. a good thing. you can see sam though, shoving bills at the bartender, and grabbing jackets.

"no friends, i came with him." her hand goes back to her bruised wrist, yeah that looks awful. you're very glad you stepped in.

"listen, i need to leave now. i would love to do the whole 'thank you, you're welcome' pleasantries, but I don't know how long he'll stay down before he calls the cops."

you explain, seeing sam opening the bar door, urgent eyes calling for you to disappear into the night.

"could you take me home, i really have no other way to get back." you stare into the bar, oh pretty boy's up, shouting at a bartender. you need to exit NOW.

"okay, let's go. i know you're wearing heels, but keep up." you offer a hand, and disappear into the back alleyway. by the time you just turn around the corner at the end, you can hear the distant voice outside the bar.

you're finally in sam's beater car, an old hand-me-down from his grandma, with the girl from the bar in the backseat.

she keeps watching you from the mirror.

"where do you live?" you pull out of the back lot, she's still soothing her bruised wrist.

"eleanor court, upper east side." damn shit, of course she's rich too, loaded with daddy's money just like that dude you suckered punched. how you always manage being at the hands of rich people, you hope to find out soon, because this sucks.

the drive's pretty silent, sam's got his old 80s mixtapes playing from the car radio. and he's humming along as he taps on his passenger door, you're glad that at least one of you has a car.

"woah..." sam brings you out of your thinking. woah is correct, even sam can see it.

colonial style homes the size of manors down the perfectly paved roads. long outdoor lamp lights lining the street. lush bushes and trees lining the sides of the house. not a single police car in sight, you can even see fountains spouting water from a statue.

what a bunch of crap.

"dude, she's asleep." sam taps your shoulder, you quickly put his car in park. looking at her from the rear view, damn she is asleep, jacket covering her torso but her head leaning against the window.

damn, damn, damn.

one wrong HOA member being curious, and you can easily be thrown in jail for the rest of your life. you open your door, rushing to the backseat. opening the door, and placing your hand against her head to keep her body from falling out of the car.

"miss, we're home." she just curls into your hand. "sam, help me hold her up." he nods, using his bodyweight as a rest for the girl's body. you begin searching through her clutch, hopefully she has an id inside.

"kim dahyun.....501 eleanor court." you shove the id back into her clutch. "sam move." you grab a hold of her body, picking her body up. wrapping the jacket and clutch over top of her.

"stay in the car. i'll bring her in." you began walking down the eerily quiet neighborhood, goodness rich people are so pretentious. you struggle to open the gate. then you hear a low mechanic voice.

"hello, who are you?"

"hi, i'm just here to drop off a kim dahyun. she had an issue with some guy at the bar, and she needed someone to take her home." you speak into it, a clicking noise and then the metal box goes silent.

the large metal gates open, you step in, walking up to the front porch, pillars lining the wide entrance.

goodness, you need to get out of this neighborhood. the large wooden door opens and you see two people, a suited man and a maid. of course.

"miss dahyun?" the maid begans fussing over her, hand on her cheek, "oh my!" a loud gasp at the bruised wrist. you drop her into the leather couch.

"what happened?" the butler asks you, offering a towel at your dried blood.

you try your best to keep yourself from dirtying the house, both of them keep staring at you though.

"uh, some guy at the bar, ryan. he kept bruising her wrist, so i had to step in." you point at your head. the butler nods, and the maid begins inspecting the bruise.

"i told miss dahyun to stop seeing him." the butler explains, placing the jacket to cover her.

you nod, so this wasn't even the first time. the maid returns with soothing cream, applying the ointment over her bruised wrists. you stand idly by the couch, a little confused with what to do here.

you stare at dahyun's face, she's rather pretty is what you land on, before the man's voice brings you out of your focus.

"let me offer you a new shirt." you look down, and it does look like you just got into the ring with rocky, blood-dried splotches all over. the butler disappears before you can even say no.

with a folded new shirt, linen and italian, goodness these people have too much money, you shuffle into a bathroom.

changing into it quickly, eyeing all the towels and expensive soaps on the counter. you fix yourself up and exit, seeing the butler and maid still crowding around the girl.

