#she needs some outbursts before she explode from all the trauma

[tifa-simp]

Not only do I need Tifa to slap the living shit out of Scarlet in part 3, but I need her to slap several more people. Namely, the Turks and Sephiroth.

And I'm talking about bitch slap with no comeback, they'll just have to shut up and take it from Tifa.

Or even better, let Tifa and Yuffie jump Scarlet "The Boys" style.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Some more rambling thoughts on Celestia and the royal ponies:

Unlike Celestia, Luna is (By the standards of the divine) relatively neurotypical , she was just out of date but adapted quickly and easily. Her habit of dream walking means she might have some other stuff going on.

But in these regards, her trying to very much be like Celestia 1000 years ago may have contributed a bit to her fall in that she avoided expressing any of her negative feelings until they built up and exploded.

One thing Luna struggles to realize is that just as trying to be like Celestia was hard for her. Being Celestia is hard for her too, but before she realizes that it just feeds her inferiority complex & isolates Celestia.

In these regards as well, Celestia being written as autistic hits on a lot of familiar feels and no shortage of angst. Because imagine the way you love best being insufficient, or even considered 'wrong'?

Imagine walking on Fabergé egg shells for eternity, all too aware of the layers of barrier and social convention isolating you from others but unable to breech them.

We see how uncomfortable she is with a lot of how ponies treat her, but she's unable to come out and say it, there's no protocol for that and she knows how impactful her approval or disapproval is.

So she's stuck in this position that embodies reverence is the farthest thing from understanding. Not surprised she started resorting to orchestrating minor drama behind the scenes so she can have an excuse to break protocol.

In these regards her dynamic with Cadence can be fun to explore as well, cos Cadence in some ways knows her better than even Luna!

After all, Cadence is innately magically empathic, she can't avoid feeling these sides of Celestia the way Luna could avoid her dreams.

This means she is probably one of it not the most aware of the isolated existence Celestia leads, along with how she both loves so deeply but has a mind of wheels and gears that plays into how she presents herself and engages with any kind of problem she meets.

I recall toying with an AU where in this regard Cadence straddled this awkward line between both supporting Celestia's plans and trying to thread the needle to ensure they didn't accidentally (And with the best intentions) go poorly out of a misunderstanding.

IE, I vaguely recall a scene where after Twilight got the letter sending her to Ponyville Cadence showed up at her tower.

She then had to trot this very fine line of validating Twilight's concerns, and not fucking up Celestia's plan.

Celestia was also entirely aware she was doing this and was open with her at least in private that she trusted Cadence on this stuff.

But I digress, that's where I got the wheels and gears line from as Cadence was trying to contextualize Celestia's orders for Twilight in a way she'd not take them the wrong way and also hint that Celestia had plans for Nightmare Moon.

Wish I could remember the exact exchange or where the hell I was going with this, sorry, I have lots of Celestia thoughts XD

Yeah like!

tbh I kinda write them as both kinda autistic in a way but Celestia is the 'detached one who can mask as 'normal' most of the time' while Luna is the 'over-emotional and prone to outbursts when she tries to play 'normal' too long' type.

With Luna it's a lot. In her role as Dreamwalker, she knows that you need to confront your emotions and traumas in healthy ways and unpack them in safe spaces. You need to be allowed to feel.

But Celestia.... doesn't. She shuts down. And Luna's attempts to change that are met with the more authoritative Big Sister is In Charge energy. And while she will sometimes challenge her, as all younger siblings do, there are some times where Big Sister says things with such conviction that you do not fight back.

Especially when it's backed up with.... accidental manipulation. After all, look at Discord? He allowed himself to get so wrapped up in those emotions that he couldn't escape them. You don't want to end up like him, do you?

So Luna tries. Tries to hold everything back. It's for the good of the kingdom. For the good of everyone they care about.

But she's not good at it. Not like Celestia is.

[itsbenedict]

Two-Faced Jewel: Thunderbrush 15

Never Call It Piss Magic Again

A conwoman disguised as a noble and the delegation of university students studying her have arrived in the jungle city of Thunderbrush, ruled by ancient dryads and organized crime. Will they manage to stay uninvolved in shady conspiracies? (No.)

Story so far | Session log index | Previous session

Last time, the players extricated themselves from an awkward situation with some ghost dryad mafia protection racketeers, and hurried off to the local brothel to go cure a vampire of her vampirosity. They did a bang-up job of it, despite some close calls- and now it's time for them to decompress after a job well-done.

Also grapple with the nightmarish implications of Saelhen's powers. And drive Looseleaf to the brink of a complete mental breakdown vis-a-vis backstory trauma. And receive extremely troubling news about the Stump conspiracy's agenda. And have nightmares.

So, first order of business: the party needs to flirt with some NPCs. Saelhen manages to apologize for all the craziness that's been going on during this sports-watching date... while also being the smoothest operator in the world somehow. This prompts...

After some further ruthless ladykilling, Zzaiya flees the scene in a fit of embarrassment, unable to process the idea of someone being romantically interested in her. Allegedly, her house is nearby.

Meanwhile, Oliver is trying to put the moves on the recently-shirtless Sam Sweethoney...

...but runs into a brick wall of total obliviousness. Sam Sweethoney is seemingly incapable of realizing that anyone is ever being serious about anything, and takes incoming flirtation as a hilarious joke that he's in on.

While Oliver is striking out with the world's densest shirtless halfling tattoo artist, Looseleaf and Saelhen try to have a serious conversation about... all that shit that just happened.

The thing is... Saelhen's invested a great deal of emotional attachment into this thing that lets her turn invisible- for reasons that she'd prefer not be discussed in mixed company.

While they're in the middle of discussing how dangerous their personal magic powers are, and whether it's ethically permissible to use them at all... Oliver shows up, very curious about Looseleaf's magic powers.

Looseleaf is set on edge by this question.

Oliver is surprised about the apparent deadliness of teaching spirit magic- and has a billion follow-up questions, none of which please Looseleaf to hear.

Oliver keeps pressing... and Looseleaf explodes.

Looseleaf: "I don't fucking know, okay? I'm not a specialist in this! I was supposed to be an anthropologist before everything happened and now I am a mage wielding a near-extinct line of magic because nobody else can do it and so I have to figure out how to do all the things that THEY were supposed to be responsible for doing!" "I don't know! I'm relearning this from scratch! You want answers but I don't have any!" "Nobody has answers anymore!" By the end of it Looseleaf's speech is seeming… weirdly discongruous and jilted, each syllable coming out jerky and staccato. "You know what, you want it so badly, maybe you can actually learn and then I can go do other things with my worthless life-" Oliver Highhollow-Selby: Oliver is stepping backwards and looking scared/worried/horrified as Looseleaf is basically suddenly unraveling. Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Okay, well, it appears that question time might be over, pleasure to meet you, Mr. Highhollow, I think we are going to get something in your stomach, dear heart, and perhaps a nice bath and — save everything else for later, yes? Sounds good?"

Oliver tries to apologize and calm her down, but it doesn't go well.

Saelhen diplomatically defuses the situation, drawing attention to her own role in today's debacle to reduce tensions. Looseleaf apologizes to Oliver for her outburst, an olive branch is proffered... and then Looseleaf remembers she needs to change the subject.

Right! That situation! Looseleaf still doesn't divulge how she knows this, but Oliver's on the back foot and kind of has to trust her about this. He intends to report in to Evelyn at his nearest opportunity.

Still- it's getting late, and they happen to be at a place that is technically an inn (and brothel and live music venue and bar and grill and lesser temple of Karou), and the Sweethoneys are happy to put the party up for the night. But first... dinner! Vampire surgery is hungry work.

At the bar, they meet Dall, who's beyond relieved that her girlfriend is alive despite the odds. She treats them to drinks, and- after Looseleaf invoices her to the tune of two hundred gold- begins explaining the Iron Section incident that led to this whole vampire issue.

The Iron Section, Dall explains, was a mining division. Specifically the iron mining division, as the name implies. Dall tells you, with increasingly slurred speech, about the Iron Section incident. They had a mineshaft that was going deeper than usual- the kind of dig that risks unearthing monsters. As a result, the mineshaft was completely sealed off, and the workforce quarantined to the dig site for the duration of the expedition- until the entire shaft was cleared out and warded and declared safe. This isn't that unusual for dwarven mining companies- it's akin to going out on a lobster boat for a while, you get paid handsomely for the long and arduous multi-day work shift. The dig site was sealed off to ensure no one would come or go, besides the iron carts- and because of this, there wasn't much oversight, besides the foreman in charge and his subordinate management. Which means when the foreman somehow became a vampire- and was the first to become a vampire- there was no one above him to countermand his orders. Gelly had explained to her- the foreman cared about his workers, he didn't want them to die, so he didn't feed on them to the point of exsanguination- but when a vampire feeds on you without killing you, you get thralls. And he wasn't as heartless as Cabana Jim- when his thralls hungered, he didn't starve them half to death to keep them compliant. He fed them. And so it proceeded until the entire Iron Section was vampirized- and then they were out of blood. And so they got increasingly hungry and desperate and left the quarantine mine, in a sudden attack on the surface. This got the attention of the Ecumene of Harmony, led by bishop Celeste Yonder. The ecumene led a cleanup crew and killed them all.

Yeesh.

The party asks a few questions about the monster issue- which Dall isn't super knowledgeable about. Apparently if you dig deep enough, monsters can just spawn in the depths, in any sufficiently large hollow space deep underground. There's ways to block this from happening, but Dall can't quite remember what kind of magic is involved.

Afterwards, they hit the hay. Looseleaf, through a soul link, detects that Oyobi is coincidentally also in this establishment, upstairs in a private room with someone. Weird.

Looseleaf also takes some time to contact Miriko Watchwood via telepathy. Apparently, Miriko has "disposed of" Jess Chainer- by which she means, locking her up in a cell underneath the ghost dryad Ana, to have her life force fed upon. Miriko's met back up with her employer, and everything seems hunky-dory for her... but Looseleaf detects a wrong note.

Like... shouldn't Miriko be mad at her boss? The one who knew she was enslaved at Cabana Jim's, and used that as an opportunity to extract information from rich tourists instead of, say, rescuing her?

Miriko denies this.

Looseleaf gets a crit roll on Something's Fishy.

Trauma aside, the party tucks in for a good night's sleep.

Looseleaf has a dream.

Looseleaf has this same dream for the next few nights- each time a bit less obscured and difficult to remember. There is a last time that she has this dream, later on- at which point it is fully revealed. She's yet to discuss it with anyone, though.

Saelhen, by contrast, has this same dream, revealed from the very first time- but she can't remember it when she jolts awake in panic.

:) :) :)

Next time. Looseleaf and Oliver go to school and have a nice time and learn some things! That's all! Don't worry!

[fleet-admiral-hiba]

SWEET BLOODY LIFE

AN: time skip of a year. Y/n adapted himself to his new life. But soon, trauma will test his resolution

A beautiful day, and Y/n was walking down the streets of Whole Cake island, smiling and waiving at the citizens. It was indeed a good day. And you were... Happy. Surprising really, cause exactly the year before you had been kidnapped, but you expected to be treated like a slave. Instead you lived like a king.

And truth be told, you enjoyed the attention they were giving you. It ft refreshing to see someone care about you. And your husband, he was perhaps the most beautiful gift you ever had.

But it seemed your so called parents weren't of that idea. You thought that after your disappearance, and after the news of your marriage spread around, they would leave you alone. But it was only a dream.

After a while you started to receive letters from them, telling you to go back home, cause they missed you. But you didn't pay mind to them. You even told your husband to burn them all, and he was more than happy.

But they had another opinion on that. Once they even showed up to your birthday party, and tried to talk to Big Mom to let you go back, citing some sort of dangerous illness that had to be cured. You felt ashamed to be even be slightly related to them, and the uncomfortable feeling of embarrassment didn't leave you at all that day. You couldn't leave cause it was your special day, and for once you were happy to celebrate your birthday.

"Y/n, do you want us to handle them?". Oh, dear old Smoothie. She was a sweetheart and you liked her a lot. She had been more of a big sister than your real one. "Not yet, but thanks. It means a lot to me". Nodding, she went back to chatting.

You caught your mother looking at you, something shining in her eyes. You saw her smiling at you, probably she saw you talking to Smoothie. Who knows what she was thinking, but it probably was a distorted version of what you just did.

Anyway, you shook your head of those thoughts. It was a special day, and you wanted to bring your husband a surprise. It was his birthday after all and you put so much effort in his gift. Everything was going wonderfully, until your family came into the picture.

At first you didn't recognise them at all, but they sped up and caught up with you. Immediately asking questions, you tried to tell them politely to fuck off. But it did not work. " you know dear, that Smoothie girl was very nice. Why didn't you marry her? Or is she not your type?" went on your mother..

You were tired of explaining your life to them and you simply went away, but a hand stopped you. "Sweetie, is something wrong? Is the sickness again? Oh I knew I should have called the doctor before. Come on, let's...". Before she could finish you simply exploded. It had been a long time coming, but you had to tell them.

"Will you fuck off already and leave me the fuck alone? I'm not your son and I never was. I'm not sick, on the contrary, I'm happily married and in fact, I'm going to see my HUSBAND. So do us a favour and get the fuck out of this archipelago. I won't tell you twice, you are not welcomed here. Now leave".

Breathing heavily you went away. Meanwhile the woman simply stood there, shocked. Some citizens asked if you were okay, or if they needed to call either Raisin or one of the other Charlotte. You shook your head, and thanked them for their concern.

You hurried up to his office, but before entering, you went to a spare room nearby, that was usually reserved for you and him whenever you wanted to stay there.

Sitting down on the couch, with your knees drawn up, you started to shake. Tears feel down your eyes. Suddenly all the trauma popped up, and the outburst of before didn't help. Conversion therapy, the beatings, the hours spent with so called professionals to "cure" you. It all hurt, and your mother brought it all back with her stubbornness.

You cried so much it hurt to breath, your shaking became ever more evident. You were tired of feeling and being treated like shit. Your family, your friends, your entire island treated you like you were a charity case.

Meanwhile, Raisin heard your cries from the other room and immediately came in. He did not waste any time in asking, he knew what was the cause, he got a call before. Silently, he put his coat on you, and hugged you. He waited with you, until you let out everything. Eventually, you calmed down, but the emotional breakdown left you exhausted.

"I'm sorry, this was your special day, and I managed to ruin it. I'm sorry, I'm just a bur..." - " Shut up. It's not your fault, dear". He quickly rebutted, and before you could protest, he laid down on the couch with you on top, wrapped up in his clothes. It was stronger than you, and you were tired. Gradually you fell asleep.

He waited a minute, before he digged in his pocket and called Yu and Smoothie, telling them to ban your mom from any island at all. He respected your wish, you hated them but not to the point of killing them, yet. But that will be the last opportunity for them.

[letarasstuff]

Panic, Love and Take Out

Summary: Midterms are hard on all of us, even on a genuis’ daughter

Warnings: Angst, but it’s a fluffy end, I promise 🥺, panic attack, mentions of school (lets admit, we all got  trauma from school), stress, language (I think there’s one swear word?)

Word count: 1.6k

✨Masterlist✨

_______________________________-

“When you get home, you do your calculus homework first. Then you write this essay for history. After that you have to solve the problems from your chemistry class. Wait. It would be better if I do it after calculus��, (Y/N) talks to herself on her way home.

Midterms are around the door and the teachers think giving their students 30 hours worth of homework is the best way to help them study. Sadly they don’t see that it gives them nothing but stress pimples.

“I’m home!” she calls into the apartment while hanging up her coat. Like it occurs in 90% of all cases the teenager is greeted with silence. Her father has yet to come home.

After a little snack (a granola bar and an apple from the kitchen counter) she goes up into her room starting on her homework.

It’s not like all the things she does are due tomorrow or anytime soon. (Y/N) likes to get a head start on her work. So time won’t come and bite her in the end, because she procrastinated too much.

Though this attitude is something everyone envies her for, the downsides of it are just straight up destructive.

Since the amount of assignments doesn’t seem to shrink (Y/N) is constantly worrying about it. She can’t help it. It keeps her awake at night to know what she has to do and it bugs her that she lays awake and does nothing to help the situation.

“One down, only two left”, she mutters, putting her folder for calc away. It’s nearing dinner time, but (Y/N) doesn’t even dream about taking a break.

In her hyper focused state she doesn’t notice three important things:

1. The ever increasing clicking of her ball point pen

2. Her faster shaking leg

3. The front door opening and closing

“Honey, I’m home!” Spencer shouts. The absence of an answer makes his eyebrows furrow. His daughter should be home by now. Her shoes and jacket are neatly on the rack, indicating she must be there. Whenever he announces his arrival she is there to greet him.

“Hey honey, what are you doing there?” he asks, entering her room. The doctor stands in the doorway to take the picture in:

(Y/N) is bent over several notebooks. Textbooks litter the floor and an empty mug stands out between dozens of colored pens on her desk.

“Hi dad. Just getting some homework done. How was work?” She tries to make small talk, but it’s obvious that her focus lays elsewhere.

“It was fine, just a paper work day. When did you take a break? I was thinking about ordering dinner tonight. We could try this new chinese place Morgan recommended. We also can catch up on the newest episodes of Doctor Who. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good, but I have to get this done. Maybe I can join you later” (Y/N) excuses herself.

“Are you sure? It won’t hurt you to take a little time off. Actually your brain needs breaks between every 30 and 90 minutes in between study sessions. So I advise you to take one in order to avoid frustration because of exhaustion”, Spencer tries to convince her.

But the problem is that (Y/N) is her father’s daughter and can be as stubborn and ambitious as he is.

“I know that, dad. I promise it won’t take any longer until I’m finished. Just go ahead and order and begin watching.”

Defeated, the profiler leaves her room. He knows there is nothing he can do for now except for waiting. (Y/N) needs to come to him on her own.

But if she is honest with herself, she isn’t anywhere near being done. Her chemistry work takes longer than originally thought and her whole schedule is in delay. This only adds up on her already high amount of stress. The coffee she drank earlier to stay alert and awake doesn’t help the situation either.

What feels like only minutes later, which is actually half an hour, Spencer reappears in her doorway with a box of take out in his hands.

“Hey (Y/N), the food is here. Do you wanna join me on the sofa?” He asks gingerly. As her father he knows that it won’t take much now to make her explode. But this is exactly what happens.

“No dad, I don’t want to join you. Can’t you see that I’m busy? Not everybody has an IQ of 187 and just needs to read something once and can recite it like a damn robot. Now can you leave me alone for god’s sake?!”

Throughout her angry rant (Y/N) looks at her father with rueful eyes. He always knows that her outbursts, which are extremely rare for a teenager, are never meant to hurt him. It’s just the stress getting to her.

“Ok, honey. Just keep in mind where you can find me. I Love you and don’t overwork yourself.” He quickly closes the door. Spencer stood eye to eye with the worst scum on the planet, but his angry teenage daughter never fails to scare him at least a bit. So he tries to give her all the room she needs to get a clear head again.

(Y/N) on the other hand can’t feel any worse. Not only is she super antsy and stressed, now she also feels bad going off on her dad just like this. She knows he only wants to help her and she really is grateful for that, but in situations like this it’s difficult for her to keep her calm.

As the girl continues to write her essay, she realizes her father is right. Of course she is, she herself knows all the facts and stats there are about studying. Still she chooses to ignore them until it’s too late.

The longer she tries to form coherent sentences the trickier it gets. Which only frustrates her further, which only stresses her more.

“I’m so useless. I can’t even write about a subject I’m really interested in. I’m so dumb, god it hurts,” (Y/N) mumbles to herself. She can’t stop her train of thoughts from getting darker, all the stress now catching up to her mind.

In her state she loses the grip on her pen, letting it fall on the paper and splattering little droplets of ink. Her breath begins to get uneven, unfortunately a familiar feeling for (Y/N). At least she knows what to do.

The girl scrambles into the living room, where Spencer sits on the sofa like he told her earlier.

With shaking legs and a panic filled mind she looks at him, her eyes wide open. “D-dad. I-i-i” she doesn’t need to elaborate further. Not that she would be able to.

Sadly Spencer is experienced with the situation. He is quick to put her down in a chair, pressing her head between her legs. He draws with one hand circles on her back, the other is clenched in hers.

“Shh, (Y/N). Breath we me. We go in for six seconds, hold it for seven and let it go for eight. We can do it together” the doctor instructs her.

They do it until (Y/N)’s breathing is back under her control. She straightens her back again, still holding her dad’s hand in a deadbolt grip.

“I’m so-”

“No, there’s nothing to apologize for. What about we eat dinner and after that we do something repetitive. You really like doing these friendship bracelets, don’t you? I thought about it when I was shopping a few days ago and bought thread. Maybe you can teach me?”

At that his daughter begins to smile agreeing to the plan.

Not long after this, the small family sits next to each other. Old reruns of Doctor Who play in the background. Under softly told instructions Spencer ties his first bracelet. He knows that it is something little children do, but the repetitive pattern of movements help (Y/N) to calm fully down before she crashes down in exhaustion.

Like said before, it wasn’t her first panic attack. But she gets better.

“You know, you can always talk to me. I know school is stressing you out right now. But never forget, that your health, physically and mentally, is more important than any number on a piece of paper. And I will love you forever, nothing will ever change that”, he says after a time of silence. (Y/N) sighs.

“I know. It’s just, I want to do good. I want you to be proud of me”, she confesses. It’s hard for her to open up, but now seems like the perfect moment.

“I’m already proud of you. Hell, you could paint a pile of poop golden and I would be the proudest parent out there. Your accomplishments don’t define you as a human. They don’t determine your worth or are an indicator of your skills and knowledge. I love you, no matter what you do. I will always support you. I just want you to be happy and healthy.”

“Thanks dad. I love you too. Even though you are sometimes a real pain with your ‘know it better’ attitude”, she jokes and puts her head on her father’s shoulder. He slings his arm around her shoulders, making her snuggle into him further.

So the father and daughter sit there blissfully, basking in each other’s presence.

[kali-writes-meta]

Yang's Gaze

"Fault" was intense. We had characters under extreme pressure reacting in entirely understandable but sometimes less than flattering ways. With all the onscreen histrionics it surprised me that one of the episode's quieter moments generated the most venom from some fans. After an exhausting, life-threatening, and dispiriting ordeal, during an ensuing moment of quiet Yang thinks about her partner. Fandom explodes. Yang is denounced as a bad person for thinking of her partner Blake whom she usually does life-threatening activities with and not her sister Ruby, whom Yang knows has Weiss, her partner in life-threatening activities, by her side. It's a weird accusation.

Before we dive into the subtleties of Yang's character, let's talk about the bull elephant in the room. In a moment of relative calm and safety Yang worries about the opinion of a teammate who isn't present. Right before that, in the middle of a life-threatening situation, Ren blows up and personally insults both Yang's sister and the teammates he's with. Fandom condemns Yang for her callousness and either ignores Ren's outburst or praises him for it, even though his much harsher actions directly imperil their lives by threatening to draw Grimm. This dichotomy of opinion reflects a reprehensible tendency to magnify the flaws of female protagonists while ignoring the flaws of male protagonists. Both actions are in accordance with character arcs that these individual characters have been on since the first Volume. I will post about Ren later, now it's time to speak about Yang.

After a bruising experience losing Oscar to Salem, their bikes to the battle, and Ren's shit to Ren's rapidly failing coping mechanisms, during a moment of quiet while repairing their remaining bike Yang apologizes to Jaune for Ren's outburst which insulted Jaune among other things. Jaune says it's okay, he forgave himself for his rash act a while back. At the mention of forgiveness Yang falters in her repairs.

"Do you think she thinks less of me -- for not helping out with Amity?"

"Ruby is your sister. She's always going to love you, even if you disagree with each other."

"Ruby -- yeah."

There are those who say that this exchange shows that Yang has forgotten her sister. (It's funny how no one complained about her not thinking about her sister before now when she was busy thinking about her male teammates.) This interpretation completely ignores Yang's preceding scene where she vigorously defended Ruby's actions to Ren, in spite of having questioned those actions herself. Yang is no doubt justifiably tired of thinking about her sister and ready to think of someone else. Besides, Yang has known Ruby all her life. Their current disagreement offers her no reason to doubt Ruby's love. But her bond with her partner is more recent, and has already suffered one setback. It's Blake's regard Yang worries about, not Ruby's love.

Note what she says. "(Does) she THINK less of me...." Yang isn't worried about Blake's safety. She's worried about Blake's opinion. Yang is reasonably confident in her teammates' ability to handle themselves in a fight. After living with Ruby all her life she no doubt has had arguments with her sister before and knows what Ruby will and won't take personally. But she's never had an argument with her partner before. She doesn't know if Blake will take an important difference of opinion personally or not.

Should she be worried about Ruby's safety? Maybe, but worrying a lot about people isn't Yang's style. It takes an awful lot to pull her attention away from the present moment (something like the soul-crushing trauma of an absent mother, one of the greatest emotional pains a young girl can experience). That's valid. People are different, and the ability to focus on the present is incredibly useful on a mission. Yang only indulges in worry in a quiet moment of relative safety. The ones who are most likely to worry about people are Ruby and Jaune. That's part of the reason why they're the leaders.

That brings us to the key question many viewers had, WHY does Yang think of Blake and not Ruby? And is this tendency to think of Blake instead of Ruby anything new? To start with the latter question, no, it's nothing new. From early on Yang's gaze has turned to either Ruby or Blake depending on distinct differences in Yang's mood.

Yang looks to Ruby when Yang feels strong, such as arriving at Beacon in Volume 1 or after recovering from her injury in Volume 4. But as of Volume 3 whenever Yang feels weak and vulnerable, such as after her injury, she looks to Blake.

But why? Remember Yang's childhood. Yang spent it bringing up Ruby, being Ruby's "little Mommy" because there was no one else to do the job. Yang doesn't think she can be vulnerable around Ruby. As Ruby's "little Mommy" Yang always had to project strength for Ruby, even when she didn't feel strong, and this -- performance -- came at a price. As she told Weiss, in "Alone Together"

Yang: I'm sorry, I just... I don't think you know what it's like to be left. You have a giant family, recitals to perform at, dinners to attend. I didn't have any of that. My mom left me. Ruby's mom left too. Tai was always busy with school and Ruby couldn't even talk yet. I had to pick up the pieces. I had to keep things together. Alone.

Yang has to be strong for her little sister. She can't be weak around Ruby. She can be proud around Ruby. Confident. Stalwart. Even silly. But not vulnerable.

And as Yang told Weiss, she desperately needs someone she can be vulnerable around.

Yang: How could I be there for her if she doesn't let me? What if I needed her here for me?

That she's thinking of Blake at this moment isn't a sign that she's callous. It's a sign that she's scared. Not just scared for Ruby or Oscar or anyone else. She's scared for herself.

And that's an entirely appropriate emotion to feel under the circumstances.

[weakzen]

Eyes Shut

Oh no, Mason and the Detective find Bobby knocked out cold on the sidewalk! No one saw what happened to him.

Just like no one saw anyone cry—and no one saw any comfort either.

pairing: female detective/mason rating: m wc: 9k+ series: part 1 of 3 warnings: references to a past emotionally abusive relationship, trauma, gender policing & slut-shaming (no slurs), vague sexual coercion, non-con nude photos, threats of revenge porn; bobby is a fucking scumbag

AO3 version

also submitted for @31daysofwayhaven day 11 – transformation ♥

A jab would send him sprawling, easily.

Wouldn't even take any leg drive, just a sloppy, weak strike thrown from the shoulder. He'd go stumbling backwards, skidding over yellow leaves, splashing through rain puddles, phone flying up and away to clatter on the ground, screen shattered. Hands flying up too, toward the pain exploding across his face, pointless but instinctive, when he really ought to be using those arms to protect his head from cracking against the sidewalk.

I snort a little, and eye the concrete planter a few meters away.

Hell, if I did it with a proper pivot, I could probably get him to land in that. Knock his glasses off, too.

Knock him out cold as well. Probably fracture his jaw along with it.

And destroy the station's beautiful chrysanthemums and dahlias—though, I think Tina would consider it a worthy sacrifice.

In the distance, streetlights flicker to life, cars drive over wet asphalt, the last of the daylight bleeds red across the sky, chased by a cloudy smattering of stars, and Bobby continues yammering on at me, oblivious to it all. Reading something from his phone that couldn't wait. An upcoming article, I think. Admonishment, I'm sure, for something I did wrong again. Pouty lips illuminated by his screen, blasting puffs of hot air in more than one way, flapping relentlessly with eager disapproval and a frown that barely conceals the cutting smugness in his voice.

He'd never see my fist coming, either. Because he's not looking, obviously.

Because he doesn't see me at all—and never has.

I'm just… an enraptured audience for him. An adoring mirror. A rung to higher places. A pretty doll. A trophy. An angel.

Not a person.

Certainly not someone capable of loathing his ratshit fucking guts and who has every goddamn reason to throw that punch and all the long years of practice to make it really fucking count.

I shove my hands deeper into my jacket and blow out a puff of my own, breath coming shallow against the tension winding in my chest.

That's something he almost took from me as well, now that I think about it.

My ability to fight.

He never liked how much time I spent training. Or the types of exercise I did. Said all of it was making me too bulky. Too muscular. That I was ruining my 'femininity' and 'soft, natural beauty.' That the scars were already unattractive enough, no need for hideous bruises too, and physical combat was just brutish. Barbaric. Beneath someone of my intellectual caliber. An unworthy pursuit. A waste of effort. Irresponsible, really, to let my mind rot away in favor of it. And he was just looking out for me and my best interests by pointing these things out, you know. Speaking honestly, when no one else had the courage. Taking care of me, when no one else ever had.

Showing his love, one jagged hollow-point comment at a time, jacketed in concern and fired my direction, until enough of them hit and tore through, expanding and eroding away, that little remained of me eventually other than a raw, bloody mess and the total belief in his correctness.

For a time, anyway.

Too long a time.

“Did you catch all of that, Detective Black?”

The irritated edge to his tone snaps my attention back to him immediately, if not my eyes. Alarm flares inside me for an instant, atavistic instinct surging out of dormancy on a wave of adrenaline, but I inhale slightly and let it pass.

Then I make him wait a little bit longer, blinking a few times before I focus my gaze on his.

“Not really,” I reply flatly, shrugging. “Bullshit has a real sedative effect on me.”

I force a yawn at him, something large and unapologetically open-mouthed that probably ruins my femininity too, and I try to stretch out some of that tightness from my back and body. But Bobby's eyes only crawl over me as I do, lingering on my breasts and exposed midriff before I quickly drop my arms and pull my jacket tighter.

“Why don't we continue this discussion at your apartment, then?” He leers at me, voice dipping queasily low, “And afterward, I can refresh you on all the ways I know how to keep you awake and… fully aroused.”

My face twists into an open grimace and I exhale a sharp noise of disgust. Bobby advances regardless, smirk coiling beneath a heated look, and my fingers clench into fists.

I fucking swear, if he touches me again—

But he doesn't.

He stops dead in his tracks almost immediately, gaze flicking past me, eyes narrowing, right before a hand splays warm across my lower back and I breathe in a familiar scent.

Smoke and sandalwood.

Startling me far more than the touch, for the rush of unexpected comfort it brings.

The hand slides around to my hip and Mason swings in front of me with it, blocking Bobby and everything else as he leans down with a smirk to press his lips against mine.

He deepens the kiss quickly, tongue slipping hot into my mouth, hand sliding around my back, the other up into my hair, tangling, urging me closer, until I'm on my toes, arms hooked around his neck, kissing him eagerly as we press fully together. I lose myself in him for a moment. His warmth. His welcome, pleasurable respite. His reassurance too, however unknown and unintentional, that I don't have to face Bobby alone this time.

Because I can do it alone. I have done it alone.

But having someone around just as ready to dunk that insufferable piece of shit into a nearby planter always makes enduring his presence a hell of lot more bearable.

Enjoyable, even, in some regards.

And maybe Mason agrees with me on that point, if the grin that keeps tugging at his lips is any indication.

I can't help but return it, and soon I'm shaking against him with growing, barely subdued laughter. His hands squeeze me in response, smile spreading against my mouth before he pulls back slightly, gazing down at me with half-lidded eyes heavy with desire and amusement.

“You ready to go home, sweetheart? Your ride's here.”

Mason rolls his hips forward for emphasis, sliding his hands down to cup my ass too as he grinds against me. I burst into open laughter—and I grind back, weight swaying off his neck, cheeks flushed, breath catching as well, when his eyes darken above into something more serious.

When they smolder deeply and then it suddenly is just the two of us. Embracing.

And all I can feel—all I want to feel—is him pressed against every fucking piece of me.

Until Bobby's voice slashes through the moment anyway, clipped and raised.

“Well, don't be rude, angel. Introduce me to your colleague.”

The sharpness to his tone surprises me a little. So does Mason, when he immediately whirls on Bobby.

“The fuck did you just call her?” Mason sneers. “'Angel?'”

Bobby takes a few steps back. Uncertainty flashes across his face before he recovers, ever the opportunist, eyes darting from Mason to lock on mine as he smirks again.

“You only need to take one look at her to see that,” Bobby coos, sweet as a mouthful of antifreeze and just as revolting. “She is an angel. My gorgeous muse. My inspiration—”

Something twists sharply inside of me.

A ragged scoff surges past my lips and I rush forward, whipping around Mason until I'm crowding into Bobby's face, forcing him to retreat even more. “I think 'host' is a better word, Robert,” I spit, “before I plucked you off and flicked you away like the destructive fucking parasite you are.”

Bobby's expression singes away beneath the heat of my outburst, blasted into shock. It startles me too, the force of my words. The vehemence burning my tone. The fact I'm standing in front of him like this at all, heart thundering and suddenly overwhelmed, knotting with emotion, too much of it, too intense, expanding, filling my chest, until it tangles around my throat and chokes so tight I can barely breathe, barely keep from trembling, barely hold back those hot fucking tears blurring my vision and threatening to spill down my cheeks.

Inspiration.

Something he claimed I took from him.

A word that echoed high and often against the walls and coffered ceiling of the tribunal, along with every other one of his fucking lies.

I can still hear it.

Still feel the hem of my skirt twisted around my fingers, wrinkled, stretched taut, unable to stop my hands from shaking. Still smell the musty books and ammonia, the cheap washroom soap and tang of vomit burning raw in my throat. Still taste the salt on my tongue, the steady swallow of mucus, the sobs I can't let out, not here, not now, but they just keep coming anyway, straining against a wall of clenched teeth, shuddering silent through my body while I spin inside the swirling, sickening, heartbroken disbelief that any of it's actually happening. That he's actually saying these things about me. That he actually did this to me.

That he's actually fucking trying to blame it all on me.

Like he always does.

A touch from behind draws me back, shoves out the air trapped in my lungs, then an arm slings across my shoulders and Mason pulls me in against his chest.

My hands slide upward, unthinking, unintentionally, but there they are, suddenly beneath his jacket, pressed against the warmth of his back, clutching at him while his other hand comes up to squeeze my hip. My head tips forward too, also unintentional, and trying to swerve at the last moment only lands my ear next to his heartbeat. I've felt it before, often, but… I've never actually heard it.

It pounds steady. Soothing.

Increasingly too intimate.

Like eavesdropping on something meant to be private.

I know I shouldn't stay here like this, resting above that sound, trespassing in it, taking comfort from it that isn't being offered. So I blink hard at the moisture stinging my eyes, and start swallowing the rest as quickly as I can. As quietly as I can too, trying not to sniffle. Failing not to sniffle. Cringing immediately, stiffening, about to pull away, flee, run back to the station and— I-I don't know, hide in the washroom, like it's fucking middle school again—when I hear a soft sigh I wouldn't be able to discern at any other distance either.

Then Mason pulls me in even closer. Until my ear rests flat on his chest and my eyes squeeze shut.

And a new swell of emotion finally knocks some of that moisture free.

I wipe at it immediately, roughly. Smearing it across my swollen, overly-hot cheeks.

How fucking embarrassing.

All of it.

And Bobby knows it too, high off victory and armed with a new weapon for his arsenal.

“I realize you're having a… moment,” he says, smile ghosting over the word, “but you still haven't introduced me to your colleague, Alexandra.”

Mason tenses against me and shifts above, glancing down with an intensity I can easily feel pressing on the top of my head.

“You wanna finish kicking the shit out of this asshole yourself, sweetheart?” he asks quietly, words rumbling through his chest into mine. “Or do you want me to take care of it for you?”

He keeps staring, willing me to look up at him with that heavy, insistent gaze, and eventually I do. Reluctantly. Hesitantly. Meeting those unwavering grey eyes, hard with resolve and seriousness, but also…

Soft.

Somehow.

I glance away quickly.

“Not sure.” My voice comes out hoarse around the knot in my throat, and so does the quiet, faintly amused huff that follows. “Tough fucking choice, sun—” I skid past his nickname, stiffening. Not here. “I want to, but… it might be pretty funny to see how far you can throw him.”

“He'll go as far as you fucking need. Just say the word.”

Mason drags his gaze away from me to stare at Bobby, eyes darkening with something deeply predatory, that intense, piercing focus of his, the one his look sharpens into whenever missions tip sideways, unblinking and controlled, but only barely. Only just holding back the violence less than a heartbeat away. Bobby flinches beneath it, squirming visibly, uncertainty and fear flickering in his own eyes as they dart rapidly across the two of us. Probably deciding whether it's worth it or not to risk staying.

Or searching for the next weak point to burrow into.

The station's exterior lights shudder on around us, bathing everything in a slowly-brightening sodium-orange glow. It makes the flowers pop, sunset colors burning warm against the night, and I nod at them, wiping the last trace of moisture from my face.

“You think I could get him in the planter? If I punched him from here?”

Mason barks out a loud laugh and squeezes me slightly. “Don't underestimate yourself, sweetheart. You could get him much further than that.”

Another flash of uncertainty passes through Bobby—then it hardens and he starts to dig.

“Thank you both so much for handing me my next story.” He puffs up straighter. “It's about government officials abusing their authority, threatening private citizens with violence. Was the corruption already infesting our police force prior to the arrival of this mysterious Agency, or does their continued, shadowy presence indicate an oppressive new era for our freedom and safety in Wayhaven?”

Bobby wields his phone at us, voice recorder no doubt running since he forced himself into my path and every attempt to move around him as I tried to leave the station.

I raise an eyebrow. “…You realize we're both private citizens too, right? Off duty. No badge,” I explain slowly, tapping the empty spot on my belt, “not working at the moment. Not representing anything.”

Mason shrugs. “I'd still threaten him if I was on duty.”

Bobby's head swivels at Mason, eyes narrowed as he smirks confidently. “Is that due to the specific nature of your job, Specialist Agent Mason?”

Mason just stares at him, unimpressed.

I remain quiet, too. Silence only encourages Bobby. Always so eager to fill it with himself.

Always so unable to hold back when there's a chance to jerk off his ego.

“Redacted surname to conceal your identity?” Bobby continues, smirk widening. “That's what I assumed, when I strangely couldn't find one anywhere. But now, after hearing your accent up close, I bet it's Greek—along with your actual given name.”

“What accent?” I blurt out.

“Yeah, I don't have an accent,” Mason agrees, in his very obvious, very lilting Greek accent.

Somehow, I manage to keep a straight face, squishing it into something that resembles a furrowed look of concern. Bobby's brow creases too, the briefest sparks of confusion and self-doubt igniting in his eyes. When they do, I clench my jaw hard.

It takes everything I have not to burst out laughing—and Mason's amused little squeeze at my hip does not help.

The crease on Bobby's brow deepens, before he blows past it and presses on. “I know you're the so-called 'interrogations expert' for Unit Bravo.”

Mason snorts.

Bobby smiles, chuckling slightly. “I find that word a bit bureaucratically euphemistic myself—interrogation—such an unassuming beige facade constructed around the ugly truth of what it actually means.” His smile sharpens. “Would you prefer to be called a 'torturer' instead?”

That actually makes Mason break into a scoffing laugh. “Would be a lot more fucking satisfying some days if that were true,” he says, smiling back even sharper. “Like right now.”

Cracks form at the edge of Bobby's smile. “Threats of violence and now threats of torture. Does your Agency condone this appalling conduct? Are all of the members of your,” his lip curls, “little team as bloodthirsty as you?”

“Yes,” Mason replies instantly.

A loud snort escapes me and I slap my hand over my mouth, trying not to laugh.

But it slips past my palm anyway, and sputters free into the night.

“Is something funny about this, Detective Black?” Bobby's sneer rolls off my title. “Because I fail to see the humor in the situation and I'm beginning to have serious reservations about your judgment and ability to serve this community—”

“Just beginning to?” I cut in, snorting again. “What was that article you wrote about me after I first got hired? Something about 'nepotistic incompetency' about to 'doom the town?'”

“It appears I was prescient as always, if this is the company you're choosing to keep. To trust.”

Bobby's expression softens and his gaze locks onto mine once more, brown eyes filling with worry, lips frowning with concern.

Or what would be worry and concern, if it came from anybody else.

“Why would this Agency need someone with a dangerous skill set like his in a small town like Wayhaven? Why would they need it so badly that they would pull an asset from halfway around the world and station him here to do it? Did you ever stop and ask yourself that, Alexandra? Or is something—someone—making you too afraid to consider it?”

Mason scoffs hard and I glance up to catch him mid-eye roll. “Tell me you've made up your mind already, sweetheart,” he mutters, jaw clenched. “This guy is begging to eat a fucking fist.”

Bobby tries to remain focused on me, but his eyes still flicker to Mason. Tension pulls on his features, revealing a glimpse of the irritation lurking beneath, right before he forces his face back into what I'm sure he believes is a powerful and irresistible look of pained affection.

“I know we've had our… difficulties in the past,” his voice snags over the word, cracking slightly for effect and I roll my eyes, “but regardless of how far apart they've forced us over the years, I want you to know that I am still here for you if you're in trouble, Alexandra. I will help you, no matter what.” He slides his hand up his chest. “I still care for you—more deeply than you know—and I always will.”

I'm not sure which scoff is louder this time—Mason's or mine.

They both blast into the night on puffs of hot breath, followed by another peal of my snorting laughter.

I glance up at Mason again after it passes, sly grin tugging at my lips. “So, I can get him past the planter. You think I could delete his bullshit recording too, with a little assistance?”

He smirks in response.

“Whatever you need.”

Mason lunges forward fluidly, beautifully, arm whipping out in a near blur to effortlessly snatch the phone away—then it's in my hands, warm and grease-crusted, before Bobby's eyes even have time to widen.

Which, they do, quickly. First in disbelief.

Then in that vacant, coiling rage I've witnessed so many times before it exploded out at me.

It always happens so fast.