"i, i really should leave. i'm sorry." the butler and maid are still trying to get you to stay, to offer some reward, but really all you want to do is leave this hellscape. unfamiliar faces, with unfamiliar mannerisms, its all too much.

--

"she saved me from a sleazy guy at a bar." dr. yoo jots it down.

"and you?"

"i, i guess i did?"

"you guess?"

"i, yes, i saved her from the sleazy guy." dr. yoo nods.

the ticking sound comes back clearer in your ear. the repetitive ticking feels like tumbling down a hill, imminent and quick swift death.

"let's move on then, how did you two start dating?"

"dahyun was insistent on paying me back for the bar, kept telling me she needed to." you offer.

dr. yoo nods, another scribble along the notepad. then she pulled the file from her desk, and two separate questionnaires werefilled out.

"and it says here, you both attended the same university." ever since dahyun found out you two attended the same university, she began urging you for dinner.

you tried very hard to say no, but in the quad, down the main academic path. she just kept finding you, like a needle in a haystick, she always managed to pick you out from the hundreds of students.

if she wasn't so nice about it, you might have considered it creepy.

"yes, brown." you nod.

"lovely school, my friend's alma mater." dr. yoo comments and lifts her head once more from the notepad.

"how's your sex life?"

you see dahyun's feet uncross and cross again. while you start tapping your foot again.

"we haven't done it," dahyun begins, "in a long while."

dr. yoo nods, and turns to you. "how does that make you feel?"

"i'm not sure."

dr. yoo nods again, dahyun's feet uncross and cross again. the clock's still ticking on the wall.

you are sure it's non-judgmental, it just makes you aggravated, like you're being lectured on how to love.

dahyun can't remember the last time you two have cherished each other. dinner's filled with delicious food, to cover the absence of enticing conversation.

being married to the point of small talk, has drained you both more than you wanted to admit.

"this is still the first session, so let's start with simple exercises. try and vocalize your appreciation for each other. this can be as simple as: i appreciate you doing the dishes today. remember, speaking the unspoken words can change your relationship for the better." dr. yoo stands up, offering you both a handshake and walking you both out her office.

--

"i have to get back to work." you comment, letting dahyun walk in front of you. she nods at that, you both are busy people, even though it's important to try and fix your breaking relationship, you both have jobs to do.

"i'll see you for dinner?" she says as you open her car door, holding a hand over her head as she sits.

"yes, dinner." she nods at you, wanting you to say more. you want to as well, a little unsure.

"thank you, for being here today." she starts, staring up into you, you smile lightly back at her, dahyun's still got that warm eye smile that makes your heart burst.

"you as well dahyun." you lean your head down a bit, "charlie, get her to her office safely." he nods from the rear view. and with that you close her door. watching the car roll away from the sidewalk.

it's weird to have to see a professional for marriage counseling, but in your heart, you do want to fix things with dahyun.

sweet dahyun who is always so concerned with everyone's wellbeing; often neglecting her own. the rest of the afternoon, you try and focus on work, feeling downright awful about how your relationship has disintegrated.

--

"dahyun? i'm home." you enter the brownstone, a little more excited to be home. she's in the kitchen, an adorable brown bear apron over top.

"hey, i'm making pasta tonight." she's smiling.

"need help?"

"no, i should be good. could you set the table?" you leave the kitchen, entering the wine pantry, grabbing one that you know she loves. as well as two glasses, a gift from her parents.

dahyun's walking out with bowls of pasta, surprised to see the bottle in hand.

you begin pouring them into the two glasses, passing one to her, she thanks you quietly, placing down the bowls, and returning to the kitchen. you follow after her, grabbing knives and forks and napkins.

she's busy with another dish, and you hum to yourself, cleaning the silverware while waiting for her.

"damn it. fuck fuck fuck." dahyun's hand jerks back against the pot, her hand instantly going to hold it. you drop the silverware in the sink, quick strides towards her. she burned herself with the pot.