The only warning I get is the sickening plummet, my stomach dropping down to anchor me on the spot, pulling that cold rush of dread along with it.

Half a decade later and I still freeze.

Bobby springs forward—

—and jerks to a stop immediately as Mason steps between us, waiting.

I stare at his back for a moment, hunched and visibly tense, even through the jacket, then I force out a sharp breath and tear my eyes away to the phone.

I stop the recording and delete it.

And…

Well…

If I've already deleted one, and already contaminated my hands with the world's grimiest fucking phone, then I'm committed—and I really ought to honor that bar of soap I'm gonna have to use up later by just deleting fucking everything while I'm here.

Bobby peers around the wall of Mason, red-faced with a severely strained smile.

“Alexandra—”

And Mason grabs him by the jaw, squeezes, and shoves him back into his spot.

“You can talk when she says you can.”

A smirk twitches at my lips, and a small twinge of satisfaction thrums in my chest. I glance back down to check his phone's settings. He's using the basic cloud sync to back everything up—which means if it's deleted here, then it's deleted from every other device linked to this account.

My smirk widens.

Good.

Well… unless he downloaded a copy of everything somewhere. I blow out a sigh.

Nothing I can do about that right now, though.

“Go ahead. Try it. Find out if you can run faster than me.”

I glance up again to see Bobby edging slightly to the side, scowl fixed on the station behind us.

Mason chuckles deeply, then adds, “Or if anyone in there actually gives a shit about what happens to you.”

He isn't wrong. I look over my shoulder, into the fluorescent light blasting through the glass panel walls. Douglas hooks over the front desk, back curved like a candy cane while he falls into his phone. It's just him in there right now, until the night shift volunteer shows up.

Well—volunteer no more. They're all paid positions now. Part time. With benefits.

And totally worth asking Rebecca to lean on the mayor as a favor to make it happen.

The sound of paper being flipped through angrily draws my attention back to Bobby—and to the small, black reporter's notebook in his hand. I raise an eyebrow as he whips out a pen too, then practically stabs the pad with it as he starts furiously scribbling. He always carried both of those things around in college, proudly tucked in his jacket pocket, but I never once saw him actually use them.

I just assumed he did it for the hipster cred.

Lips pursed, I shrug and start mass deleting his recordings. Scrolling and ticking, dragging and disappearing, fingers smearing new oily paths through the gunk on his screen with every sliding shift of movement. I resist the urge to shudder. Or worse—the instinct to wipe his phone clean on my jeans. I ignore it and power through, working quickly until, soon enough, all the recordings are gone. From the recently deleted folder, too.

I do the same for all of his notes and texts, email and voice mail, call logs and contacts. And I make sure nothing remains in the cloud storage app as well.

Good.

It won't stop him or his shitty excuse for journalism, but losing all of that data—all those jotted ideas, half-composed articles, research and years of correspondence—it should hurt. A lot. Should slow him down for a while, too.

And if not, well, there's always the option of a literal kick in the balls.

I'm about to chuck the phone back at his face when my stomach does an uneasy flip, breath snagging over it as a roll of icy needles prickle across my body.

I open up his photos instead, a moment later.

Unit Bravo feature prominently in the recent ones.

Public appearances only, at a glance, from various places around town. Felix ducking away from Mason as they enter the station together. Nate sitting at Haley's, legs folded awkwardly beneath a tiny outdoor table. Adam storming out of city hall, door slammed open and coat flared dramatically. No pictures of the Warehouse, thankfully. Or anything else implicating, as far as I can tell.

I keep scrolling back.

Through endless selfies.

A lot of them shirtless, of course. Most of them taken from places around town or the city. Some from gorgeous spots in wilderness between. At events and adventures too, all mixed in with photos of plated food and golden hour architectural shots and Bobby's arm slung around various strangers and Wayhaven elite alike, the same fake smile plastered on his face in every single image. There are pictures and video of other Wayhaven citizens too, taken from afar and up close. Covertly. Caught in the crosshair of whatever bullshit investigation he plotted against them. Just trying to go about their day, out living their lives while Bobby crept around in the bushes and painted a target on their back.

My lip curls.

And the dick pics.

So many fucking dick pics.

Who the fuck knows how many countless places those things have been shoved into unsolicited, how many people he's forced to look at them unwillingly.

Even one is too many.

I blow out a sharp breath and keep scrolling. Jumping back. Four years, five.

Until I see them.

Just a glimpse at first as I accidentally scroll past, but it's enough to recognize them, even as blurred thumbnails.

And it's enough to knock the air from my lungs, body suddenly cold except for the bile rising in my throat.

I swallow it down.

My thumb hovers above the screen for a moment, trembling slightly, before I work up the courage to scroll back.

To my nudes.

The ones he spent months badgering me into letting him take, until I finally gave in. The ones he promised me he would delete a few days later, after I told him that I really wasn't comfortable with what we did.

The ones that showed up at the tribunal too, his star witnesses, offered as proof of an inappropriate relationship that I pressured him into using my position as a teaching assistant. Last time I saw these, they were printed on handouts, glossy with toner, black bars covering my nipples and vagina to preserve my modesty while each image was studied and scrutinized by a group of men twice my age.

I blink back the sting in my eyes again.

One of the most humiliating moments of my life.

Nausea roils in my stomach and I take a deep, shuddering breath around it, the best I can, as quietly as I can, then tap over to his photo folders.

There's one with my name on it.

I open it up.

The nudes greet me there too, but so do other photos from college. Of happier moments.

Bobby and I biking together through the park. Kissing at a hockey game. Messing around in the aquarium gift shop, my hand stuffed into a shark puppet while I attack the camera. Out on dates at hole-in-the-wall hipster restaurants too, featuring impractically tall thigh-bruising stools and cherry-red lipstick and way more cleavage than I show off these days. There are even some pictures of us cuddled together and sinking into that grody, overstuffed couch, the one at that house party with the ridiculously strong edibles, where Bobby was too blazed off his ass and giggly to play devil's advocate and start pointless philosophical arguments.

I snort and flick my thumb, scrolling further. Thumbnails blur past until the roll stops.

On a picture I recognize immediately too.

I tap it open, and Bobby's face fills the screen. Mine too. Next to his. Leaning cheek-to-cheek with his arm slung around me, mountains looming over the city behind us, rocky peaks and glass towers and the deep blue water below all bathed gold and glittering in the sunset.

Bonfire night at the beach near campus.

My eyes are still slightly red in the photo. Puffy, but bright. Brimming with soft hope and joy behind slightly smeared mascara, like they hadn't been filled with silent tears less than a half-hour prior. Like I hadn't sat hunched in his kitchen chair, trembling, sick to my stomach while he yelled at me. I don't even remember about what or why, just the geometric pattern in the linoleum, his bare feet pacing back and forth across it, and then the relief that flooded through me when it all stopped.

When his arms circled around me, and he held me while I sobbed, murmuring forgiveness and promises things would be better in the future while he stroked his fingers through my hair.

My younger face smiles up at me. So happy to be in love, despite my inexperience. So happy to finally be loved, despite my glaring shortcomings as a partner and a person.

So fucking unaware of what was really happening—and how much worse it would get.

I don't blame her for not seeing it sooner. For any of it. I won't.

But, even now, the parts of me poisoned by him still echo his words anyway.

We only get what we deserve, angel.

You have no one to blame for anything but yourself.

I wipe at my eyes again with a rough drag of my sleeve—and manage to hold back the fucking sniffle this time.

Then I tap out of the folder and jump back even further in time, to the very beginning of his camera roll, and start preparing his photos for deletion.

One quick horizontal swipe to select the row, then a sharp vertical drag to make it scroll.

Back into the thicket of selfies. Of memories. Harassment.

And dick.

Every single hard-on highlighted with selection as they speed by, a blur of flesh, passing too quickly to see clearly, but still…

A forest of fucking cock.

At a certain point—little over halfway down the roll, to be specific—I can't help but mumble under my breath, “How many fucking pictures does one man need of his dick?”

Bobby shifts in the corner of my vision. “You could certainly never get enough before, and how much it… fulfilled you.”

I grimace, but keep my eyes focused on the task.

“Wouldn't brag about that too much,” I mutter, then nod at Mason. “His is bigger. And he actually makes me come, so…”

Mason cracks into the loudest fucking laugh I've ever heard from him. It slams into the building and echoes around us, deep and satisfied, so much that I have to look up and witness it. His back shakes in front of me and a grin tugs at my lips, spreading wider the longer I watch, the longer his amusement reverberates inside of me, until I'm laughing again too, with something soft and quiet of my own.

“I make you come every time, sweetheart,” he calls out, “with or without this big cock.” His voice overflows with so much smugness it almost makes me regret saying that. Though, he drops most of it from his tone quickly enough, when he snaps at Bobby, “Make sure you put that in whatever you're writing about me.”

It almost seems like Bobby will for a moment, from the way he stiffens beneath Mason's words. I snort, then the scowl on his face twists deeper before he glares over at me.

“I never took you for the type to find any appeal in such banal vulgarity.” He scoffs. “I also thought you were a little old to fall for the tired, leather jacket, chain-smoking bad boy cliché straight off a teenager's bookshelf.”

Mason scoffs harder. “No wonder this asshole never gave you any pleasure. He doesn't fucking know what you like at all.” The smirk returns. “I'm gonna have to make up for it. Start by fucking you a few extra times tonight.”

I chuckle. “Oh, you hardly needed an excuse to do that.”

“No, but I'm already making plans for it. And they involve you sitting on my face.” His voice thickens into something huskier. “It's been too long since I've tasted you.”

“You tasted me last night.”

“Too fucking long ago, like I said.” He groans slightly, in a way that makes my lips roll together. “I've been missing it all day, the feel of your thighs clenching around my head while you buck up under my tongue and scream.”

The pen cracks in Bobby's grip.

“You still getting all this? Good.”

“But to provide further edification to that quote, Bobby,” I add, as the scrolling nears the end of the roll, “I'm usually screaming his name when I do that.”

Mason laughs again while I grin.

And send every single fucking photo and video into the trash.

The phone buckles beneath the strain of the task, hanging on a frozen screen for such a long moment that I start to worry, but it eventually staggers through. We both have a much easier time, two screens over, in the recently deleted folder, when I simply press the 'delete all' button.

Then the photos are gone.

All of them.

I double-check the cloud app again to make sure, but…

They're gone.

Finally.

I inhale deeply and blow out a long breath.

“Well,” I say, glancing up at Bobby, “looks like I've got a very urgent face-sitting appointment to make.” I step forward next to Mason, patting his back. “And I wanna get railed tonight too, by the chain-smoking bad boy cliché—”

“And his big cock.”

Mason smirks.

I chuckle and roll my eyes. Hard.

“Yeah, that, so—if there's nothing else Bobby, I'm gonna go.”

Turning on my heel, I move to leave, then jerk to an exaggerated stop.

“Oh shit, almost forgot—your phone.”

He glares at me, silent for once, as I hold it out to him. Anger swirls in his eyes. Not the vacant, heated rage, but that icy calculation. Working the angles. Finding a trajectory for the incoming cruelty, the spot to strike for maximum damage. It doesn't concern me, though.

He's not gonna say anything I haven't already heard thousands of times before.

Bobby reaches out to take the phone—

—but just as he's about to grab it, I pull it away.

Then I wind up my bulky, too muscular arm and hurl it as hard as I can toward the street.

It sails high through the air, lost momentarily in the darkening sky above, until it plummets back into the glow of streetlights a block away, black speck careening toward the road before it smashes into the asphalt and bounces up, exploding into pieces on a spray of shards and a quiet, tinkling clatter.

“Whoops,” I say flatly. “Slipped. Probably should clean that thing more often.”

Mason snorts. “Nice. I would've aimed for his face.”

“I thought about that, but his skull isn't that thick.” I wipe my hands on my jeans. “It wouldn't shatter if I threw it there.”

“It would if you threw it hard enough.”

I shake my head, grinning, and Mason slings his arm over my shoulder.

We start to leave.

“Did you delete your pictures, angel?”

I freeze mid-step.

“Don't worry, I have extensive backups of those,” Bobby coos. “Treasures should be protected, after all. Kept hidden, safe, and… private.”

A cold smirk greets me when I look over to him. It sharpens as our eyes meet, and old alarm blares distantly in my ear.

“I think your colleague is right. I don't know what you like, not anymore. You've changed so much since we parted, for the worst, and I see that now. Truly.” He slams the notebook shut and secures it with a snap of elastic. “Regardless, there's still one thing I could do for you that you would enjoy—that you would absolutely love.”

“You're gonna eat shit and fuck off forever?” I scoff. “Aw, Bobby, don't threaten me with a good time.”

He snorts derisively. “You're so… disappointingly vulgar, Alexandra. Crude. Filthy. It's disgusting, really.” His eyes gleam maliciously. “That's how I know you'll be soaking wet and overjoyed later, when I show the world exactly how wide you can spread your legs—”

Mason punches him.

A hard cross.

With pivot.

Right in the jaw.

The notebook goes flying. The pen goes flying. The glasses go flying, too.

Even one of his boots flies off his foot and up into the night.

Bobby pirouettes wildly past the planter into the bushes, where he lands, bounces off, and crumples onto the sidewalk, out cold.

I stare at him for a moment, blinking, trembling, eyes roaming over his splayed form, face-down and unmoving beneath the sodium lamps and twilight. Another car drives by in the distance, and I glance back to Mason.

“You missed the planter.”

Mason shrugs, rubbing his knuckles. “Didn't wanna ruin the flowers.”

My lips purse in consideration for a moment, before I give a nod of agreement, finding no flaw in the logic.

I walk down the sidewalk to Bobby, then roll him over with my boot and into a puddle. Oops. He sprawls out limp, eyes shut, jaw misaligned, blood trickling slowly from the corner of his mouth. The sight of him like that doesn't fill me with happiness, exactly, or… much of anything really. Maybe a vague sense of satisfaction that he finally got what he fucking deserved. A futile bit of hope that it teaches him some kind of lesson.

Mostly I just feel… tired. Strangely calm. Flat.

That probably just means I get to look forward to all of this shit hitting me later.

Hopefully, not with the force of a proper punch thrown by a vampire.

I nudge Bobby with my toe a few times. “You didn't… kill him, right?”

Mason steps next to me, passing over the notebook before he folds his arms.

“He'll live. For now.”

“Hm. Probably won't be eating solid food for a while, though.”

Mason snorts. “Or talking.”

I grin slightly, then unzip my bag, exchanging the notebook for my keys.

We stand above Bobby for a few moments, long enough for me to finally notice the faint rise and fall of his chest. And the water soaking into the ass of his jeans, insult to fucking injury. It looks like he fucking shit himself.

So, of course, that's what makes me start laughing.

Hard. Then uncontrollably. To the point where I buckle over on myself and my stomach begins to hurts and my eyes fill with tears again.

Crude and vulgar, indeed.

I don't know how long I stand there cackling, but eventually Mason nudges me. And when I unfurl to glance at him, he nods toward the end of the sidewalk, to the short set of stairs leading down to the parking lot.

And to Ennis springing up them, bundled in a puffy coat, hands jammed in pockets and on time to relieve Douglas.

They pause for a moment at the top, staring as us, then at Bobby—but they don't seem very surprised.

I raise an eyebrow.

“What happened?” they ask, walking over.

I shrug. “Ah, I dunno. Just found him like this.”

Mason grunts in agreement.

My gaze wanders toward Bobby. “Looks like he might've… got punched in the face.”

Ennis glances down the sidewalk, eyes moving from boot, to glasses, to pen, to Bobby, and finally back up to us, to my swollen cheeks and watery eyes and barely-subdued grin twitching next to the flat disinterest on Mason's face.

Their eyebrow raises too, gaze twinkling with something subdued of their own. “What a shame. I'll call an ambulance.”

“Thanks.” I smile.

“Have a good night, Detective.” Ennis smiles in return, then moves to head into the station. As they pass Mason, they nod slightly—and Mason returns it, just as faintly.

My lips purse, but I don't question it either.

Add it to the pile of shit about to bury me tomorrow.

All I want to do right now is head home. Collapse into bed. Burrow into a duvet.

To that end, I sling the backpack over my shoulder again and jog down the steps into the parking lot. Mason follows, falling into step with me, and I can see it lurking in the corner of my eye, sudden and blindingly bright. And I can feel it too, radiating off him.

A smirk to end all fucking smirks and the biggest regret of my evening.

Possibly of the rest of my year too—and beyond—because I am never gonna hear the end of it from him.

I blow out a breath and roll my eyes. “Oh, wipe that smug fucking look off your face. I only said all that shit to piss him off.”

“No,” the smirk widens insufferably, “you didn't.”

I huff, trying not to grin as I unlock the driver's door. “Well, don't let it go to your head—either of them.”

His hands slide over my hips from behind.

“Way too late for that, sweetheart,” he whispers against my ear.

The backpack slips from my shoulder, down my arm, and he's already spinning me around before it hits the asphalt with a soft thump. The keys follow, a jangling clatter, bumped out of the lock by my ass when he presses in to kiss me. Our hands find familiar places, favored purchase, his icy and insistent, burrowing beneath the warmth of my braid, cold fingers curled around my neck and scalp while his other hand splays out across my lower back and sneaks under my jacket, my sweater, tugging up my undershirt too, until I'm arching away from what's coming, into him, nowhere to go, nothing to do but squeal protests into the heat of his mouth as the frigid chill radiates closer.

Then presses directly against my skin.

His new favorite thing to do since the weather turned cold.

A violent shiver rips up my spine and I growl against his lips. He just smirks between kisses and glides his hand higher to make it happen again.

“Oh, that's fucking it, asshole,” I nip at his lower lip and suck it into my mouth, “I'm gonna knit you those damn mittens now, the ones with the huge pom-poms.”

Mason groans into me and shifts his hand again, forcing another shiver.

“Don't need 'em when I have you.”

I start to grumble something in response, but it's lost, pulled into a noise of pleasure when he deepens the kiss. Then it spreads into a smirk of my own, when I slip my fingers through his hair, down the collar of his jacket, and drag out a shiver from the warmth of his neck too.

He growls into me, pins my hips to the car with his, cold metal crushed against my ass while that cold touch circles around to my stomach.

And back and forth it goes.

Two jerks stealing warmth and trying to make each other shiver, with frosty fingers and nips of teeth and strokes in the right places, pressed and building heat regardless.

At least, until he unexpectedly leans away—and I unthinkingly follow.

Our lips stick together briefly before they part, releasing a breathy exhale from mine that brushes over the lingering moisture on his.

Mason shivers again as he draws back to look at me.

Desire smolders in that half-lidded gaze, but it's warm and deep. Embers instead of flame. Intense and unwavering, but gentle. Quiet. Strangely soft again.

And… searching.

For something.

My gaze drops away from it, to his chest, hands sliding down there as well, over worn leather warm from my body. Uncertainty makes me swallow and shift. I don't know what he's trying to see. Or hopes to find. But it does bring to mind something I really should've said to him as soon as Bobby hit the concrete.

“Thanks, by the way. For helping me deal with him.” I bite my lip. “…For staying.”

“I go where you go, sweetheart, you know that.” His thumb swipes across my cheek to tuck strands of loose hair behind my ear. “But I think you would've done just fine without the help.”

I shrug. “Yeah, maybe. But…”

Silence hangs on the end of my sentence as the words tangle into a knot. I don't quite know how to explain what it means to even have someone's help. To have someone do that for me, look out for me. And with no reservation, no judgment, no knowledge of the situation. No question either, just—

What it means that someone would think I'm worth any of that. Worth standing up for at all.

Even just as a teammate. Even just temporarily.

What it means to have someone—

I huff out a breath and smile faintly.

It doesn't matter. Mason wouldn't give a shit about my explanations regardless, even if I had them.

“Thanks anyway,” I say finally, patting his jacket a few times before I slide my hands away.

He catches one before it can fall. Holds it near his chest, cradling me there in his grasp, in shared warmth, fingers curled around the back of my hand while his thumb strokes something so soft against my palm it's almost imperceptible.

“You okay?”

I raise an eyebrow, smile pulling into a smirk as I give him a wink. “I'll be on time for my appointment, sunshine, don't worry.”

He raises his eyebrow too, frowning slightly. “That's not what I'm worried about.”

And that's… not what I expected him to say.

My smirk falters slightly as he stares at me, brow furrowing.

I glance away again.

“Well, I'll be ready for the mission tomorrow too.” I grip his hand in return, shaking it back and forth slightly while I grin. “I can even run properly again. No more sad, limping horse gallop.”

Mason blows out a sharp breath and forces our hands still. “That's not what I'm asking about, sweetheart. Stop ducking around the question.”

“Ducking around what, exactly? I answered you.”

“You were crying earlier. Twice.”

His jaw tenses, like maybe the words are knotting on his tongue too, and he can't quite unravel an explanation either.

I look away before he does, heat burning my face, and I'm suddenly too aware of the blood throbbing in my ears and throat, the pulsation across my cheeks and down my arms, the heartbeat driving it all, the hard, heavy thrum pounding against the wall of my chest.

It's loud for me. At this distance, it must be almost deafening for him.

“I felt it,” he murmurs, voice almost lost when the beat spikes. “Even before I touched you. Could've felt it coming off you from how far away you threw that fucking phone.”

I don't say anything in response. Don't even breathe, really.

“Anger and fear.”

My back stiffens.

“Pain.” His hand tightens around mine, thumb rubbing erratic circles around my palm while the wind rustles the last leaves in the trees and a siren plays in the distance. “A lot of it, Alex…”

I wonder if he felt the sudden tightness clawing up my chest and into my throat. The shallow breaths around it. The overwhelming sting in my eyes, in my nose.

I wonder if he feels it right now.

And how invasive it must seem at this distance.

“Yeah, well…” My voice is thick again. Hoarse. I swallow around it and force an exhale. “It's just old stuff. Nothing to worry about. Nothing that matters.”

I'm not sure whether the words are meant more for him—or for me.

Either way, he doesn't respond. Or move. Or do anything other than stare down at me with that heavy gaze of his.

I was wrong, too.

About my biggest regret of the evening.

I've… fantasized about it for so long, ever since I stepped into the hallway outside that final tribunal, air warm from the early afternoon light spilling in through the glass, shaking uncontrollably, too sick and too overwhelmed to even feel relief, especially not when he exited out the other set of doors and called my name down the corridor, in that exact same tone as all of his forgiveness and fucking lies.

I stormed away instead.

Kept walking. Ended up collapsed under a tree somewhere across campus, near the water. Slumped against the bark, exhausted and aching everywhere. Covered in grass stains with runs in my stockings and gashes in my palms. Nail marks. From clenched fists.

And the bitter, incandescent fury—for him and for me—that I hadn't blazed down that hallway and struck my name from his mouth.

That I didn't follow him to the parking lot, stalking from behind before I curled my hand into his hair, twisted, and smashed his head against the car door. That I never cracked my books across his temple whenever he cornered me on campus afterward. Or that I never stomped down the stairs and planted my foot into his chest, sent him flying off our porch and into the rose bushes every time his fucking voice drifted up through the window before my roommates told him to fuck off. Or that I didn't slam him face first into the fucking produce when he sidled up next to me at the grocery store a few months after I returned to Wayhaven.

Or that I've fucking failed to do any of the other countless fucking things I've thought of doing to him since, every fucking time, as he's sneered comments at me and stalked me around town and haunted me through his headlines.

And after all of that, after everything he's done, everything he continues to do, when I finally decide to let it out, to come at him, guns blazing, tonight of all fucking nights, I just—

Trip over my own feet.

Just stumble forward, wide-eyed into a dead stand, and let him insult me.

Again.

All that time and distance and training and fantasizing…

And the only thing I could do was freeze up and cry.

Like I never left his kitchen.

The siren blares in the distance, long whines stretching closer, and the fingers at my nape curl into my scalp, tugging slightly, gently, encouraging me to glance up.

His brow is still furrowed when I do. Eyes still soft. Quiet. Gorgeous, really, that endless and intense grey.

Now that I actually stop to look.

Mason leans down and kisses me again.

Not with his usual passionate eagerness. Or barely restrained desire.

It's still deep and intense. Urgent. But… slow.

Soft.

Somehow.

Just like his eyes.

And just as unfamiliar.

I return it anyway, lips moving to a strange rhythm, longer slides of tongue and breathy inhales, quiet groans and stubble scratching lightly against my chin as the siren gets louder.

His thumb swipes across my cheek too, and he squeezes my hand, shifts it, shifts us, brushing my fingers over cold leather and even colder hardware, until they bump into the tab of his zipper and remain. I grab it, freezing metal between my thumb and forefinger and, as soon as I do, he pulls our hands down. Down the bumpy track, teeth clicking and slowly parting, one at a time, a long descent, to the hitch at the end, the slight catch at terminus, before his jacket falls open and the tab jangles free and the heat of his body rolls out to me, strong enough to feel even through my layers.

He drags his thumb across my palm next as we continue to kiss, a hooped stroke curving at apex into a dull scrape of nail, right before his fingers lace between mine and open my hand. Then he spreads me against his stomach and presses flat. His hand splays atop mine, fingers still twined, blanketing me between his touch and the thin fabric of his shirt, the rolling planes of his abs and the hair that shifts slightly beneath on every draw of his breath. He pushes upward after a moment, rumpling cloth, dragging wrinkles, sliding us up his body to the growing siren, louder and louder, up through the center of his chest when we suddenly circle back slightly.

Until we stop above his heart.

It pounds faster than I heard earlier, but still the same.

Steady. Soothing.

Beating directly into my grasp as he holds me there.

The siren surrounds us. Deafening, but… distant.

I'm more enveloped in the heat of his touch and heartbeat, the way it thrums into me joining mine, reverberating around each comforting inhale of smoke and sandalwood, echoing back against the solid warmth of his body, the needy movement of our mouths and lips, the taste of his tongue and every urgent, unspoken word he's saying to me right now.

I press closer to hear better, raise up on my toes, open my hand even wider, until my skin stretches over my palm and my knuckles ache. He groans softly, fingers tightening on my neck and hand, encouraging, drawing me toward him.

Closer. So much closer.

And at this distance, it almost sounds like—

The siren cuts out with abrupt sharpness, startlingly fast, and ringing silence screams in my ears instead.

—nothing.

I pull back from the kiss with a breathy gasp, drop my heels with even heavier breathing, and open my eyes, catching his for the briefest instant before I tear them away.

Red lights flash across the parking lot and I look toward them eagerly. Doors open and slam shut on the ambulance as the responders emerge from it and jog up the stairs with their kits. My heartbeat thunders in my ears now, dissonant with the beat under my palm, but they still occasionally align and match.

Still find a rhythm together.

I swallow and slide my hand out from beneath his.

It was just a kiss.

“We should go,” I murmur.

A long moment passes before he moves, before his fingers squeeze at my nape so gently that it's probably just an errant twitch, then Mason pulls away and bends over to pick up my keys and bag. He holds the former out to me, and my hand curls around them without looking.

It was just something to get me back in the mood.

I turn to get in the car. Unlock the door for him. Sit while he climbs in with a slam. Click the seat belt, press the clutch, and start the engine.

Just something to make me eager—

As we pull out of the station driveway, the responders carry a stretcher up the stairs in the rearview.

Something to keep me wanting—

The streetlights and recent rain make the road hard to follow, the lines difficult to see.

And squirming in my seat—

But I've traveled this route frequently, often enough to navigate it under any condition.

—on the long drive back to my apartment.

Even with my eyes shut.

I turn off the tree-lined street onto the main road through town, bare boughs arching above giving way to painted brick, gas lamps, and a buzz of Friday night activity.

A field of brake lights and billowing exhaust choke the intersection by the Square, and we roll to a stop in the middle of it at a red light. Rush hour traffic, such as it exists in Wayhaven, from the shift change at the sawmill and last minute groceries and excited dinner plans. Normally, I time things to miss all of this, but…

I glance at Mason out of the corner of my eye. He slouches in the passenger seat, pack tucked between his thighs, one hand resting on it as he stares out the side window, cheek on fist, seemingly lost in thought. The quality of silence rolling off him feels more contemplative than usual, anyway.

But I'm probably just imagining that, too.

I force my attention back out the window, to the bustle of people on the sidewalk, the movement of shopping bags and takeout, dogs on leashes and children on shoulders, groups clumped together and spilling out of the entrances to bars and restaurants, and then to the rain, when it starts to patter against the roof and windshield.

I'm just… rattled. Too many old memories. Too many wounds not nearly as healed as I thought.

And way too much fucking Bobby.

Then again, that could be said about any amount of him.

The light changes, but we miss it and have to wait for another. At the front of the line, at least.

I stop in front of the cross walk, absently wiggling the stick in neutral before I take my foot off the clutch. Raindrops continue to rapidly accumulate on the glass, each one glowing with reflection, covering the windshield in a sea of bright red droplets.

Hard to see the pedestrians beyond it, laughing loudly and smiling as they hurry through the headlights. Not that it matters at the moment, because I'm stopped. Because I can't keep focused on them anyway. Because they're a world away from the two of us and the quiet in this car filled with the sound of everything I didn't hear.

And the look in his eye I can't get out of my mind either.

The raw glimpse I saw before I turned away.

The impossible name for it.

That softness.

The steering wheel creaks under my grip as I stare hard into the red.

Care.

The droplets on the windows flash green.

I bump the wipers, smear them away, and drive home.

[makingoutinthemojave]

Could you possibly do Hancock comforting a female Sole Survivor, who just destroyed the institute, and now has to take care of synth Shaun. And she’s happy to do it, she’s just nervous that she won’t be a good mom?? If that makes sense??

I let my friend write this one for me! Let me know if she did a good job! She inserted her character Andromeda into the situation. Also her character isn’t happy at first to do it, hope that’s cool!

-

“Mom?”

The child stared imploringly up at Andromeda. He had his father’s eyes.

No, he’s a synth, she thought, flinching away from his gaze.

Her son was dead. She could still feel the heat from the explosion that destroyed him.

The explosion that she had caused.

As the synth watched her with his innocent eyes she crumbled inside. How could she ever gain the privilege to be called “Mom” again? Synth or not, no child deserved a mother like her.

The Railroad agents standing around her looked anxiously between the two.

The silence was oppressive

I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

“I can’t do this,” Andromeda whispered, feeling something wet trail down her face.

“But, Mom I-”

Andromeda didn’t stay to hear the rest. Her legs carried her quickly away, her feet stumbling blindly over the rubble in the Railroad base. She heard Desdemona stop Deacon from following her.

Thank you. No one could understand this pain.

She didn’t get far before she buckled under the weight of her turmoil, curling in on herself and shaking as her body was wracked with sobs.

All across the Commonwealth, the people rejoiced at the end of the Institute. They had finally been freed from fear. Little did they know that their savior was grieving it.

No - not grieving it. It was something deeper than grief.

For the first time, truly, Andromeda was alone. Her husband murdered. Her own son killed by her hand.

She was the sole survivor.

For so long, the only thing keeping her going, the only reason for her to wake up in the morning, had been the promise that she would find Shaun.

But the Shaun she found was not hers.

He had grown up too far for her to reach. A monster beyond a mother’s redemption.

Andromeda had never been good at dealing with trauma. She faced all things with a grin and set shoulders, letting her experiences build up inside until they rushed out in waves of sorrow.

It had never been this bad before though.

The death of her husband. The search for her son. The murder of her son.

And now, this new child was asking for her affection.

How could she do it? How could she love this child when he looked so much like Shaun? How could she face him with her blood-soaked hands, her broken heart?

“Hey there.”

A raspy voice tore through her misery.

From her curled-up position, she heard him walk over and slide down the wall to sit next to her.

“Ya know, this is the second time I’ve had to chase you down like this, right?” Hancock gently prodded her with his shoulder, speaking softly.

“Sorry,” Andromeda murmured, wiping her eyes and leaning her head back against the wall. She studied the cracks in the rock ceiling above her, partly to try to stop the flow of tears and partly to avoid having to look at his eyes. Really, it was mostly to avoid his eyes.

“The kid’s okay if that’s what you’re wonderin’. Confused, but okay. What ha-”

“Hancock, I can’t do it.”

She could feel him staring at her, shocked by her sudden outburst.

“He wants me to be his mom. That kid he… my son programmed him to make him think that I’m his mother but I…. I can’t do it.”

“But,” Hancock started, his brow furrowing, “Why not?”

She whipped around to him, feeling as though she was about to explode.

“Because he’s not my son! Because I killed my son! Because I killed, Hancock! My hands are dirty. I’m broken and twisted. How can I raise somebody when all I can see when I look at them is what I’ve lost? What I’ve done?”

She ran her hands through her hair frantically, her fingers catching on the knots.

“How can you not understand that I’ve lost any right to be happy? That I don’t deserve him?”

Hancock reached out and grabbed her shaking hands, holding them tightly in his.

“Your son murdered and enslaved thousands. He subjected the entire Commonwealth to constant paranoia and fear. And yet he worked for what he believed was right. You’ve killed. You had to kill your son and many others. And yet you’ve done more to help the Commonwealth than anybody else has in a century,” He reached up and gently wiped her tears, “Do you see what I’m saying? Nobody deserves anything, really. To some, you deserve to die. To others, you deserve sainthood. This world doesn’t work in a way that acknowledges what people do or don’t deserve. I know that for a fact, ‘cause I’ve got you. Who knows what you really deserve… Well, actually, I know. You deserve the highest happiness. And, for once, I’m not talking about getting high, here.”

Andromeda laughed lightly, trying to put on a smile.

“Listen, love,” Hancock placed his hands gently on either side of her face, looking at her seriously, “I know I just said that the world doesn’t work in a way that gives a shit about what you deserve, but I think today the world is breakin’ that rule. There’s a kid in there that needs you. Synth or not, he’s Shaun. Or he can be if you’ll let him. I’m here with you no matter what choice you make, but I think this is your shot at doin’ it all over.”

She nodded, the corners of her lips tugging upwards at the thought of it. She was by no means healed, nor would she be for a while. But she had the chance at a new life. With Hancock. With Shaun.

“I think I might like that. You’ve gotta stick around though, killer,” She said, standing up with him.

“As you wish, smooth-skin,” He smiled to himself, “Ya know, I’ve always wanted a kid. Among Ghouls I’m known as the best influence a kid could hope for. And seeing as my… uh… factory is out of commission for the foreseeable future, this might be my chance.”

Andromeda took her hand in his and chuckled.

“A good influence, huh? We shall see.”

“And hey, ya mind not telling anybody about how amazingly comforting I was back there? I gotta keep up my rough-and-tough reputation.”

“As you wish, raisin-man.”

Forever, he would follow her wherever she called him. He remembered the promise he had made to her from what felt like ages ago:

For as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be here.

It seemed like Andromeda would have him there for a while.

Hancock liked that.

[bellamygateoldblog]

The 100 7x01: Discussion

My general takeaway from the episode can be summarised like this: Echo is spectacular. (I might’ve said “oh my god look at her!!!!!” and “ugh she is just The Best” too many times to count).

This is long-ish because I really just wanted to consolidate my thoughts in one place. Bitch it’s me i got a lot to say!!!!!

The Good Parts

— The farmhouse setting. While it’s existence is strange and “a sore thumb” and worked to further push Sanctum being the abomination born of clumsily mixing genres and time periods in terms of construction/costuming, making everything appear disconnected and obnoxious, it was still a nice change. It made me feel warmer and more comfortable as a ‘modern’ viewer. It’s a breath of fresh air from the constant dark element: dilapidated post-apoc buildings falling from their foundation, endless woods, and equally cold-feeling labs and skeleton dungeons.

— Echo. This was a damn good episode for Echo and every second reminded me of why she’s my favourite. She’s a badass. I always love to see her falling naturally into leadership of her little ragtag groups who accept it wholeheartedly. From the “testing a theory” moment where she went ‘when Gabriel doesn’t speak >>>’, to right at the end when she killed the solider about to “eliminate” Hope (hesitation is death...oh no he can’t hear us he’s got airpods in oh my god). It was Echo that got them through the whole sequence with the anomaly, Echo who figured shit out, Echo who quickly judged the situations and formed plans to overcome the obstacles. In other words: she did THAT.

Favourite scene: Echo coming face-to-face with the projection of her own insecurities in the form of Roan and Echo 1.0, and physically overcoming them (shooting them down), along with the trauma and pain that they both represent. The perserverence and getting the job done despite the emotional torture felt like a callback to the Psychosis episode of 6x02 when she was clever enough to sedate herself to silence the voices in her head. I also think the dialogue chosen was also foreshadowing that she would become a leader by the finale (commander?) and i love to see it!

— Clarke and Madi’s conversation. Oh Clarke, you just keep reinforcing and validating my perceptions of who you are as a person over and over again lol. In all her self-importance failing to remember that Madi, in fact, had and was raised by her biological parents for half of her life (and the new knowledge that she spent six years telling her little mind tales from the book of her life whilst apparently never taking the time to learn about Madi’s or acknowledge/honour her birth parents in any way) is “yeah that’s about right” to me. Sure you could say she was still reeling from the events of six and her death-almost death-almost death again. But I’ve always had this Thing about the relationship between Clarke and Madi. And i’ve seen some of the lighthearted humourous reception that scene got from fandom, “#where do you think the child CAME from?!” which only served to remind me of my own impression that Clarke views Madi as wholely ‘hers’, as if Madi’s existence was tied to Clarke, but i might elaborate in a seperate post.

This scene was a lovely display of self-awareness I’ve rarely seen on Clarke (never even got it when she electrocuted said child two seasons ago- however that absense of apology and acknowledgement of the sheer wrongness of that action also fits very nicely with my view of her lmao, still though, a weird choice for your ‘heroine’).

— Clarke’s “feels like a different world.” Felt romantically-coded. I think Gaia/Clarke might be the most convinient relationship to transform into romance at this point. However I’m sincerely hoping this road they could go down won’t reduce Gaia to a crutch/accessory for Clarke, and that she doesn’t become merely a love interest. I’ve seen talk already of Gaia being “Clarke’s happiness” etc.. which is already confirming my worst fears. Sigh.

This moment very much felt like found closure and the turning of a page. But i will say it was a very sharp turn from the three seasons of shoehorned-in mentions of Lexa, and last season’s emphasis on Clarke’s very-much intact emotional response to her memory- “it’s why you cry when you think about Lexa”- to her looking at an image of Lexa’s memory of her, reminicing but having no emotional response to it, and brushing it off while sharing a soft look with Gaia (and this is a few days since s6? I don’t know how this timeline is working but Tbh it’s not like these writers ever concerned themselves with ‘realistic time frames’ anyway lol). Yep, Jason’s seasons are individual “movies,” alright.

Other *nodding approvingly* moments

— Raven’s subtle “elevator eyes” on Clarke when she started giving her orders again. I see you, Miss Reyes, and I appreciate you.

— Raven + the foot in her mouth and the cute way she catches herself both times. I just love watching characters fail at existing LOL. She was feeling more human than stereotype or plot device this episode.

— "Mommy and Auntie O” and the implication that Hope is a child inside an aged-up body.

— This quote: “I know what it’s like to lose your family 100 years ago and yesterday at the same time.” It’s so literal but I like it a lot.

— Clarke being ‘leader’ again is, as usual, solely a matter of convinient (and familial/love) circumstances and it felt very true.

The Rest

— The Eligius Situation. So Clarke and her inner circle conquer and live in a nice home, and we’re specifically told Clarke takes the master suite (and the dog), and I was like ‘fair enough’ but then she orders prison labour. She tells them to build her a compound that they won’t actually get to be apart of, and to live in tents while they do so. They aren’t getting anything out of this (before they resist and set their own terms). This is slavery. Also, those aren’t her people to boss around, look down on, and use accordingly for her own gain (in fact they barely know her or why she’s gone from being that one unloyal woman who executed their men and got herself captured like an idiot, then couldn’t make up her mind about which side she wanted to kill- to one in the uppermost position of authority...like...they woke up yesterday) But, then again, that never stopped her.

— Too much and not enough at the same time. The pacing of the episode in general was awful. Too much happening in quick succession, no breathing room, too many factions (no, actually Raven, where is ALIE when you need her? smh). I blink, I miss an entire scene and a character is now beating someone else up. Amazingly, i was still bored 90% of the time.

— The Children of Gabriel calling themselves “The Children of Gabriel.” It was always goofy, even more so when a grown man is saying it.

— Murphy + his self loathing over Abby’s death. Did I miss the part where she was ever good to him? One of their final moments together was of her telling him he deserved to die over Clarke after she spent the entire series treating him like he was inferior and disposable. uhhhhhhhhhh.

— The picnic scene. Jackson’s sudden violent outburst was unearned (it wasn’t even set up???), and also disrespectful. Wrong place, wrong time, bro. He’s grieving? Okay. But when Abby’s daughter is sitting right in front of you, making this about you, ruining a perfectly good toast in her honour with your uncomfortable accusations loses you points you never even had to begin with. And this is a ‘me’ thing but I can’t be bothered to be sympathetic when this is about Abby Griffin.

Also, I have to say it. Eliza’s acting took me out of the scene every time I looked at Clarke. I couldn’t for the life of me work out what those expressions were supposed to be.

— Russell, his manpain, and a fury over the consiquences of his own actions  that could rival the grounders (”my brother died in your ring of fire [while he was trying to murder you all]” hmm sounds like a you problem). But the worst part is, I simply couldn’t tell where he stood or what he was feeling. He’s so one-dimensional. He’s an evil man (so much for ”grey morality”).

— Clarke + Jordan. A small point to make but all Clarke has done since Marper made her ‘Godmother’ of their son has blame him for everything bad happening lol. Marper loses a lot of my respect as time goes on for that choice. As much as I dislike Jordan’s presence in the show, still not a great pattern to have noticed.

— Raven seeking approval from Clarke (specifically) for the Prime idea was...weird and very bad. When has Raven ever cared for Clarke’s validation, especially in the last few seasons?

Was also taken aback by how Indra and Miller are both suddenly so protective of Clarke, like i can make sense of the Indra part even though it relies on me making things up that aren’t supported by what’s on screen, but Miller?

— (Bonus moment that was bad for me, but not for the same reason it was for the rest of you: the scene of Hope finding the message in her arm. When she was removing the blood-soaked bandage I freaked out because I thought she was peeling her skin off. You’re welcome for that visual.)

The Mixed/No Feelings

— Clarke’s full-dark-no-stars. How many times have they told me now she’s “the head”? LMAO. 

I have no actual formed opinion on it. Only disjointed thoughts. Like i might’ve just gone “good for her” if Clarke wasn’t the person she is, with the history she has.

I appreciate the idea, to have her spend the whole episode declaring she is, in fact, completely fine, to end it having her explode with the repressed pain.