"dahyun, let me see." there are tears in her eyes, and she's shaking her head, she's always been so dismissive of her own pain. you take her hand gently, looking at it. it's definitely bad, red skin over top, hot to the touch. "let's run it under cold water, okay?"

she nods, even though there's tears in her eyes, and all she wants to do is just shrink into herself.

you run the water cold, feeling for it before letting it run over her burned finger. the tears in her eyes are still there, threatening to spill out.

then dahyun cries out. "i'm so stupid, i can't even cook a simple dinner." her tears are falling, much like the water over the hurt finger. like letting the pain rain out from her heart.

"oh dahyun, no you aren't stupid, you never were." you hug her tightly, letting her head fall to your shoulders, quietly crying against your shirt. she cries even harder at that, an anguish cry out for help,

you feel your own tears spring up. how you hate seeing dahyun cry.

"how is it?" you ask, pulling her away, looking at the finger under the water. it's less red, still there but it looks better.

"hurts." she pouts.

"let me go grab some ointment, stay here okay?" you leave, turning down the hallway to the bathroom, rummaging through the medicine cabinet for ointment cream to sooth the pain.

you return quickly, gently dabbing the cream over her finger with a q-tip. letting out a low hiss, and you apologize quickly, letting her relax a bit before continuing to spread it around.

"okay?" you step back, throwing away the q-tip.

"it's good, thank you." then she slips away to finish dinner. you stand by letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding, with every bit of your heart, you hope that dahyun wants to work this out as much as you do.

--

"hello, come on in." dr. yoo's now a familiar face, always a warm if not stoic face. never showing signs of disinterest or much of an opinion, you begin to wonder what it takes to be a professional therapist.

"thank you." you let dahyun ahead of you, her sitting in the left armchair, while you sit on the right. fixing your blazer as you sit with one leg over the other. eyes watching dr. yoo in anticipation.

"how are you both doing?" she starts, that same montblanc in hand, a new shirt, dark blue and glasses hanging on her nose.

dahyun looks to you.

"we're doing okay." you offer, a little smile on your face.

"and you?" dr. yoo turns her head towards dahyun.

"we're doing better." dahyun fiddles with the band-aid over her finger. your eyes linger on it, a reminder of the small act of affection.

"lovely, last time you both mentioned that sexual intimacy had not happened in some time. has that changed since our last session?"

dahyun coughs into her hand, sinking into her armchair. you look away from her.

"no, it hasn't changed." dahyun speaks softly, like she's confessing a sin. you fold your hands over each other.

dr. yoo nods, another line written.

"how is work-life balance for you two?" dr. yoo stares into you, you sit up again.

"it's fine, the normal 9-6pm work day." dr. yoo jots that down. the clock continues to tick in your ears.

"what about you?" dahyun stares at the floor.

"it's okay, usually after work i'll unwind with some wine or television series." dahyun's always been so absorbed with her dramas, often asking you to join her to watch them. you often decline with the pre-tense of overflowing work from the day.

"ah yes, you mentioned you are a wine enthusiast." dahyun nods, wine has always been something she indulged in, you don't share the same love for the drink. finding it all a bit too much for yourself.

"could you tell me how that started?" your eyes go wide a bit, you never bothered to ask dahyun that, just assuming she's always enjoyed it.

"my late father used to own a winery, when i was able to start drinking he started training me as a sommelier." you knew of mr. kim's obsession with wine.

multiple wine cellars across his basement, walls lined with rows of wooden aisles, each row lined with bottles filling the basement. often times you snuck into the basement with dahyun sharing kisses and giggles away from the prying eyes of her parents.

"sorry to hear that mrs. kim, that's lovely to hear that you still has a passion for wine." dr. yoo continues, letting the words fly across the notepad. you uncross and cross the other leg over.

"and you mentioned you were a tennis enthusiast, how did that start?" dr. yoo's eyes are still on the notepad, pen quickly running across the page. you lean forward a bit.

"my friend sam, used to sneak us into the tennis bubble after work, when all the people left the country club. and we would play for hours." dr. yoo nods, more lines filling across the page.

"you never told me it was because of sam, you said it was just a hobby you had." dahyun comments, eyes on you, a little suprised at the conversation.

"i couldn't afford tennis equipment, too expensive." you explain.

dr. yoo continues to write as you and dahyun talk.