I mean...i realise the cognition behind it, but it’s eye-roll inducing at this point. This- kicking Russell to death (giving him exactly what he wanted and set out to provoke), and burning down a palace she promised to keep intact, once again going against the group to do her own Thing that they all ultimately have the suffer the consiquences of and help clean up- is just a repeat of past patterns, and Monty’s “do better” mantra that she desperately clung to like she owned it last season is nowhere in sight.

(Also, I can’t be the only one who spotted her physically smacking that Sanctum girl as she walked onto the balcony? Not cool. Wasn’t cool when Murphy acted like a dick to one of them either this episode.)

The rushed switch did a number on me, too, like Jackson’s did. Literally five minutes before she was preaching about a peaceful life for Madi that doesn’t take revenge (I think I know what they were going for with that but it just left me feeling confused and frustrated).

Furthermore, I’ve seen talk that this was her “burning down of a symbol of oppression”, something she experienced first hand (not so unlike Blodreina and the bunker she desperately wanted to escape and deliver her people from), but there was no noble, calculated intention there. She burned the palace accidentally in her rage because she was in pain and disorientated. The moral stuff was just an after effect.

The speech was also very ‘Clarke’. Feeling entitled to and making decisions on who lives and dies right after declaring this wasn’t their kill to make. She wasn’t the only person hurt by the Primes (but we’ve also been given no reason to care about any of the other victims- the manipulated, enslaved population have been turned into a joke and a punching bag for the main characters which...isn’t great either). And the castle could’ve been used to shelter some of the “too many people” we had problems with through the episode (or used to harvest resources from). It really comes down to if i think the situation justifies the reaction and if i hold her wholely responsible...and this is the part where i reiterate that i have no intact opinion and don’t actually care to have one either ha.

[snarkybluechristian]

Hazbin Hotel: Yandere Alastor x Vaggie Chapter 44

Angel opened his eyes and blinked slowly.  All around him was darkness.  He looked at the ceiling, and then at his bed, but he couldn’t clearly see anything.

As he laid there on his bed letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, Angel remembered what had happened the night before.  Despite his drugged state at the time, he could remember most of what had transpired.  Angel remembered the auction, Valentino, the rescue, Molly, Vaggie, Cherri, Charlie showing up to help them, and then falling asleep in that limo.

Tap.  Tap.  Tap.  Whoosh.

Angel started for a moment before he realized what the sound was.  It was the air coming on to cool down or warm up…wherever he was.  

There were several places where Angel could be.  He wasn’t in his room at the hotel with Fat Nuggets there to cuddle next to him.  So, Angel had to be at Cherri’s or Molly’s.  

Wherever Angel was, it was still too early to wake up.  At least by his standards.  Angel’s eyes finally caught sight of the light of a window seeping in and reflecting Hell’s morning light or whatever you called it on the ceiling.  There was plenty of time to sleep, especially after the night he had.

Angel closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep again.

The room was dark and cool.  The air conditioning vent was on at full blast, cooling the cold the room even more.  Without a thought, he tried reaching his hands down to pull the blanket more tightly around his slender form, but as he attempted lifting his hands, he felt resistance.

“What the…?” Angel asked himself quietly as he tried pulling his hands back again just as unsuccessfully as the first time.  

Angel felt his two pairs of hands around his restraints and felt leather cuffs around his wrists.

“What the fuck is…?” Angel asked himself anxiously just as another important memory struck him like a bat to the head.

The note Vaggie risked her neck to sneak him through the vent, the note that he found when Rosie shoved him into the bathroom to use the toilet before she scrubbed him clean for the auction, the note he then flushed down the toilet after reading, it described something like this...  

It was only then that Angel’s eyes had adjusted enough to notice that the walls of the room were covered with padding.

Angel felt a shiver run down his spine that froze his blood more than the room’s excessive air conditioning.  At that moment, he realized not only where he was but what had happened to everyone else.

“Oh, God…” Angel squeaked out, feeling the fear rush over him like a massive wave.

Angel was about to summon his third pair of arms to make a break for it when he heard a door open and what sounded like a small group of demons ambling down a stone staircase.

Once they reached the bottom, the group made their way to the door and opened it.

Angel managed to sit himself up on his elbows just as the lights were flicked on.  The bright fluorescent lights stung his eyes and caused him to fall back on his back.

“Wakey, wakey, little brother,” Arackniss’s voice rang through the small room.

Two other figures entered the room and stood over his bed as Angel’s vision struggled to adjust to the light.  

“Good morning, Anthony,” a large gray figure said.  “I am Dr. Red, and I will be in charge of your gay conversion therapy program.”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!” Angel shrieked.  “What happened?!  Where are the ladies?!”

“Ladies?” the gray figure asked with a hint of excitement.

“My friends!” Angel retorted.  “Vaggie, Cherri, Charlie, and Molly!  What did you do to them?!”

Henroin took out the cigar he was puffing on, blew smoke into the air, and scoffed, “Those drugs must have knocked you out sooner than we thought.  The long and short of it is that our group caught up to yours, son.  Your princess friend tried to stop Alastor, but Daddy Dearest showed up and stopped her and now everyone is where they need to be.  Vaggie is back with Alastor, Lucifer took the princess home with him, we dropped Molly off at her place, and now, you’re home with us.”

“What about Cherri?” Angel asked.  “Where is she?  What the fuck did you bastards do to her?!”

“She’s fine,” Arackniss answered, finally entering the room himself.  “You don’t need to worry, Anthony…”

“You didn’t answer where,” Angel snarled.

Arackniss scoffed and said, “That is none of your concern, little brother.”

As his eyes finally adjusted to the light, Angel glared at Arackniss and replied, “Then what is my concern, asshat?!”

Henroin chuckled maliciously and replied, “You’re about to find out.”

Angel moved his head to quip at his father, but his eyes instantly fell on Dr. Red.  

Dr. Red was a gargoyle demon with stony flesh, a pointed chin, wings furled up against his back, horns on the top of his head, ruby red eyes, and a slender frame that made him at least a head taller than Henroin.  His hair and every other feature were the same shade of stony gray flesh.  The only color on him came from his ruby eyes, his black pupils, and the clothes he wore.  He was dressed in a white lab coat, a black sweater, brown trousers, black shoes, and glasses over his eyes.

Angel smirked and whistled seductively as Dr. Red came walking closer to his bed and said, “Hello, handsome.  How’s about you clear out the room so the two of us can have some fun?  I can’t say no.”

Dr. Red grimaced, pulled the blanket off Angel’s body, and replied in a cold and logical voice, “So, you’re the infamous Angel Dust.  You have quite the reputation.”

Angel licked his lips seductively and said, “So, you have heard of me.  Come closer, baby.  I’m always available for my fans.”

SMACK!

Dr. Red responded to Angel’s advance with a slap to the face.

“Don’t even think about it,” Dr. Red said sternly.

Angel squealed seductively in response and gushed, “Oh, Daddy, you have such strong hands!  They’re literally made of stone.  Does that hardness extend everywhere, Doctor?”

Dr. Red grimaced, turned back to Henroin, pulled out a notepad, and said, “This is a rather severe case.  How long has your son been like this?”

“Basically, since he became a man,” Henroin replied.  “We started really noticing after his mother died.”

“Interesting,” Dr. Red said, writing on his notepad.

“You know I’m right here, right?” Angel asked sarcastically.  “I’ve been this way since I was old enough to fall in love…”

“Hey!” Arackniss interrupted from his spot on the wall.  “You won’t interrupt the good doctor if you know what’s good for ya!”

“You ain’t even in this conversation,” Angel retorted, sitting up on his elbows again.  “Fuck off!”

“BOYS!” Henroin snapped.  

“No, no, Don Henroin,” Dr. Red reassured him without looking up from the notepad he was writing on.  “This is great for my notes and treatment plan.  It seems to me that our patient may be traumatized from the loss of his mother…”

Angel couldn’t hold his composure anymore.

“Mom had nothing to do with this!” Angel snapped angrily.  “You fucking leave her out of this!”  

“Angry outburst,” Dr. Red said out loud while continuing to write in his notepad.  “Definite emotional trauma present.”

Angel growled angrily.

“We’re going to need to move on to more invasive procedures,” Dr. Red said to Henroin and Arackniss, finally putting away his notepad in the pocket of his lab coat.  “His mind is in too heavy a state of anger, apprehension, and agitation to be pliable at this time.”

“So, what do we do?” Henroin asked.

“I need you two to help me move him to the chair,” Dr. Red replied.

“You got it,” Henroin said with a malicious smile.  “Arackniss?”

“Coming,” Arackniss said, finally moving off his spot on the wall.

Henroin and Arackniss moved to either side of the bed and undid the straps holding down Angel’s arms and feet.  

Angel laid down as his father and brother loosened the straps holding him down.  He then allowed them to help him sit up on his bed while Dr. Red watched them by the side of the door.  

That was when Angel made his next move.  

“That’s right,” Dr. Red said.  “Easy does it...ANTHONY!”

Angel summoned guns with all three pairs of hands and pointed each pair at a different person.  

Angel then hopped on the floor and began moving his bare feet gingerly across the padded floor towards the door while his head moved back and forth to keep his eyes on all of them.  He even opened his other six eyes to help him out.

Dr. Red and the Spider family did not act surprised and barely even flinched when they saw the guns.  They simply stood there coolly as if they were waiting for Angel say his peace in a conversation.  

For Angel, it was off-putting to say the least.  The trio of demons weren’t scared at all.  They simply watched him and waited as he backed his way up to the door as if this were a planned scene in one of his pornos.

“The doctor is just trying to help you, Anthony,” Arackniss said calmly.  

“Yeah, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be, son,” Henroin said just as coolly.  

Angel leered furiously at his father and older brother and snarled, “Listen here, you motherfucking…HEY!”

When Angel turned his head, Dr. Red snuck up behind him, grew a few feet taller and more muscular evidently, threw a pillow case over Angel’s head, wrapped both pairs of arms around Angel’s, and picked him up off the ground all in the span of a few seconds.

“Grab his guns now!” Dr. Red yelled.

Angel cursed loudly as he thrashed around and fired his guns.  The pillowcase over his head was dark.  He couldn’t see what he was aiming at, but he could hear his Dad and brother fall on the padded floor and the telltale sound of cushions exploding.

Unfortunately for him, Angel couldn’t get too many shots out before he felt his guns getting shot out of his hands in six quickfire shots.

“Good work, Arackniss…” Dr. Red said.

Of course.  Screw his brother’s perfect aim.

“…Now, help me get Angel to his jacket just like we practiced,” Dr. Red finished calmly.

“PRACTICED?!” Angel screamed, thrashing wildly as he felt Dr. Red dragging him into the next room while Henroin and Arackniss ran past them.  “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!”

“Just something to calm you down for the procedure, son,” Henroin replied with a smile in his voice.  

“What the fuck are ya…HEY!” Angel yelled as he tried fruitlessly to shake his arms out of the doctor’s grip.

At that moment, Angel felt something familiar being slipped over his three arms.  It didn’t take him long to realize what it was.  

“What are ya doin’?!” Angel yelled as he continued thrashing desperately.

Everyone continued as if they hadn’t heard him.  The straitjacket was slipped over his arms quickly and effectively.  

Once the straitjacket was on, Angel waited until the doctor let go of his arms to tie back the sleeves.  

When Dr. Red did, Angel tried reaching his arms back to his torso to summon more guns, but the long sleeves were instantly pulled back and tied behind him, effectively restraining him.  He tried desperately to move his arms, but it was no use.

“Good work, everyone,” Dr. Red said as he pulled off the dark pillowcase.  “The patient has been restrained perfectly and we are now prepared for the next step.”

Angel’s sweaty face had hardly a moment to cool down before Dr. Red picked him up by the torso and his father and brother lifted his legs.

“What the fuck are ya bastards doin’ now?!” Angel yelled, still trying to thrash as much as his restraints would allow him while kicking his long legs at his family.  “PUT ME DOWN!”

Arackiss stared at him quietly while Henroin scoffed and said, “Right away, son.”

Angel was suddenly placed on a chair, and no sooner was he sat down than were his legs and torso strapped in.  It was then that Angel realized where exactly he was and what was about to happen.  A look to the right confirmed his suspicions as his eyes fell on the car battery on the cart with the bit and the mess of wires attached.  

Angel felt his eyes grow as wide as saucers and a shiver run down his spine as he began to tremble uncontrollably.

Everyone but Arackniss smiled sadistically as Dr. Red reverted to his original form and adjusted the chair so that Angel was lying on his back.  

“That shut him up,” Henroin quipped.  

No sooner had those words left Henroin’s mouth than did Angel resume his pointless struggle to escape from his restraints.

“You just had to say something.  Didn’t you?” Arackniss asked with a sigh.

Dr. Red shook his head and prepared his machine.  

Angel gave up his struggle against his restraints and laid there helplessly.  He panted loudly as the doctor moved the cart over to the head of his chair.

Angel trembled like a leaf.  He couldn’t hear a sound beyond his own breathing and heart beating.

Dr. Red skillfully attached the headgear on Angel’s head.  Angel shook his head desperately, but the headgear held firm and the doctor managed to get a bit between Angel’s teeth.

Angel stopped shaking his head and glanced around the room in a desperate panic only to see the cold stares of his family and doctor.

“Now, Anthony,” Dr. Red said.  “Are you going to calm down and endure therapy willingly or are you going to make us turn on this machine to calm you down?”

Angel shook out of his frightened stupor.  As his eyes met his doctor’s condescending stare, Angel found his nerve and glared back.

“Well, Anthony?” Dr. Red asked impatiently.

With the bit still between his teeth, Angel replied, “FUCK YOU!”

“Wrong answer, son,” Henroin retorted.  “Pull the switch, doctor.”

Without another word, Dr. Red annoyedly walked over to the machine and threw the switch.  

A surge of electricity immediately entered Angel’s body and set every nerve on fire in searing pain.  He screamed through his bit and bit down until his teeth were practically touching while the rest of his body convulsed uncontrollably.

Henroin and Dr. Red looked on with cold smirks.  Arackniss looked away, uncomfortably listening to Angel’s screams.

“So, Anthony, do you feel calm enough to cooperate now?” Dr. Red asked.  “Anthony…?”

Angel couldn't respond as the electricity continued to pulsate through his body, causing him to convulse and writhe in every direction.

“Anthony can’t respond like that, doctor,” Arackniss spoke up.  “You gotta turn off the machine.”

“Yeah, shut it off,” Henroin demanded.  

“Alright,” Dr. Red replied.  “This should be more than enough time to calm his emotions.”

Dr. Red shut off the electricity.  Angel immediately fell limp in relief and in exhaustion at the surge of electricity his body was forced to go through.

Dr. Red coldly walked over to the head of Angel’s chair and asked, “How are you feeling, Anthony?  Do you feel better?”

Angel was too out of breath to respond, so he just laid there in his restraints trying to catch his breath.

Red smiled sadistically, began writing in his notepad, and said, "Excellent.  The sedation technique was successful.  Now, we can begin the therapy…”

Angel could hardly hear Doctor Red chattering to his family.  His disoriented and weakened mind was spinning in circles, traumatized, hurting, and completely helpless as it had been so many times before.  It was all he could do to not shed a tear.  

“…The therapy works better if the patient has something to works towards,” Angel heard Dr. Red say.  “You have any ideas of anything Anthony might want?”

Angel immediately perked back up and listened in on the conversation while keeping his face completely neutral.

“I have an idea,” Arackniss replied.  “We could let him out to share a meal with us before we go to Alastor’s wedding on Friday.”

“I wouldn’t mind that, as long as we have the good doctor on standby,” Henroin added.

Arackniss walked over to the chair where Angel was staring blankly at the wall pretending to barely even be conscious and asked with mild concern in his voice, “Hey, Anthony?  Did you hear what we said?  If you behave for the next week, you get to leave the basement to have dinner with me and Dad.  Does that sound alright to you?  Nod your head since you probably can’t talk yet.”  

Angel realized then what he had to do.  He nodded his head.

“Excellent!” Dr. Red exclaimed cheerfully.  “We will work towards that goal then!”

Angel nodded weakly and submissively just like the little slave they wanted him to be, giving no indication of the plan forming in his head.  

For now, Angel would obey them.  He would say and do whatever ridiculous thing they asked him to do.  He would be the doctor’s ideal patient.  He would behave.  Until Friday.  When they’d finally let him out of this dungeon for good behavior.

Then, somehow, some way, Angel would fight his way out and find his way back to Cherri, to Charlie, and then to Alastor’s wedding to save Vaggie.  

All he had to do was wait.

[shesthelastjedi]

Finding the Fire Within: Boy in an Iceberg

Hi!

I thought I would give you guys Chapter 1 today since the prologue was so short. I hope you enjoy chapter one. My story is posted on FF, ao3 and Tumblr. Thank you to those who took a chance to read this.

Forever and Always,

Ari.

Disclaimer: I only own my OC's and the parts of the plot you do not recognize from the Avatar The Last Airbender.

Chapter 1: Boy in an Iceberg

Adara stood on the deck, inhaling the salty ocean air, grimacing at her stomach swirling unpleasantly. The smell of salt was one thing she still couldn’t get used to no matter how long she had been out at sea. But she still thanked her lucky stars that she wasn’t plagued with seasickness as she had been at the beginning of their journey. She breathed in deeply pushing past the salt aroma, seeing the sun beginning to rise from the East. Even with the sun barely rising, she felt the rush of warmth and energy radiating from the fireball in the sky. Her eyes closed involuntarily as she relished in the familiar warmth spreading throughout her body. Adara’s skin prickled at the energy. She disregarded the irritated cough from behind her attempting to gain her attention. Adara held her smile when he coughed again. Every morning he greeted her the same way, and she didn’t understand why he couldn’t greet her normally.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you ready to train,” Zuko questioned, moving to stand beside her. Adara eyed him, wanting nothing more than to smack him for his absence of manners. If only their teachers were here to drill some common sense into him. He was getting off lucky that she was in a forgiving mood today and she was holding onto her manners.

She pursed her lips, letting the small amount of serenity she produced fade elsewhere. Adara glanced at Zuko, regarding the impatient look plastered on his face. Ignoring her temper, she plastered a fake smile on her face knowing how much he hated it her false happiness. “Good morning Prince Zuko,” Adara inclined her head slightly to upset him even more. She raised an eyebrow at him when he refused to greet her back. “Normally this is where someone with manners says, ‘Good morning Adara my greatest, truest friend, did you sleep well?’” She prompted him with a small smile, opting to tease him to make herself dull her irritation. He let out an annoyed breath, still refusing to respond. “Seems someone forgot their manners again… Come back and try again. If you happen to remember your manners, maybe I’ll train with you.”

She veered away from Zuko, heading towards the front railing of the ship to watch the water. Adara clutched the bars tightly, watching her hands turn a ghostly shade. She studied the ocean noticing medium chunks of ice crashing against the steel. Adara grimaced, already disliking the idea of cold and water joining together. Two of her least favorite elements. Ever since she fell in a year ago, she loathed being in cold water. Yet the trauma still didn’t stop her from peering over the edge to peek at the different sea animals. It had always been her favorite thing to do after training.

“Good morning Lady Adara, did you sleep well?” Zuko relented from his stance behind her. She bit her lower lip, hiding her grin. Even though she was upset at him, he always gave in to her request to greet her.

Adara couldn’t help but let her smile cross her face, glancing at the water one last time, she turned to meet his gaze letting him see that she was pleased. “I slept well Prince Zuko, so I suppose I can fit in a few hours of training. But only if you agree to meditate with me afterward,” She comprised watching him roll his eyes. He hated to meditate, just like she hated training.

“Fine,” He turned abruptly heading towards the center of the ship. She watched him letting out a small sigh, casually trailing after him ready to help him meet whatever fury he had endured during the night.

Adara eyed the sky wishing that she had been born as a hawk so she didn’t have to train so hard with Zuko, ignoring the sweat trickling down the sides of her face. Zuko leaned down towards her blocking her view of the clouds. He grinned smugly reaching his hand out to haul her up. She held in her sneer when she realized how excited he was that he always beat her. Adara rolled her eyes at his smug grin still etched on his face as she grasped his hand, allowing him to pull her up. One of these days she would best him, so she could grin down at him.

“It’s not a good look for a Prince to cheat,” Adara teased, raising an eyebrow at him. She dusted her clothes off, fixing her top listening to his growl.

“I didn’t cheat! Must you always resort to that line when I beat you,” Zuko exclaimed throwing his hands up in anger. She watched him, smirking at how easy it was to rile him up.

She pushed her hair away from her face, wishing she would’ve tied it up. “Depends…Does it still make you angry?” She darted away from him when he tried to swat at her. “I’m only teasing Zuko! But you fall for it every single time!” Adara chuckled, dodging his hands again when he stalked towards her.

“Why you litt-” Zuko snarled, holding his arms out, ready to send fire towards her.

Adara snickered, running to hide behind Iroh. “Prince Zuko, excellent form!” Iroh tossed her towel over his shoulder, focusing on Zuko. She took it, bowing her head slightly in thanks. “Adara you are still holding back,” He chided, shaking his head in discontent, turning so he could stare at her and Zuko. She dropped her head, frustration beginning to bubble in her chest. She was a disgrace to the Fire Nation. She still couldn’t grasp her training and she was failing at being a successful sparring partner for Zuko. A warm hand clasped her on shoulder causing her to glance up. “Once you learn to trust your body, your form will start to improve.”