"but all those times you came to the country club, you offered to pay for the tab." dahyun leans into you a bit, you let your eyes wander over the name plaque on dr. yoo's desk.

"had to work overtime to pay it off." dahyun sinks back into her chair.

"and dahyun, you seem suprised, how does this make you feel?"

she looks back at her hands.

"i feel awful, i didn't know it costed that much for you." you return your gaze to her, watching the anguish in her eyes.

you wish you didn't feel ashamed about your financial situation, but every second spent with the kims was another jab at your own social status.

"i'm sorry dahyun, i kept it from you because i didn't want you to treat me differently." you shrink a bit, pulling the blazer a bit tighter. eyes falling to the floor naturally.

"and i'm sorry too, for never noticing." dahyun speaks it softly, you barely register the words.

you just nod, letting her hand hold yours. you can't bring yourself to look at her, too ashamed that you feel like you have to hide yourself from the woman you devoted your life to.

you begin to think about the early days of dating dahyun, days filled with anticipation of seeing her. constantly checking your account for how much you could expend on your paycheck, often stretching it for a simple date.

often on the weekends, the kim's visited the country club, the managers all fussing over them, pampering them with free items, as if the rich needed more free item, it used to make you angry.

but never dahyun, a sweet girl built upon integrity and honesty, always offering to pay. treating you with respect that most members of the country would never do, them often throwing towels or other trash at you to pick up. and with gritted teeth, you always do, remembering you needed this job.

"so you both met often at the country club?" dr. yoo cuts into your thinking, pulling you out of your memories. one's that are filled with happiness and anger, all in the same bunch. anger at the rich, but happiness at seeing that beautiful smile in person.

"yes, i worked there, and dahyun's family were well known members there." you explain, squeezing dahyun's hand in yours.

--

"2 o'clock, the kims." your head snaps up from the tennis magazine you're reading. and there you can see your supervisor and your supervisor's supervisor crowding around the kim's.

especially dahyun's mother, she was always more prone to fawning at the attention that the staff would shower them in.

"stand up!" you read from your supervisor's mouth, then he goes back to smiling fakely at the kim's probably hoping to pick at their pockets later when they're far too tipsy from all the champagne they bathe in.

"one day i'm going to strangle him." you side whisper to sam as you both bow at the family.

"not if i get to him first." sam side whispers back, smiling at the kim's. continue to bow at them as they walk across the lobby to the courts. squeaky new tennis shoes on the marble floor.

"hey! you work here!" that familiar voice., you've been trying to avoid her since she found you in the quads hanging out with sam. insistently trying to get you to let her pay you back for the bar.

"hi miss, glad to see you are doing better." sam walks away, citing a need for a bathroom break, but you know better with the way he playfully walks away.

"you still haven't said yes to letting me pay you back."

"because you don't have to pay me back, i just did a nice deed."

"and you should be rewarded." you just sink back into your stool. letting her lean over the desk. "well as kim dahyun, a prized patron here, i order you to follow me to the courts."

"the courts?"

"yes, i want to play." you stand up, heading into the back to get that signature tennis racket that she loves so much, specific engraving of her name etched on the neck of the racket. "grab another one!" she shouts from the desk. you grab a generic one, one that still costed way more than a month's paycheck. placing both racquets under your arm.

"here's what we're going to do, three games, if i win three, i get to pay you back for the bar, dinner on me.

"miss dahyun, that really isn't neccessary."

"it's my wish, and you can't deny a patron's wish here."

so you get beaten, pretty badly, 0 - 3. with you sweating and falling on your back, breathing heavy as dahyun grins from the other side of the court. letting out a loud laugh.

"dinner on me, i'll drag you there myself if i have to!" dahyun's still bouncing a tennis ball with her racket while you recover your breath, all you can do is lift an arm to give her a thumbs up.

--

"well i am afraid our time is up for today, please schedule a session again soon." dr. yoo offers a light smile, and walks you both out of the door. letting the heavy door close behind you. you look at dahyun, she hasn't looked at you since the confession.

you walk her to her car, "dahyun, i really am sorry for hiding it from you. i just didn't want money to affect us."

she stares at your blazer, it's buttoned, the same button she stitched on a couple weeks ago.