She plastered a smile on her face, blotting the sweat from her face. “Thank you, Iroh.” It was hard to place his words into action. Ever since she fell in the ocean, she started to fall behind. She had trusted her body to swim, but she had failed and became a burden. Adara breathed in deeply feeling the chill from the wind. “We are getting closer to colder waters. Will the crew be okay with this weather?” Adara stood on the tip of her toes, seeing more ice gathering in the water. She looked at Zuko, waiting for him to answer, only to get no response as he went back to practicing his forms.

“Most of the crew are fire benders, they have learned to control their inner warmth,” Iroh reassured, watching Zuko. “Shall I continue teaching you the art of Pai sho?” Adara knew that she should probably mirror Zuko to get better, but her heart wasn’t in it.

She nodded wanting to take a break from her training. “Lead the way.”Iroh trailed to a smaller table that was being set up a few feet away. She sat down after him, looking at the tiles. A cool breeze had her shivering slightly as she touched within to harness her inner warmth.

While Iroh was concentrating on his move, she watched Zuko hold his practice to stare at the neverending horizon. Adara studied him wondering how she had managed to preserve their friendship even with all of their ill-tempered words and temper outbursts. A small part of her wished that they could travel back to how it was before the banishment. She missed her friend who loved to feed the turtleducks and show off his swordsmanship. The Zuko she knew now was just angry at the world and it wasn’t the world’s fault but it wasn’t like she could tell him that without upsetting him. Adara eyed at his scar, her heart feeling dejected because of the pain that he endured. Her eyes flashed back to the board, when he turned around, knowing that he would be upset if she was caught staring.

“Finally,” Zuko whispered loud enough for her to hear. Adara watched a bright blue beam of light shoot up into the sky. “Uncle, do you realize what this means?” She pressed her lips together when Iroh continued to focus on the board. “We won’t get to finish our game?”

She met Zuko’s golden gaze and she could see the hope shining in his eyes. Adara hadn’t seen it in a long time. “It means my search - it's about to come to an end.” Iroh groaned loudly voicing his displeasure as he finally made a move.

Without thinking Adara moved a tile, standing up quickly walking towards Zuko. The game was the last thing on her mind as she stood beside him. The light was signaling that something important was occurring, and she wanted to believe that it was the Avatar. “How can we be sure that it’s him Zuko,” She asked, voicing her concern. The last thing she wanted to do was squash his hope that was beginning to grow.

“Adara, that light came from an incredibly powerful source. It has to be him,” Zuko exclaimed, gesturing to the light that they had experienced in a similar situation last year. Adara fiddled with her fingers, trying to figure out a way to tell him not to get his hopes up without being so blunt.

“Or it's just the celestial lights. We've been down this road before, Prince Zuko. I don't want you to get too excited over nothing. Please, sit. Why don't you enjoy a cup of calming jasmine tea?” Iroh set another piece down, gesturing for them both to sit. Adara froze, waiting for Zuko’s temper to explode from him.

Zuko spun on his heels so fast, Adara felt dizzy looking at him. “I don’t need any calming tea! I need to capture the Avatar. Helmsman, head a course for the light!”

Adara tentatively reached out a hand, setting it on Zuko’s arm, “Zuko, just don’t be upset if it isn’t him.”

He stared at her, his eyes softening slightly before they hardened. “I know it’s him,” He muttered broodingly, shaking her hand off his arm. Adara nodded backing away from him as she went back to sit with Iroh. She tried her best to focus on the game, but her mind kept drifting back to the light.

Adara walked up to the spotting deck, watching Zuko stare at the horizon again. He hadn’t left his spot to come and eat with them. Carefully she balanced the tray, setting it on the smaller table. Once she had fixed his food, she stood moving to stand next to him quietly. “I know he’s out there Adara… I can feel it.” Adara bit her lip at Zuko’s words knowing he needed her support and she wasn’t going to stand in the way of his hope. A part of her believed him when he told her his thoughts, but she knew that the Avatar hadn't been seen in so long.

“I will always follow you… I just don’t want to see you hurt again,” Adara leaned against the railing, knowing that he believed her. “I brought your food and it’s all set up. Remember we need our strength. So eat, even if your mind is telling you that you aren’t hungry.” Adara set her hand on his arm, squeezing it lightly before she let go.

Zuko’s P.O.V

Zuko glanced at her, watching her incline her head respectfully. Adara looked up at him, sending him a small smile as she turned to leave him to his thoughts. He was grateful to her, she knew that he wanted to be alone, but how he also wanted to be heard and she had given him what he needed. He allowed his shoulders to drop as he smelt his favorite dish, although he didn’t have the stomach to eat. Zuko lowered himself, picking up the cup of water knowing that if he didn’t eat, Adara would track him down and force him to eat. It wouldn’t matter if he was royalty. Zuko pulled the tray closer to him, savoring the warm dish.

Zuko set the tray to the side, satisfied that he had eaten everything. He stood up focusing on the darkening sky. He clasped his hands on the railing, and his eyes trailed down to the deck seeing Adara meditating. He had promised her he would meditate and she hadn’t bugged him into doing it. Zuko watched her seem bothered at the fact that her loose black hair kept blowing in her face. He held in a smile when she shoved her hair behind her ears, closing her eyes hiding her light brown eyes behind her eyelids. His lips twitched again when she let out a long huff as her hair continued to brush against her face. Zuko turned his attention back to the dark sky. The sun’s power was beginning to withdraw from him and the rush of fatigue had him struggling to focus on his next move.

He sighed loudly hearing the noisy entrance from his uncle, “I’m going to bed now. Yep. A man needs his rest. Prince Zuko, you need some sleep. Even if you're right and the Avatar is alive, you won't find him. Your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all tried and failed.”

Zuko rolled his eyes, everyone was expecting him to fail and he wouldn’t. People were depending on him to succeed. He didn’t bother turning around to face his Uncle, “because their honor didn’t hinge on the Avatar’s capture. Mind does. This coward’s hundred years in hiding are over.” Zuko stared at Adara, seeing her stifling a yawn. His eyes closed when the door shut.

Adara’s P.O.V.

Adara yawned again, deciding to forgo the rest of her meditation and retire to her room. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, opening her eyes and stretched her sore limbs. Zuko had told her when she first started training that the burn her muscles gave after training would make her feel good and accomplished and she had been waiting for that feeling for almost two years. She never felt good after training, she always felt dejected and unbelievably sore. Adara slowly got up, ignoring her protesting muscles. She reached towards the sky, feeling her back adjust at the movement. Turning slowly she saw Zuko still rooted in the same spot that she had left him in. He was still looking at the horizon where he saw the beam of light. She could see the droop of his shoulder and it was a sign that he was fighting against his drowsiness. Adara sighed, shaking her head at him. Slowly she made her way to the spotting deck, hoping that he was in a sense to see reason. She knocked twice, entering the room walking to lean against the railing beside Zuko.

Pulling her cloak closer to her body, wishing that she wasn’t so bothered by the cool breeze. “So are you planning on going against the old man, Master of all four elements on no sleep?”

Zuko sighed, leaning beside her. “No Adara.”

“Then you should get some rest,” Adara urged, setting her hand on his arm. She knew that since he was so close to the light, rest wouldn’t come easy. “Should I get some tea?”

“It feels surreal Dara,” Zuko murmured, glancing from the corner of his eyes. “This could be my chance to return home, retake my honor, and reclaim my throne.”

Adara let the hope bubble up in her chest at the thought of returning to their homeland. She missed being able to walk the streets and sit in the garden reading until there was no light left. “If this is your chance, then Zuko, you must rest.” Adara set her hand over his, squeezing his hand lightly feeling the familiar warmth of a firebenders hands. “I believe in you, you know that right?”

“You’ve only mentioned it a thousand times,” He commented dryly, turning his hand so that he could grip her back.

“I’ll say it a million more to remind you to have hope in yourself,” She smiled, hoping that she was helping soothe his self-loathing thoughts that plagued his mind. Adara stared up at the moon, feeling the true weight of the sun’s energy leave her body. “Rest well, Zuko,” Adara squeezed his hand once last time, slipping her hand from his, ignoring their shared warmth that started to diminish.

Adara kneeled next to Iroh, watching Zuko’s movements carefully. He trained against Takumi and Jun and so far he was holding out longer than he usually did. She swept her long hair over her shoulder, ignoring the wisps of hair plastered to her sweat ridden face. Adara was ecstatic that she had managed to beat both guards during the second round without getting knocked down or burned.

“Again,” Iroh commanded, watching the training with hawk-like precision. Adara smirked when she saw Zuko’s powerful blow of fire towards the two. Both Takumi and Jun, sent blows of fire at Zuko but instead of blocking them he dodged them effortlessly, flipping and landing behind them. Iroh sighed in displeasure, standing from the small stool. “No,” He called sharply causing the training to halt, “Power in firebending comes from the breath. Not the muscles. The breath becomes energy in the body. The energy extends past your limbs and becomes fire.” She watched in awe as Iroh sent a controlled blast of fire towards Zuko, not letting it brush enough to burn him. “Get it right this time.”

Zuko stalked towards his uncle, causing Adara to stand up when she saw his face morphing into rage. “Enough. I’ve been dripping this sequence all day. Teach me the next set. I’m more than ready.” Adara rolled her eyes, knowing that he was rushing because of the beam of light. He was pushing himself further and he wasn’t listening to Iroh’s lessons.

“No, you are impatient. You have yet to master your basics,” Iroh held his ground sitting down. Adara gnawed on her lower lip, wishing she had claimed she felt ill. “Drill it again!” She felt goosebumps rise on her arms at Iroh’s command.

Zuko yelled out, sending a blast of fire towards Takumi knocking him down harshly. “Zuko!” Adara yelled at him ignoring his glare. Adara brushed off his anger, rushing towards Takumi. He didn’t deserve his anger. She offered Takumi her hand, grabbed her hand and she pulled him up with ease. Adara stared up at him, as he inclined his head towards her. “Sorry.”

“The sages tell us that the Avatar is the last Airbender. He must be over a hundred years old by now. He’s had a century to master the four elements. I’ll need more than basic firebending to defeat him. You WILL teach me the advanced set!” Adara held in her fury at Zuko’s demand. It wasn’t her place to intrude on their argument.

Adara watched Iroh, knowing that he was going to give in to keep the peace. “Very well. But first I must finish my roast duck,” Iroh pulled up his food jokingly, ignoring Zuko’s look of disgust.

She set her hand on Takumi’s arm, patting it gently. Adara sent a glare to Zuko, stalking over to the railing. It bothered her deeply when he treated others horribly. She was reminded of Azula when he did it. She wanted to ignore Zuko as he leaned next to her, his arm brushing against hers. “Your show of anger towards Takumi was uncalled for,” Adara bit, letting her temper rise. She admired Takumi, he had been patient and kind when she first came on the ship. He reminded her of Shang and it helped ease how much she missed her elder brother. “I know you won’t bother to apologize to him, so I did it for you. I’m angry at you right now.”

Zuko scoffed, letting his hands tighten on the railing. “I need to be prepared for when I face the Avatar, Adara.”

She rolled her eyes as if that excused his lack of control for his anger. Adara knew that he thought that he had go up against the avatar alone and it made her angry. She wasn’t just training to help her with her firebending, she was trying to be an asset to aid him. “That doesn’t excuse what you did to Takumi.” Adara sighed knowing she wasn’t going to get anywhere with him angry, “I’m here to help, although I may not be up to par with you, I can still aid you. You can’t treat them like this because of your temper.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what I already know,” Zuko hissed, turning so that he was facing her.

Adara bit her tongue, reigning in her temper. She had to be the more reasonable one. “Prove that you know it then…” Adara turned away from Zuko, heading back to her room. She shoved the heavy door open, letting it slam behind her.

Once she cooled down she joined Iroh, running her fingers through her freshly washed obsidian hair, letting it dry with the cool breeze. She focused on warming her body, while she played Pai Sho. Since she started playing she has come close to winning once out of the many times she played. “I’ll never be able to beat you Iroh… you’re a master at Pai Sho.”

“Then the saying, poor is the pupil who does not surpass the master is fitting for this occasion,” Iroh stroked his beard, raising an eyebrow at her when she made a questionable move.

Adara smirked, shaking her head at his challenge. “My mission in life now is to get you to say the pupil has finally surpassed the master,” She laughed, glancing up at Zuko holding the telescope. “See anything yet Zuko?”

A flare shot up in the sky, causing Adara to get up ignoring the game. She watched the fire nation flare, wondering what set off the trap. “The last Airbender.” He breathed, “Quite agile for his old age.”

“What,” Adara asked, moving closer to the railing to squint to see what he was looking at.

“He’s jumping from the ship with a person in his arms. I’ve found his hiding place,” Zuko pushed her back, handing her the telescope, so she could see what he was talking about. Her mouth turned dry at the small Water Tribe village. The last thing she wanted to do was comb through the village with possible waterbenders. Adara lowered the telescope, trying to be brave at the fact that this was possibly Zuko’s moment.

[glolovescats]

A story of me and my history. My experiences.

CW - trauma, sexual assault, mental health struggles (ADHD, BPD, OCPD, Depression, PTSD, Autism??), self harm, addiction, psychological abuse

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I’m 27 years old, non binary, AFAB. I am the older middle child of 4, all of my siblings are brothers.

I’ve been diagnosed with ADHD, BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder), OCPD (Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder) and most recently PTSD.

My first psych evaluation was when I was 5 years old, and I have recently found the notes from that evaluation and they point to early onset BPD traits as well as ADHD.  Though it is stated repeatedly throughout the notes that they could not complete a full assessment because I refused to participate in any activity or or engage with anything that I deemed “too difficult” instead spending more time on the things that I was comfortable with such as painting.

My favourite lines from the assessment are as follows:

“If she is not motivated by an activity, she trends to wander off physically and mentally.  However if interested, she can concentrate for long periods of time.”

 “*Deadname* was a great talker and loved to tell stories on and off topic. She had a keen sense of her own capabilities and was often self-critical of her work stating ‘it does not look good.’ It was very difficult to change her mind and she appeared to want to be in control of the situation.”

I remember after this assessment being medicated for ADHD for a few months. My parents called them my “hyper pills” because if I was hyper it meant I probably hadn’t taken them..... yikes.

After those few months, for whatever reasons my parents took me off the medication.

I have had a very intense oral fixation since a very young age, biting my nails for as long as I remember and being a thumb-sucker, not just during sleep but during awake hours as well, until I was 9 years old.

When I was 11 I began self harming, as a way to release my emotional energy and tensions and soothe myself.

When I was 13 I told my mom about my self harming, at which point she sent me to a psychiatrist again. I was again diagnosed with ADHD and put on medication, which I remained on until my second year of college when I decided I didn’t want to be medicated anymore.  As a teen, I continued to self harm but hid it from my mom as she was very critical and cruel in her reactions to it.  Anytime I had emotional outbursts (which was, fairly often) I would be asked “have you taken your meds today!!?” as if that would solve everything going on.  I spent many hours curled up in a ball in my closet crying, sobbing, feeling like I was going to explode, then hurting myself to calm down.

When I left home for college, I developed anorexia. I stopped cutting myself, but began hitting myself repeatedly until bruises formed, then maintaining those bruises over long periods of time as a new form of self harm.  It was also in this time that my love of cannabis started to really form (I had enjoyed it as well as a teen, but in limited capacities as I lived with parents who I had to hide it from, and they were quite controlling over my social life and free time)

After 2 years of college, my first queer partner, whom I still feel very fondly for and maintain a very strong friendship with, noticed not only my eating disorder but also my self harm habit, and convinced me to seek help.  A few months later I went to my doctor and was diagnosed with Depression and Anxiety, and put back on medications.  I was 19 then, I am 27 now and still on that same medication, though the dose has varied throughout the years depending on my emotional state.

I went through some other relationships, some healthy, some less so.

I became more and more in love with cannabis. SPending what little money I had on it. “Borrowing” some from friends and lovers. Smoking when I woke up, in the afternoon, and before bed, sometimes throughout all hours of the day.

When I was 23 I fell in love with a man named Derek. It was the first cis man I had ever truly fallen in love with, and that love became... toxic. Obsessive. At the time I would have called it passionate but I know now that it was very unhealthy.  I put everything in my life aside for him. I risked pregnancy not because I wanted a child (I never have) but because I wanted to make sure he would never leave me.  This is also when my love of cannabis solidified into an addiction.  I was using it to cope with the pain of being so desperately in love with someone who, wasn’t very good at catering to my needs, to put it lightly. He was a dealer at the time, this was before it became legalized in Canada so dealers were still very much needed.  So I always had access to it, and for free or cheap.  We would wake up in the middle of the night and go smoke a couple bowls before heading back into bed. We smoked all day every day, it was what our relationship revolved around.  We would also take large amounts of MDMA on the weekends and go out dancing from midnight to 8 or 9am at the after hours clubs, then go home and smoke to ease the come down. This gave me a love for MDMA which is a terrible thing for someone with low serotonin to begin with.

Nearly two years into our relationship, my friends started to notice that I wasn’t being treated well, that I was always hurting, always longing for more from him, and always pushing aside my needs to accommodate him.  They begged me to leave him.  I was having breakdowns, even with my antidepressants. I was self harming again. I was having rage blackouts. I was hurting.  A few months later, he broke up with me.  I begged him not to. I promised I could be right for him. We just had to try. He didn’t want to try.

Now, 4 years later, I’m so glad he didn’t. Yes, my heart was shattered in that moment, yes it sent me on a spiral, but I see now how toxic the relationship was and he is not anything like the person I would want to be with for life.

At that time I was living in towns on the outskirts of Toronto, but his dumping me gave me the push I needed to move to into the city, which I did, y months later. March 15th 2017.  Moving to Toronto meant more freedom, more access to all the things that made me happy - a queer community, a polyam community *I discovered Polyamoury about 2 months after our breakup and realized how much I needed it*, more job opportunities, more diversity and acceptance.  It also meant higher rent, higher weed prices as I was now buying from dispensaries, higher transit costs and generally higher cost of living.  Some of my new friends were sex workers and it... appeared enticing for me.  however I didn’t feel close enough with these friends yet to ask details about safety, vetting, standards, etc.

Well, I decided to get into sex work for myself, without really knowing what i was getting into.  I’m not going to get into much detail here because my PTSD stems directly from these experiences and I don’t want to trigger myself right now.  But I spent 2 years working as a Sugar Baby and Full Service Sex Worker.  I did not have standards. I was driven by my need to maintain my weed habit - which was at least 2 grams/day - so on average about $600/month or more.  I didn’t take safety into mind more than letting my roommate know the given name and phone number of the person I was meeting up with.  This led to... a lot of fucked up situations. A lot of pain and trauma. I was constantly high, which allowed my to dissociate while these things were happening to me and suppress the memories quite quickly. By this time in my addiction, I was never NOT stoned.  On top of that I would occasionally take MDMA before or during a date to maintain a peppy mood and appearance.  On March 1st 2019, after realising that I wasn’t even making money off of all of it, I was driven far into debt by trying to maintain appearances and a lifestyle that i just couldn’t afford, and a realization that I was dissociating whenever I was being intimate with a client OR a friend or loved one... I decided to leave the industry. It’s been over a year now.

In the first year of my living in Toronto I saw a psychiatrist about my mental instability, my rage blackouts, my obsessiveness. I was diagnosed with BPD and put on a mood stabilizer, which I admit has helped a lot in terms of my heightened emotions and rage problems.

During those first 2 years in Toronto, I was also in a queer, polyam relationship with a person named Laurel.  At first i was drawn to their softness, their creativity, their ability to be vulnerable with me and others.  Eventually, that vulnerability became co dependance. They used me as a crutch, they took all of my emotional energy for themselves and never gave any in return.  While I was being traumatized, I was also supporting them through their mental health struggles and ignoring my own. They had a bad habit of disregarding and stomping all over my boundaries. even after we would discuss them and i would make compromises. I was being abused by this inherently toxic person (I say that, having many friends who have witnessed and felt the toxicity from this person as well). By April 2019 I was drained, I was traumatized, I was falling into a pit and being pushed down even further by the person who claimed to love me.  When I tried to set boundaries I was met with threats of suicide, manipulating me into staying with them longer.  But eventually I started to see through it and I just couldn’t anymore. I ended it. Which was met with a lot of cruelty and more manipulation to the point where eventually I had to just block them from every form of contact and move on.

Throughout the year after that, my weed habit maintained, and got even more intense, going up to closer to 3 grams/day and including concentrates and edibles as well.  I was always high. Always numb. I couldn’t remember anything. I couldn’t focus during conversations even if I was really interested in what we were talking about. I couldn’t stay awake, I would pass out while hanging out with friends, while on public transit, in movie theatres.. anywhere. I could hardly get out of bed in the mornings and when I did I would go straight for the bong.

I was constantly fatigued and I felt numb. I didn’t want to believe my precious cannabis could be doing this to me though, so I begged my doctor to refer me to a psych to discuss changing medications, assuming it was my meds giving me these side effects.  That psychiatrist diagnosed me with OCPD, saying that he believes this is what has always caused the depression and anxiety, and he also diagnosed me with CUD - Cannabis Use Disorder - essentially a fancy way of saying I’m an addict and my drug of choice is cannabis.  He told me that he would not touch my meds until I either drastically cut back my usage or stopped altogether.

I was devastated, I hated the idea of having to not smoke weed anymore. And I knew I would HAVE to stop altogether because my many many many attempts in the past to cut back were never successful. I knew then that I was an addict, just like my alcoholic father, my alcoholic and cocaine addict younger brother. I knew I had the gene too.

I discovered MA - Marijuana Anonymous, which is like AA  or NA but for stoners.  My dad had been sober for 11 years with the help of rehab and AA so I figured I would give it a shot.  I smoked my last bowl on February 29th, I went to my first meeting on March 1st.  I haven’t smoked or consumed any cannabis products since. It’s over 4 months now. I also made the conscious decision to be sober from alcohol as in the past my attempts at smoking less weed led to drinking more alcohol.  I know I need to fight my addiction as an entire entity, not just as one substance.

In the past 4 months I’ve been through a lot of ups and downs.  Not only with sobriety, but with the pandemic hitting Canada mid march, forcing me out of work and stuck at home, it’s had both positive and negative effects.  My first month of sobriety I was fairly manic, I wasn’t as hazy and groggy and fatigued, I had also just started taking Vyvanse - a stimulant - for my ADHD. So I was very motivated and I was cleaning and creating and doing all these things I could with my free time.  Then about a month and a half into it I started to get physically depressed - I say it that way because my mind felt ok. IO wasn’t having catastrophic thinking or suicidal ideation or desires to self harm - but I was feeling very avoidant and sleeping and napping so much more. Two months in, my memories that I had been suppressing with the constant high started to come through to my conscious. Sometimes they were childhood or teen memories, which I could mostly cope with.  But then came the memories from the sex work. The traumatic experiences. The shame that surrounds them.  I was having invasive thoughts. I would lay my head down to sleep and suddenly be in flashbacks.  I had known for a long time (about a year, since leaving the industry) that I was triggered into panic attacks by intimacy and touch, but I didn’t know exactly what was causing those panic attacks. I just knew that touch made me feel so unsafe.  Well, now I knew why. One night I called my sponsor, crying, stuck in a loop of flashbacks and memories and feeling like I couldn’t breathe.  And then the words just flowed out of me, I said “I think maybe I have PTSD”.  Luckily for me, I already had a follow up appointment with my psychiatrist scheduled for the next week. I told him everything that was happening, that I was remembering things but then getting stuck in flashbacks and shame and cycling thoughts. He then diagnosed me with PTSD. He suggested we go back up to a slightly higher dose of my antidepressant while maintaining my other medications (I’m still on the mood stabilizer and the stimulant) and urged me to find ongoing therapy. My sponsor had sent me a link to a group of psychotherapists who work on a low budget sliding scale, so I referred myself to them and within 48 hours had a free 50 minute consultation scheduled.

Where am I now?

Struggling with the invasive thoughts which make me feel depressed, but knowing where they stem from is helpful.  Awaiting my therapy consultation which is in a couple of days, hoping it’s a good match and that we can start speaking weekly or every other week depending on cost.

For a while now I’ve been trying to decipher whether I really do have ADHD< BPD and OCPD all blended together, or if I’m really autistic, because so many of my traits and symptoms overlap with autism.  I’m doing my research now on traits of autism and seeing where I identify.  I doubt I would ever get a diagnosis, as doctors would rather believe we have all these other disorders rather than autism (stigma), but to know where I feel I fit would be helpful.  I have some friends on the spectrum and I’ve reached out to them to discuss as well.  My youngest bother is autistic but he really fits the “autistic teen boy” stereotypes which I do not.  And I understand that autism can present very differently in different genders and different people.  Personally, I believe I may be Autistic and have PTSD. But I will continue to pursue ongoing therapy, as well as DBT therapy, to address my behaviours and see where I can learn to cope better.

I am probably the most single polyam person you could meet. I have no intention of dating, though I do have a couple crushes I intend to grow strong friendships with, until I have learned to cope with the PTSD and intimacy triggers. In a way it’s as if I am currently feeling asexual, because even the thought of kissing someone I like triggers me into a panic.  But I don’t believe that I will feel this way forever so I don’t use asexual as an identifier or label for myself.  I am not working, though still technically employed, my job is in the travel industry and we don’t expect to have enough meaningful work to return to until at least the fall.  When i do return to work I’ll be doing so remotely, as will most of the employees of our company. So I have less transit expenses, less time constraints, and more freedom to focus on myself and my personal development.  I’ve made this tumblr to explore and learn more about autism in adults. As well as to have something to do and distract myself with when i start to enter a depressive cycle.  SO this blog will be a mix of mental health and neuro-divergent info posts, along with cute animals, selfies, travel photos, and maybe a little shit posting - as a treat.

Welcome, and thank you for reading my story.  If you have any questions or relate to any of it and want to chat, my inbox is open.

[sir-adamus]

Yang foils to a lot of characters

okay so i said earlier/yesterday/a time in the past that is before now that i was gonna do an updated thing on the villains/other antagonists that Yang foils/parallels/plays counterpart to (here’s the old one)

i decided to expand it past villains to other parts of the cast because there’s some interesting stuff there, anyway, below the cut:

Adam

okay so, obvious one out of the way first, yes, Adam is one of Yang’s foils (this should be obvious by now). both play significant (romantic) roles in Blake’s past and present respectively, but where Adam is an abusive dillweed and a coward (and paedophile) who responded to trauma by becoming the bigger asshole, never accepting responsibility and jealously obsessing over what he believed to be his, but he never cared about her as a person, only controlling and possessing her; Yang is kindhearted, compassionate and truly strong, who responded to her trauma in a more healthy way by talking it out with someone who could understand (Blake) and not taking it out on the world. she also shows an actual understanding of Blake and their relationship is healthy and balanced

they both have themes with anger, but where Yang’s anger is shown to be controlled and she doesn’t lash out at people, and her anger has never gotten her into trouble on its own (the one time she’s gotten into trouble over it, her anger wasn’t actually to blame, as she can’t be faulted for trying to defend herself over an attack that no one else saw), Adam explodes in a temper tantrum when he doesn’t get his way, and ends up making costly mistakes as a result

additionally their semblances are opposites - Yang takes damage and turns it into strength that she gets to keep until either she releases it or her Aura breaks. Adam can only absorb impacts through a proxy (his sword, that he hides behind) and can only dish back out what he has absorbed, at which point he has to build it up again. courage versus cowardice

Cinder

i’m pretty sure most would be expecting me to cover Mercury or Hazel here, but i feel like this is a significant one that gets overlooked - i have already made a post covering this in detail so i’ll just link that here and move on

Hazel

so there are a lot. both Yang and Hazel melee based fighters who supplement their martial combat techniques with weapons/Dust, instead of basing their fighting styles around weapons. both have siblings that mean a lot to them; but Hazel lost his twin sister Gretchen and the rage and grief against Ozpin has aligned him with Salem. Yang likewise dislikes and distrusts Ozpin, but she isn’t fueled by that and isn’t ruthless when it comes to approaching her goals

they’re both shown to be even-tempered outside of combat and both ideally won’t escalate a situation into a fight if they don’t have to - best comparison of this is, funnily enough, in their responses to Adam’s bullshit. Hazel doesn’t want to resort to violence or bloodshed when talking to Sienna and expresses disgust when Adam kills her because “no one needed to die today”. Yang, when encountering Adam in volume 6, approaches the situation with the same mentality, just telling him to leave her and Blake alone - no one needed to die in that situation, and the only person who did was Adam, who once again disagreed. the difference mainly is that Yang is very open and friendly and actually sticks to that resolve while Hazel is aloof and closed off and while he can stick to that gun most of the time, when Ozpin is involved all bets are off and he doesn’t care who he hurts, putting the fault for his actions on Ozpin

their semblances are also opposites, just in a different way to how Adam and Yang’s are; Yang’s semblance is about taking damage, absorbing pain, and rolling with it - she feels all that pain. her anger comes about as a result of it but it’s always controlled, directed. Hazel’s semblance blocks out pain, he is as powerful as he is because he’s not feeling any of the damage he’s taking, and it comes out with that uncontrollable rage, not caring who gets caught in the crossfire. controlled anger vs blind rage

Emerald

not much, but there are comparisons and contrasts to be drawn

both have issues with maternal figures; Yang lost her step-mother at an early age and her birth mother is not a great person. Yang however is under no illusions regarding Raven and has accepted that sad truth and doesn’t let it impact her decisions or sense of right and wrong

contrast Emerald, who is implied to see Cinder as a surrogate maternal figure and is deluding herself into thinking Cinder cares about her, to the point that she seems to be ignoring her own doubt over what she’s doing out of some misguided sense of obligation to someone who ultimately only keeps her around while she’s useful

Salem

well to start with “loneliness” is a motif that applies to both of them (Salem kinda foils to all the girls in some way or another, but you can get a lot with just Yang), a significant visual parallel between the scene Salem and Ozma (in unnamed meatbag #1) reunite to the scene where Blake and Yang see each other again for the first time since Beacon in volume 5, with Ozma paralleling Blake as the one entering the situation while Yang parallels Salem in seeing someone she thought she’d never see again (though things are gonna end much more healthily for Blake and Yang)

Yang as a character is interesting because almost everything that goes wrong in her life (her birth mother leaving, her step-mother dying, her father shutting down and forcing her to raise herself and Ruby, her uncle never being around, everything at Beacon and what has followed) can all be rooted back at least partially to decisions Oz has made and lies he’s told (and she’s understandably angry at him just for the recent stuff). and knowing Salem’s backstory, a lot of the crap that’s happened to her is a result of Oz’s bad decisions and lies - their responses are different, obviously, Yang doesn’t react to nearly the extremes Salem does, but then Yang isn’t several thousands of years old and hasn’t had all her hope snatched away yet (though Oz definitely gave it the old college try by building people up on false hope and thinking that somehow wouldn’t bite him in the ass) while Salem only started getting as bad as she did after Oz took the hope that he gave her by coming back into her life away again (instead of talking things out with her like an adult over what was like, one relatively mild outburst at least partially influenced by Grimm corruption which isn’t something she could really help, because she believed it would kill her, and was keeping relatively under control otherwise - avoiding the problem and not talking to people is a terrible habit of his)

Yang and Salem also have associations with the God of Darkness’s creations; Yang is heavily and frequently associated with fire, while Salem is tied to the Grimm thanks to the Brothers Grimm pools she tried to use to finally die

stubbornness is a theme as well - Yang has a backstory where stubbornness nearly got her killed and so she’s more careful about it in the present, it’s not an issue for her, while Salem’s (as a result of a combination of loneliness, unhealthy dependence on the one good thing in her life and having absolutely zero healthy ways of coping with grief due to her shitty upbringing that the gods just didn’t bother helping her with in the slightest and only exacerbated) is a big factor in the situation the world is at right now. neither Yang nor Salem give up, ever, but, as Yang says, she doesn’t let that control her

Tyrian

this is another short one, Tyrian lost a large amount of his tail to Ruby (a red and black-themed fighter with a rose motif), much like Yang lost her arm to Adam, and both have cybernetic prosthesis to replace the lost parts (Atlesian in origin, as well)

both have colour-change eyes when they use their abilities, Yang’s eyes go from lilac to red, Tyrian’s go from gold to purple, and both fight with weapons attached to their arms - but Yang’s Ember Celica is meant to supplement her punch-based fighting style with gun fire with some ranged ability, Tyrian’s The Queen’s Servants are primarily for slashing attacks and separate gun barrels for ranged attacks

Maria

we’re off the villains for a while, and this one is notable for the comparisons and parallels being drawn in the show itself

both Maria and Yang are noted to be incredibly strong fighters, Maria to near mythic levels (and both have jumped on a Nevermore mid-flight), both received injuries that took them out of the game and acquired prosthetics to help them following that, but Maria herself notes that she didn’t have the strength of will to keep fighting after her injury, while Yang did (and we know Yang kept going because she felt obligated to take care of Ruby, so the contrast seems to be Maria didn’t have others to fight for like Yang does)

both are also snarky and good-humoured, and play guiding roles for Ruby (we’re even given scenes where both try to teach Ruby how to fight using abilities outside of her weapon and Semblance - Yang trying to teach Ruby how to handle herself in hand-to-hand combat, and ultimately getting nowhere because she didn’t get to address the problem due to other things coming up, while Maria guides Ruby on how to use her Silver Eyes, to better results)

Pyrrha

especially notable in volume 3 but there are elements throughout

Yang and Pyrrha are pretty much the Strongest in terms of physical ability of the main 8 for the first three volumes, though with very different approaches, a fact which ties into Salem’s speech at the beginning of volume 1 (which is concluded in her speech at the end of volume 3), “there is no victory in strength”. at the end of volume 3, the strongest players among the heroes are out of play, critically injured and depressed in Yang’s case, and dead in Pyrrha’s

there’s some shared theming with “gold” and “fire” again, kinda similar to Cinder - Pyrrha means “flame-haired”, and she wears gold armour; Yang we know has a big fire motif and is highly associated with gold

both are confident in different ways while hiding their isolation and insecurities beneath the surface; Yang is very outgoing and boisterous and strong-willed, while Pyrrha is more reserved and less outspoken, but quite weak-willed, never really standing up for herself and doing whatever is asked of her

Nora

another short one, loud, boisterous members of their respective teams, with similar charge-based semblances and a significant relationship with their quieter, ninja-themed partner

the difference is Nora is more extremely loud and boisterous, where Yang has her quieter, more introspective moments (tying into her yin-yang dynamic with Blake, where they have elements of aspects commonly associated with the other)

Raven

there isn’t actually much for this one because the majority of the foiling for Raven is with Blake (much like Adam foils to Yang, but has some elements with Blake too), but their semblances and the mechanics/origins behind them are very telling

Yang’s semblance, turning the damage, the pain she takes into strength, is rooted in her backstory of having to roll with the pain and devastation of losing Summer, finding out she was abandoned by Raven and Tai not taking care of them, and having to find the strength to keep things together for Ruby’s sake. Yang is primarily (almost unhealthily) motivated for the sake of those she is close to; i mentioned it back in Maria’s section, Yang is almost always fighting for the people she loves

Raven, by contrast, has a semblance that connects her to those she is close to, she can travel vast distances to them instantaneously - but she almost exclusively fights for herself, and only uses her semblance to run away (and the irony is her semblance is built so she can run to people, to seek solace and support from them - Yang used Raven’s semblance to get to Ruby in the way Raven really should be using it)

Honourable Mention - Roman and Neo

see here

Oh yeah Mercury i guess

- martial arts based fighting style, hands vs feet

- named after celestial bodies (Yang - the sun, Mercury - Mercury)

- weapons enhance fighting style

- shit dads tell them not to use/take away semblances with shitty reasoning (”its a good fallback but you can’t rely on” except by definition a fallback is something you rely on, so which is it? also calling her semblance - the literal manifestation of her soul, a temper tantrum. solid parenting A+, totally doesnt remind me of: “this is a crutch, this makes you weak” yes, saying that the sum of someones character is a weakness isn’t horrifyingly disgusting at all, thanks Marcus, A+ parenting you drunk fuckbag)

- difference is Yang is strong and a good person and Mercury chose to be a fuckboi shitbag

[astoria00]

Cinder is a victim of child abuse

Some time ago someone requested of me to make a theory post about this and I finally had enough time to get to it. So let's talk about how the show makes it clear that Cinder was abused as a child.

First thing that springs to mind is her motive of course.

Strength. Fear. Power.

Please keep the order in mind, because it will become relevant later on. Anyway, if Cinder only wanted power or strength alone, then I admit there would be room for many more different interpretations for what drove her to Salem, but our dear maiden 'wants to be feared' and therin lies our first clue. This combination makes it abundantly clear that there was a time in Cinder's life where she had no control over it. Where people with more authority and strength lorded over her. She feared them because they tended to hurt her.

Now, taking into account that Cinder can't be older than 25 years in the show and the fact that one of RWBY's overall themes are family related, it is not very farfetched to say Cinder's family or primary caretakers are the culprits for instilling such a mindset in her that gave her the impression she needed to be stronger than them and make them fear her instead.

If we delve in a bit deeper and look at vol 4 and 5 we can see Cinder in a more vulnerable state. We also can observe how she reacts to being physically hurt.

At first, she is afraid. It is mixed with shock and surprise, but then comes the anger. It isn't slow, it doesn't deliberately grow more and more, it explodes. Now I know there are instances were we are overcome with anger after a rather shocking and frightful situation whereas another was about to harm us, but we are talking about Cinder, a person who only allows a few people to see her vulnerable and even then it's not exactly out of her own free will. Having such a tight grip on her emotions most of the time only strengthen the belief that she was abused and hurt as a child. If you are small and afraid, you try to stay out of discourse to not make it worse for yourself, which leads to swallowing a lot of justified built up anger down. To suppress it. But you can only do that for so long before it blows up in your face and even the smallest thing can tip you off anf send you into an uncontrollable fit of anger. You literally lose your control for a while and that is exactly what happened with Cinder in her fight against Jaune. He frightened and hurt her. He made her subconsciously remember the time where she was helpless and afraid and that's when she loses it. She has no real emotional regulation in that regard. It stemms from bad coping mechanisms to deal with her abuse. Cinder has Trauma, she is traumatized, and not only from the Fall of Beacon, but from the trials of her past as well.

Another hint to support my claim is Cinder weirdly obsessing, or rather her reaction when confronted with other people wanting or talking about killing their direct relatives.

The way it dawned on her that Mercury had murdered his own father.

The face she made when Raven revealed she wanted to get rid of her brother.

Looks pretty similar, doesn't it? She looks way more pleased and excited about other people murdering or planning the murder of a family member than killing in itself.

Cinder is not a person that enjoys simple murder. She didn't seem to enjoy killing Amber outside of obtaining the maiden powers. She didn't enjoy killing Pyrrha after that one asked her about destiny. Cinder doesn't enjoy the act of killing in general, but she revels in the part before that. The helplessness and hopelessness that radiates off of her victims, the power she has over them in that moment. These are the things she craves, because she was on the receiving end once and she refuses to ever go back to that position again. So the way she reacts to the mere mention of murdering family members makes it clear that the people that abused her as a child were close relatives. This is not conjecture, but facts presented in the show itself.

Now, at first glance, Cinder's behavior around Salem indicates otherwhise. She doesn't flinch when yelled at, doesn't really react to Salem losing her temper a bit as she slammed her hands on the table demanding Cinder speak up for herself. All things that should indeed trigger her if she was abused by her family. The thing is, it only applies to Salem herself.

When Watts touched her without her consent, what face did Cinder make again?

And if that wasn't telling enough, she even burns his hand right after. Cinder reacts defensive almost immediately after being roughly grabbed by someone without her consent. This is a trigger for her.

But coming back to Salem then. Why is she different? Why is Cinder not reacting to her outbursts?

Well, she does...in a different way. Whereas Cinder's family abused her primary physically, leading to Cinder wanting to be strong and feared, Salem abuses her mentally and much more subtly. I don't think Cinder even realizes what is done to her. Nevertheless, her flinching hardly when being asked whether she lied to Salem, her entitlement, her deeprooted loyalty and gratefulness to her, all of this points to Cinder being groomed. And yes, this implies that Salem herself raised Cinder at some point. She manipulated her and made sure to insert herself as her role model for Cinder to imitate. Salem is Cinder's concept of power. All she knew before was that she needed to be stronger and make herself being feared, but Salem is the embodiement of all these things, but in a different way. She doesn't only use force to get what she wants, nor is she only using fear to swear people to her side, she is a master manipulator and that is what Cinder wants, even if she can't quite understand and grasp it yet. This is why she wants to be 'powerful'.

In the end, Cinder is a product of her environment and upbringing and the series does its best to show that to us without outright spelling it out.

But hey, it's just me theorizing again, so you are allowed to disagree XD

[fernwehbookworm]

Second Heart

The Past beats inside me like a Second Heart- John Banville, The Sea

A soft beeping invaded Lena's conciseness, her headache pulsing with it each time. Through a haze she groggily opened her eyes, becoming away of someone touching her. No, tucking in a blanket? Lena blinks a couple more times and her headache seems to spike harshly behind her eyes.

"Ugh, fuck…" she mumbles and tries to lift her hand to her temple but it's tugged short by something in her arm. An IV. Her sluggish mind was starting to put prices together as the harsh smell of sterilization fills her nostrils.

"Lena!" The blonde woman cries from where she just tucked a colorful, warm blanket under Lena's left leg. She reaches out towards Lena but seems to hesitate, just a moment, before pushing the call button for the Doctor. She must be the nurse checking on her. But for wha- "Ah!" Lena uses her fee hand this to grab the side of her head and squeeze her eyes shut. Don't cry. Don't you fucking cry. Luthors don't show weakness. Lena can just picture the disappointed look Lillian would give her right now. That helps her push the pain back, back behind the mask she always wears.

The blonde woman was watching her intently. The blue eyes staring into her in such a way that Lena was sure that she would burn her soul with the heat of it. Lena turns away and takes in the room. A blanket and pillow are neatly folded on the comfortable looking couch in the large hospital room. A laptop sits open with file folders and notebooks splayed out around it on the coffee table. That's not a good sign. The only person who could be here for her would be Lillian and she wouldn't be happy about being called to Metropolis in the middle of the move. This isn't good for our stocks, she can hear Lillian almost sneer. But not quite, she's too proper for a real sneer. Lena is pulled from her thoughts by she doctor entering.

"Well-" she glances at the blonde woman, she shakes her head just slightly. It's a weird interaction but Lena lets nothing show on her face. "Ms. Luthor. Welcome back to the land of the living. You had us worried there for a bit."