"but it does, doesn't it?"

"money?" you stop to think about it, as much as you tried to let it not be a determining factor in your relationship with dahyun.

it really does bleed into your relationship, leaving you paralyzed with fear that she'll leave you.

when you first met the kim's for an official dinner introduced as dahyun's girlfriend, you spent hours with sam trying to find a decent hand-me-down outfit for the dinner.

they were not impressed to say the very least, you had no proper dinner manners. confused your soup spoon with the dessert spoon. nearly knocking wine onto mr. kim.

"i think it did, for a very long time." you open the door for dahyun, letting her in, hand covering her head as she sits inside. you walk over to the driver's side, sitting inside. "i wanted to prove myself to your family, but mostly to you."

"you didn't need to prove anything to me." she says, hands gently grabbing yours. you feel your heart sink a bit.

"it sucked, seeing all your friends get gifted lavish trips and designer bags, while all i could afford to do was cook you homemade dinners." you explain, thinking back your university days, meeting dahyun's friend.

"but that's what they didn't have." she counters. "all the homemade gifts, it was just gifts with enough value to hold each other over."

you really did try your best, with limited budget and often asking for favors. you did your best to offer the best anniversary, valentine's, and birthday gifts.

all of which were intended to express your love for her, spending hours decorating homemade cakes, learning how to cook dinners for two. renting cars to go on road trip, all of which you happily experienced with dahyun.

"i wanted to be someone you could confidently show off to your friends." you think back to dahyun's birthday parties.

open bars, waiters and a massive table filled with gifts for her. all you could do was stare in wonder at the exuberant gifts, all the while you would shrink into yourself, trying to hide your embarrassment watching her open your gifts.

"do you? did you...resent me for it? having money i mean." dahyun drops the question you've been trying so hard to ignore. it's been plaguing your mind lately, how you think about how hard you tried, giving your all into your work for an ounce of validation from the kim's.

validation that you never seem to get.

"no, never. never you, you were the only person i didn't resent." you smile at her, genuinely, and she smiles back. you're glad you met her, even if the circumstances have made your life complicated.

"for the record, i was always confident in showing you off, because i knew who you were in your heart." you give her hand a squeeze as you drive home.

--

"another hour please, i'll pay triple." you say, staring at dr. yoo.

"i'm sorry mrs. kim, but i have another appointment." she stands up, trying to walk you out of the room, and when the door opens, there stands two woman on the other side.

"sorry for the delay, mrs. and mrs. park."

"no worries, dr. yoo, sana and i don't mind." the two woman nod at you, before sitting in the same chairs that you and dahyun were sitting just seconds ago.

"i'm sorry mrs. kim, but really, we don't have more time today, schedule another appointment soon." and dr. yoo closes her heavy wooden door.

you nod solemnly, "dr. yoo, i'm sorry for my behavior." you explain, a bit embarrassed now.

"no need, i understand. go check up on mrs. kim." she just nods and gives your shoulder a pat, closing the door again.

now you stand in the office lobby, with a crying dahyun in a chair.

you sink to your knees, eyes staring up at her. her hair like curtains to her face, concealing the quiet sniffles and sobs that she's letting out.

"dahyun, darling?"

the tears keep falling, staining her dress pants, you hold her shaky hands. as she speaks to you, holding her breath here and there to control her emotions. "you never told me."

"i know, i didn't want to burden you." rubbing at her hands to sooth the pain in her heart.

"but isn't that what we're here for, to shoulder each other's burdens." she cries louder, a couple in the office look over, but you don't care right now. you brush the tears away.

"we are, i just, i didn't know how to tell you."

"but he, he did all that to you, and you didn't tell me. he's my own father."

"i know, i am sorry."

"let's go home please, i want to talk at home." you nod, letting her walk to the car, following her footsteps closely.

--

dr. yoo welcomes you both into her office, getting familiar with the diptyque roses candle burning lowly on the desk.

"mrs. and mrs. kim, please have a seat." dahyun smiles as she sits down, a new pair of glasses hanging on her nose.

"new glasses?" you ask.

dr. yoo smiles at that, pushing up the glasses. "yes, new! just got them yesterday. you smile, dr. yoo has become a familiar and friendly face with you and dahyun. almost like she's a friend, almost.

"shall we get started?" she looks up at you two, that same notepad in hand and the montblanc.

you both nod in sync.

"so, how have you both been?"

"good." dahyun smiles a bit, letting her arm lay along the armchair, eyes brighter than usual. you smile at that.

"and you?"

"we're doing better, i'm happier." dr. yoo write it along a new line, a light smile on her face.

"that's lovely to hear, could you explain why?" dr. yoo picks her head up, watching you explain how life has been. there's been a shift at home, dahyun and you having more time to go on dates instead of tensed dinners filled with the sounds of silverware.

"we spend more time together, having lunch together, and dinner's have become fun to cook together." dr. yoo nods at that, more words written along the notepad, you share a warm gaze at dahyun. her eyes smiling in that way you love so much.

"i haven't asked this before, but how are the in-laws?"

you immediately frown, thinking about the pretentious man that was dahyun's father. a dicator in the family, ruling with an iron fist and often giving you trouble for growing up "different." as he so nicely put it.

you often remember dinner's with the kims filled with biting your tongue and just letting snide comments go by, even dahyun's mother had no say whenever he made uncomfortable jokes.

"i don't think dahyun's parents liked me much, especially her father." you sit back, continuing your thoughts about the demanding man.

"could you expand on that?"

"i didn't grow up rich, which was the biggest thing he disliked, he didn't think i was a good fit for dahyun." you explain, often remembering the side comments that her father would make when dahyun couldn't hear.

"and did you know about this?" dr. yoo turns to dahyun.

"yes. he was adamant about me breaking up with her but i never did." that you didn't know. you always assumed that it was just sly comments towards you, but never did mr. kim outward display his disdain towards you to dahyun.

you button up your jacket. dr. yoo continues to write across her page, leaving you both to sit and think about dahyun's words.

"understood, do you think dahyun's parents affected your relationship with dahyun?" you think about the question, how loaded it all is, you cannot even begin to explain how suffocating being around him was.

family dinners spent trying to escape into the bathroom so he would stop pestering you about your business ventures, or the capital that you had under your belt. you just shudder whenever it becomes holiday seasons.

fearful of the power that mr. kim had over you, one of his last wishes before he passed away was upending his entire gambling debt onto you.

it had become a hold over you, that he would only support the love that you had for dahyun if you were able to help pay off his debt. it became a huge burden on your shoulders, conjuring up a plan to reach financial freedom and success without hindering dahyun's future.

one that you wanted to support from day one, pushing her towards her goal of becoming a fashion designer, every day you suffered at the hands of her father, letting his debt take over your life, all to prove your devotion to dahyun.

and it hurt, to shoulder this weight alone, you always had shouldered the weight of the world on your shoulders to begin with.

"yes, unfortunately. dahyun's father, he. he told me that by taking on his gambling debt before he died, that he would allow me to marry dahyun." you explain, feeling your shoulders release tension.

dr. yoo continues to write fervently, eyes on the page, but a slight nod here and there. you can feel dahyun's gaze on your face, one in disbelief and utter shock. you turn to look at her, meeting her blank eyes.

more than anything, you beg for dahyun to understand, to really understand where you are coming from. a whole life you lived having to make opportunities for yourself, little to no support from others. fighting tooth and nail just to prove that you are worth it. that you are deserving of success and love.

"were you aware she took on your father's debt?" dr. yoo looks to dahyun, not missing a beat or letting any inflection slip in her tone.

"i wasn't. i wasn't even aware he had debt to begin with. what? sorry. um, what? no sorry, how much?" dahyun turns to you, trying to understand all the information that has just been dumped onto her.

"50 million." you sigh, just thinking about the figures. spending late nights calculating interest, and ways to even pay off the large sum of money.

"50? million?" dahyun stands up suddenly, you stand up too. watching her bewildered eyes scan across the room, trying to control her breathing, watching the clock, watching the blue in the reds in the carpet. holding herself as she walks out of the room.

you stare at the open door, the sight of dahyun turning and sinking into a chair.

dr. yoo stands up.

"mrs. kim, perhaps we should end this session here today. dahyun seems to be shutting down."

--

you and dahyun are standing on both ends of the table, her eyes filled with tears as she glares at you.

"you don't think i recognize money-obsessed? you think i can't recognize my father turning you into him? that's all i can see! our marriage is falling apart and you have become my father and i've become my own mother!"

"dahyun, please, all i wanted was to marry you, he forced his hand, i didn't know what else to do." you can feel yourself shaking a bit, your heart racing as you both stand on opposite ends of the room.

"you should have told me." dahyun arms are crossed as she stares you down.

"i didn't want to tarnish the image of your father. i just wanted to love you, and if that was the final condition to marry you, i would do it.." you throw your arms around, frustrated with all this confrontation.

"his gambling debt costed us years of our marriage, can't you see? all this time you wanted to prove yourself to him, he just used you to fix his own problems." dahyun uncrosses her arms, voice reverberating around the large dining room.

"i thought, i thought it would, make him okay with me." your hands drop to your face as you cry into your hands. dahyun stops and walks over to you, wrapping her arms around you, holding you tightly.

"oh darling, i wish you didn't care so much for him opinion." she softly rubs your hair, rubbing circles into the back of your chest as you cry freely. for the first time in a long time, you feel the exhaustion, sadness, yearning all come crashing through your body.

"i wish i didn't too." through long cries in between you finally vocalize it.

"but you love me? isn't that why you did all this?" she questions, a thought thats been plaguing her mind. do you still love her? do you still have the same passion for her you once declared openly to the world? do you still mean each vow you said to her as your hands held hers?

"i do, more than anything else in the world, i love you. my words can only show so much of it." you lift your head up, wiping her tears as she wipes yours.

a small smile on her lips, it's all so stupid.

"show me." she stops crying for a bit, eyes glimmering with hope. she stares at you, in that way you love so much.

"show you?" you try and stop the tears, getting a clearer view of her face.

"show me how much you love me." she says crashing her lips into yours, pulling you forward, your feet nearly stumbling as you wrap your arms around her waist. "show me."

she whispers against your lips, like a spell, you nod and grab a hold of her, rushing you both into your bedroom. you try and show her, that the passion you have for her has always been there, and always will.

--

"mrs and mrs. kim!" dr. yoo invites you in, a warm light shining into the room. you both get seated, while dahyun lets go of your hand.

"i know last time, we had a bit of an outburst, how has that been?" dr. yoo stares at you both, notepad in hand.

"we resolved it." dahyun says confidently.

"resolved it?" she stares at dahyun. dahyun just nods.

"and you? what do you think?"

"we resolved it." you nod back, smiling at dahyun.

"alright, that's lovely to hear. so to follow up, how is sexual intimacy going?" dr. yoo notes the light blush on your faces, unwilling to look at her or even each other.

"it's, it's um, it's good." dahyun starts and coughs a bit, shuffling her feet.

"and you?"

"it's good. very good." you reply, and dahyun slaps your arm, trying to get you to shut up. "oh i see." dr. yoo writes along a new line of her notepad. eyes reviewing her notes so far, comparing previous sessions with this one.

"is there more we should discuss?" dr. yoo comments, eyes lifting off the page again, a light smile upon her face.

"no, i don't think so." dahyun nods at your words, you smile at her. and she shares that same eye smile that you love so much right back.

"right then, well, these sessions are on a as-needed basis. so let me say this in the nicest way possible. i hope we never have to meet in this room again. although my door is always open." dr. yoo gives you both a wink as she ushers you both outside. you wrap your arm around dahyun's shoulder, a little smile on your face.

you hold onto dahyun just a little tighter.

--

a/n: genuinely had so much trouble with this fic, but it has come to fruition so i'm happy regardless! had to do research on marriage counseling and i hope it is obvious but this is fictional and i am not a licensed therapist so there will be inaccuracies. also shoutout to @cry4mina who listened to me word vomit my troubles with this fic <3 please listen to the song as well as look up the meaning of the song!! stay safe and stay healthy everyone!!