"I-" Lena is cut off by her own rough voice. It feels very unused and sore. She casts about for some water, which the blonde is already pouring. Lena nods as she hands it to her and takes a couple of sips.

"I am not sure what is happening right now, Doctor..."

"Doctor Natu. First, I have just a couple questions and I have to check you over. Then you can ask me questions."

Lena sighs, "Very well."

The doctor begins by asking her name.

"Lena Kiran Luthor."

"Age?"

"Twenty-four,"

"What city are we in?"

"Metropolis."

"Who is the current president?"

"President Baker."

"What year is it?"

"2019, seriously are we done yet?" Lena is getting exasperated with the questions and poking and prodding and that stupid little light that the woman is shining in her eyes. The blonde woman had excused herself when the Doctor started.

"Yes, I think so. From what I can tell, you are on your way to being completely healed."

"Doctor Natu, I suggest you start giving me some answers before I sue this hospital into giving me someone who can," Lena says sternly, but still without much emotion.

"May I sit?" She asks, gesturing to the chair next to the bed. Lena nods slightly.

"This is going to be very hard to hear Lena." Lena swallows at the use of her first name, it's to lessen the blow of whatever is coming.

"You suffered a very serious head trauma. From what we can gather, your airplane was shot from the sky, blowing a hole in the plane," the doctor is speaking softly and evenly so as not to frighten her. "You only lived because Supergirl caught you immediately, but as you were basically vacuumed out of the plane by the air pressure, the back of your head caught on the opening. Your brain began to swell from the impact and put you into a coma."

"Supergirl… wait. What plane? How long have I been out? The only plane I was going to get on was the Venture, and I had to pull out last minute."

"You've only been 'out' for six days. But due to the brain swelling, it seems you have lost a great deal of memory." The doctor says softly, picking each word with care.

"How much?" Lena whispers.

"Right now, the year is 2024. You are twenty-nine and currently living in National City, where you moved and rebranded L-Corp five years ago."

"Five…" Lena trails off and looks out the large windows at the unfamiliar skyline. How could she have lost five years of memories?

"Where's my mother? I need to speak to her." Lena almost snaps the question at the poor doctor. Surely she must have been alerted to Lena waking up.

"To the best of my knowledge, some FBI black site after her third escape attempt from the maximum-security prison."

"Nonsense. Who else would be here?" Lena gestures to the pile of stuff on the coffee table. Though now that she looks at it, it's a rather disorganized pile. One with colorful sticky notes and pens and she can see a small Pride flag stuck to the top corner of the back that faces her.

"Well, that's another big thing you seem to be missing because it happened in the past five years. That would be your wife's laptop."

"My wife!?" Lena exclaims, immediately regretting it as her headache rises with her voice. Lena clamps her eyes shut against the pain. The door bursts open at Lena's raised voice and the blonde enters the room again. Her wife enters the room again.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Concerned drips from her voice and fire burns in her eyes as she realizes the source of Lena's outburst must be the doctor.

"I was just informing Lena of her situation. She's missing about five years of time, she referred to the Venture before it exploded."

The woman seems to deflate and sadness floods her features. It makes Lena's heart hurt in an unexpected way. "So before she met me." The woman says softly.

"I'm afraid so. I would like to keep Lena just a few more days. Although the swelling has gone completely down, I would like to monitor her to see if any of her memory returns or if there was further brain damage that we weren't able to assess while she was unconscious. Physical Therapy will start tomorrow morning. Maybe try to tell her some of the major events from after she can remember. It may jog the rest of it. I'll be back to check in before I leave." Doctor Natu stands to leave.

Lena's wife holds out her hand for the doctor to shake.

"Thank you. For everything. For coming when I called. It really means a lot to me."

Doctor Natu smiles softly, "After what you did last year, how could I not? We all owe you big." The blonde woman nods and returns the smile. It's an odd moment before the doctor leaves the room and the blonde woman takes a deep breath before turning to Lena.

"If you would like to sleep, we can talk later." She says in a small voice, it's very unsure of itself and it feels odd coming from the woman. Like Lena knows she shouldn't feel this distant from her.

Lena looks into those bright blue eyes and tries to remember something, anything.

"I would like to know my wife's name if it's not too much?" And Lena knows those are the right words to say because that life is magical to her years. The woman's shoulders relax and she takes the seat the doctor vacated moments before. The woman's hand hovers over Lena's but she pulls back when she sees Lena pull away slightly.

"Right. Guess that would be a good thing to know. Seeing as you don't even remember meeting me. Man, I had always wished I had been cooler when we first met and I actually get a do-over and I'm just ramb-" she pauses at Lena's raised eyebrow before taking a deep breath. "Right. Sorry. Hi, I'm Kara Danvers. Well, now its Danvers-Luthor." The woman, Kara, sticks out a timid hand towards Lena. Lena hesitates before taking.

"Lena Luthor, though I'm guessing it's Danvers-Luthor."

Kara grins, eyes squinting in the corner as she nods. Lena's heart flutters a bit at the sight. This woman was pulling down all the walls Lena had built to protect herself. Or she already had and Lena's body was just remembering more than her brain did. It made her uncomfortable and she tried to shut it down. Kara noticed the change right away and looked at Lena with such deep concern it speared straight through her.

"I'm sorry. I should let you sleep a bit. It's only a little before nine in the morning. I need to make some phone calls anyway. I'll be just outside your door so just call out if you need anything." Kara stands and makes sure the water cup is full and in easy reach, as well as the television remote and the remote attached to the bed for her to call the nurses station. Kara shuts the blinds without being asked and turns out the light on her way. All small gestures that are so foreign to Lena that she spends the entirety of Kara's quick movements in silence until she's out the door.

It sure doesn't help the headache to think about but she is getting drowsy and the pain is numbing from the doctor adjusting her pain meds during the examination. Lena sinks back into the pillow as numbness begins to trickle in much faster now that she is no longer distracted. Sleep is easy to sink into then as the chemicals in her bloodstream do their work.

Lena sits, writing across endless documents as she travels as quickly as she can home. She's eager, that's for sure. It bubbles in her chest as the plane soars across the sky. She really is trying to focus but something keeps pulling her attention. Lena instead gets up to make herself a drink at the mini bar, it's still at least an hour until the descent and the minutes were ticking by too slowly.

She just had to go to London this past week. Of course, it was yesterday that the news came in, instead of in three days. But Lena had left early to be home when…

The sudden explosion knocks her from her feet and she hits the side of the plane as it leeches to the side. Then she's being thrown to the back as her ears pop and the plane begins to fall. Another explosion and the back of the plane is rent open and all Lena can see is the black sky as she rushes towards it. Suddenly her head explodes in pain as she hits the ceiling and a blur of red and blue fills her vision.

Lena wakes with a shout and breathing heavy. The heart monitor is going crazy and then Kara is pushing into the room, eyes wide looking for the source of distress. When she sees Lena alone and takes in her frazzled, sweaty appearance, she relaxes again.  She moves to sit next to Lena and stops short of reaching out again. Faintly, it registers how hard this must be for the woman.

"It's okay. You're safe. It was just a dream. Doctor Natu said it may happen because you are still trying to process everything that happened."

Lena gulps at the air and clutches the sheets. Slowly she gets her breathing back under control and smooths her hair back from her face. Before she can even ask, Kara is holding out a hair tie for her to use.

Lena plucks it from her fingers, "Thanks." She murmurs as she scrapes the oily mess back. She really needs a shower. Lena settles back against the raised bed and tries to relax.

"What time is it?" She asks.

"Almost one. I'll page the nurse to bring you food. Dr. Natu instructed them to let you sleep." Which Kara does immediately after.

"You and the Doctor seemed close. What happened last year?"

"Nothing important right now. She's a friend of my cousin. They needed help with this group thing last minute." Lena raises an eyebrow but lets it go when the nurse deposits a tray of bland food in front of her.

"Sorry dear, we have to keep it simple and ease you back onto solid food. Tomorrow there should be some more fruit though."

Lena saved her sneer for when the nurse leaves. Still, she speers the mushy vegetables on her fork and takes a bite out of the buttered bread. Kara refills her water before taking a seat next to her. Kara is obviously actively looking anywhere but Lena.

"So," Lena starts, trying to figure out how to navigate this situation. Nothing in her Luthor training prepared her for losing her memory only to find out she is married and 'out' of the closet publicly. Also that your mother is in jail alongside your crazy brother and you have moved cities and-

"What do you do for a living? That's a lot of files." Lena gestures with her fork, trying to get a hold of her spiraling thoughts.

"Well, I'm a senior reporter for CatCo."

Lena nearly chokes on her carrot. She swallows and takes a sip of water."I married a reporter? How did that happen?"

"Well actually, I wasn't one when we met. But you kind of gave me the courage to do it."

“I did that?”

“Yeah, you did. It was probably the start of everything for us.”

Lena chews thoughtfully for a few minutes. This woman was nothing like she would have considered dating before. She was open and honest in a way Lena wasn’t used to. It also made her want to slam her walls up and not trust a word out of her mouth. What if this was all a crazy ruse by her insane brother and she wasn’t really married to this beautiful blonde woman. She could only play along to find out.

“Tell me about it then. Maybe it will help jog my memory.”

“Well, it was right after the Venture explosion, the Supers saved the plane from going down. While trying to figure out what caused it, they discovered the only empty seat was...umm… well, yours.”

“So of course the Luthor had to be the culprit.”

“It was suspicious at first, so they asked my cousin to interview you and since I was kind of at a loss of what to do with my life, he invited me along.”

“Who’s your cousin? Anyone I know?”

Kara laughs slightly and Lena realizes how silly of a question that is. She probably knew Kara’s family pretty well at this point.

“Right, I mean, five years ago. Did I know him then?”

“I’d say yes. Clark Kent, he’s my cousin.”

“Crap. A family of reporters? What was I thinking?” Lena only half teases.

“Trust me, it's not the only thing crazy about our relationship, but I’ll tell you more, later. Anyway, Clark brought me along and you were so strong and confidant. Golly, I could barely get a word out.”

Golly? Was she for real?

“Anyway, even Clark was convinced you didn’t do it then. After that, they found evidence that the bomb was planted directly under what would have been your seat. As we investigated the accident you had two more assassination attempts and… Supergirl saved you both times. And actual on the second one, your would-be assassin, had my sister at Gunpoint and you saved her. You were scared but this fire burned in your eyes like nothing I had ever seen before. All you wanted was to do good in the world but your brother was trying to have you killed.” Kara stares at Lena with an intensity that only her Luthor training keeps her from squirming.

“Clark published an article after it was all said and done. It gave you and L-Corp good press that you needed and Clark apologized for not believing you.”

Lena snorts.

“It's true, you said ‘If I can make a believer out of Clark Kent, there’s hope yet.’ Then you turned to me and asked why my name wasn’t on the by-line. I told you I wasn’t a reporter and all you said was ‘Well, you could have fooled me.’ That was it. I just knew if you believed in me, then I could do it. Which is crazy considering I had just met you. But nothing about our story is very normal.”

Kara sits back and fiddles with her glasses a bit, trying to find a way to keep going. THings with Lena hadn’t been this awkward since… well since ever. At least, in the beginning, they had so much to talk about, Kara was able to scale her wall because of the trials they went through together. Now here Kara was, at the finish line of a marathon and Lena had been transported back to the beginning.

“I think… yeah, I think I brought it with me. The article I mean. You saved it way back when and the doctor thought familiar things may help. Hold on.” Kara stands up to fast, almost knocking the chair over with a blush. Lena smiles softly before she even realizes it. This has to be real, because the way her body reacts to Kara, that couldn’t be faked. Her heart flutters with a bit of joy at her clumsiness and her lips smile as if they have done it a thousand times before. Kara Begins shifting through piles of things and it honestly amazes Lena how Kara has very much taken over the hospital room in a week's time. She has to believe Kara was basically living here at this point. She obviously had been working from here.

“Aha!” Kara exclaims, pulling out a small looking photo album from the bottom of a precarious stack of books and papers.

“You pasted it into the front of this photo album. You said it's what started our friendship so a few years ago when we assembled these things, you put it in our ‘Friend.’ album. It's the year before we finally admitted our feelings for one another. Alex likes to call it our Clueless Gay’s’ Year. Because we were so clueless.” Kara excitedly hurries back to her chair to hand the album to Lena. “Hopefully this helps. Go on. The article is in the front, and feel free to look at the pictures too.”

Lena scrutinizes Kara’s eager face before carefully opening the cover. She reads the article, but the words don’t mean much to her. It comes like a muggy memory. The bright white of her new office, Kara in a pink that matches the blush on her cheeks as she fiddles with her glasses. Lena had watched her carefully because she had trust issues, but she instantly thought that she wanted to make Kara smile like that again. She remembers feeling her stomach erupt in butterflies that she barely managed to hide by turning away and walking to her desk.

“I hope this isn’t the last time we talk.” Lena murmurs to herself.

“I hope not either.” Kara gives her almost the same smile as her memory. “You remembered.”

“A little. You were cute. You were wearing that pink blazer. And you kept avoiding my eye contact. It was cute.”

“You made me nervous, not in a ‘Luthor’ sort of way, like you used to accuse everyone of, but in the ‘Oh my Ra-gosh, I think I like women.’ Then it was a roller coaster of my sister coming out to me and working through all of that. And I didn’t want to steal her thunder, plus what if you didn’t like me, or if you were straight and then Jack came back and then Mike and-”

“Jack? Jack Spheer? Why did he come back?”

Kara gets all sad then. Lena can already guess what bad news is coming.

“He thought he cracked his nanotechnology. But really he created a deadly swarm out of himself that his CFO was controlling. When I found out I told you and you went to confront him. In the end, it was either save Jack or save… Supergirl. She had tried to come rescue you. You chose her. Because you are always sacrificing yourself for the good of everyone else. It’s one of the things that made me fall in love with you.”

“He’s… dead?”

Kara nods and Lena sits back against her pillows to take in the information. This time the memory slams into her. Jack in pain on the ground, her fist throbbing from punching the evil woman, Supergirl being suffocated by the swarm that the woman was controlling. She knew, even if she let Supergirl die, her chances of saving Jack were slim. He wasn’t really him anymore. He had sacrificed himself for science and lost. She hits the kill switch.

Lena inhales a deep breath and comes back to the present. Kara’s eyes ask the question and Lena just nods. Instead of looking at her wife, she flips the page and skims a mix of faces, some she knows and some she doesn't. Her and Kara among them along with a smattering of others. Alex, she remembers. She recognizes James Olsen too, but from her time in Metropolis.

“Great, more press.” She grumbles.

“Ah, yeah. You and James dated briefly.”

Lena visibly cringes and almost throws the book away from her.

“That’s how I felt. You admitted later that it was because of our poor communication skills. I encouraged you to go for it, along with the rest of our friends. At the time I was dealing with the heartbreak of losing someone I cared about and then having them show back up in my life. I was also suppressing a lot of feelings for you. You said it felt like we were growing apart and it was a way to stay closer to me. We both made poor decisions.”

“Why are you being so vague?”

Kara chews on her bottom lip as Lena slowly flips through the pages. The plastic protecting the pictures crinkles under her touch. She and Kara spent a lot of time together, and when they weren't looking at the camera, they were looking at each other with so much love that it almost sickened Lena, if it didn’t make her stomach flutter. She flips to the last page with a picture of her and Alex hugging Kara tightly from both sides.

A glass of whiskey set down hard cracks the frame and anger builds in Lena’s chest like a hot beast that she had chained down but now it was free. She snapped the book shut and shoves it back at the blonde woman. Kara recoils at the heat blazing in the green eyes that she hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Crap.”

“Yeah ‘Crap’”

“Lee please-”

“You lied to me! For so fucking long. And you continued lying to me just now! You’ve been lying since I woke up! ‘Oh Lena, Supergirl saved you.’ ‘Oh, Lena I helped with the investigation but you had to choose between Jack and Supergirl.’” Lena mocks her and folds arms over her chest, cringing slightly as her headache throbs with her yelling.

“Rao, I want to have this fight again. I know. I was selfish and I didn’t tell you. I told myself it was to protect you but then it became protecting myself. I was selfish because Supergirl tainted all my relationships and I didn’t want that to happen with you. So be mad. I hope that you can remember how hard we fought to get back to each other. If you can’t then I will fight all over again, because I will always fight for you Lena Luthor. Supergirl may be this city’s hero, but you are mine. You have saved me over and over again, even when you hated me, you saved me.”

Lena averts her gaze, fury still broiling in her chest. She doesn't remember everything, but this she does. She remembers Lex showing her everything before she killed him. She remembers walking into the game night with a bottle of wine, suppressing the urge to throw it at Kara. The lies stacked up and the hate simmering just below the surface. For the first time, she understood her brother’s madness and that made her hate Kara all the more.

Kara sighs and stands up. “I’m not leaving you. Shouldn’t knowing that you’re my wife give you an idea that we get past this?”

Lena remains silent and looks out the window. Kara sighs and goes back to her files. Eventually, Lena turns on the television as Kara types on her laptop. Lena can feel the tension she put between them, but until she remembers the solution to their fight, she is stuck with these feelings and these memories. Kara leaves to take a phone call and at some point, the nurse brings dinner for Lena. Kara returns with a turkey wrap for herself, apologizing that Lena can't have anything more appetizing and Lena studiously ignored her. Lena gets lost in her thoughts, searching the muddled corridors of her brain as she tries to remember anything. Suddenly the light of the bathroom clicks on and Lena is aware of how dark the room is and what it is approaching eleven o’clock. Kara returns with her pajamas on and folds down the couch to sleep on. Lena rolls over and clicks of the TV. The silence is intense and Lena and feels it settling over her like a suffocating weight.

“I love you, Lena. Even if we have to start over again, I will. I swore to you I would always be here, even if it was yourself you were afraid of. I will always protect you.” Kara whispers into the dark.

Lena falls asleep shortly after, dreaming of Kara’s arm around her as she tries so hard to hold herself together. Jack was dead and she had a strange mix of sadness and joy at Kara’s reassuring presence. Kara. Steady as a rock. Lena could let herself fall apart because Kara was there to build her back up. Kara was there when she fell apart on the balcony after Lex escaped. “You are not weak.” Kara had practically growled in her ear. That’s when Lena knew she was in love with her best friend. Not just a crush or loneliness that overtook her late at night. She was in Love.

Lena wakes slowly to the darkroom with tears damp on her cheeks. She felt so sad and angry because even on that balcony, Kara should have told her. Lena told Kara everything but Kara still didn’t tell her. Instead, she had to find out from the brother who had tried to have her killed multiple times. The brother she still tried to save, just to have him betray her again. Lena hears it then, the soft murmuring and slowly sits up to see Kara standing by the window, phone pressed to her ear. The moonlight illuminates the room and gives it a silvery-blue glow. Kara hasn’t noticed that she's awake so Lena lays back down.

“It’s just hard Alex. I know she's having nightmares. Her heart is thundering in her chest but I can’t hold her like I usually do…. Because, she's not my wife, not in her head. In her head right now she's just finding out about Supergirl and we are fighting again.... I’m hoping she remembers, the memories are coming, just slowly….. No, I can't tell her yet. It wouldn't mean anything to her.... Well yes, she'll be crushed of she remembers. No, when. When she remembers…. Yeah, I’ll let you know when we have a more definite release time. She has some physical therapy in the morning and they want to make sure she can stomach more solid foods…. I love you too, Alex. Goodnight.”

Lena tries to keep her breathing even because it's clear Kara doesn't she is awake. Soon she hears the quiet sobs of Kara crying. It breaks Lena’s heart and just as she is about to sit up she hears a siren in the distance. Then more. With a whoosh, the door opens and shuts and Kara is gone. Off to save people because she couldn’t save her wife. Lena cries herself back to sleep before Kara gets back.

The next day is tense. Lena still can’t bring herself to forgive Kara even though all her body wants is to be wrapped in her arms. Small moments keep coming back to her at the most unexpected times. Just flashes of the past five years and nothing in a particular order. Sam moving with her to National City, a date with James (cringe), a date with Kara (her cheeks hurt from smiling), helping save Sam from Reign, adopting a puppy from the shelter and Kara naming him Krypto after her lost home. Happy and sad intermingled as she went through three hours of painful stretching and walking in the physical therapy room with a very beautiful doctor that made Lena have to remind herself that she was married. She wasn’t the single woman that had woken up yesterday. It was easier now as the memories started to fall into place in her mind. But she also so clearly remembered the anger she felt for months as Kara had continued to lie to her about supergirl. It was so strong and she had no idea how her past self had gotten over it.

Kara was a steady presence throughout the whole day. She kept her distance though, trying to give Lena room to not feel pressured. But Lena kept catching Kara watching her. Making sure she was okay and not in pain. When the therapy was over and Lena had kept down a solid breakfast and lunch, the doctor said she was free to go. But go where? She had thought.

“Kara?”

“Yeah, ba-” Kara pauses and clears her throat. “Yeah, Lena?” Kara continues packing up her files and laptop before packing the duffle with their clothes in it. She had made sure Lena was in her, what she assumes was ‘her’, own pajamas and had her own blanket for her stay. Kara keeps busy but Lena knows she is very aware of everything Lena does.

“Where do we live?”

Kara pauses her work and gives Lena a soft smile. “A three-level condo at the top of a building you own. Well, I guess we own, you know the whole ‘what’s mine is yours’ marriage thing. Anyway, the rest is rent-controlled for L-Corp Employees.”

Lena remembers the big floor to ceiling windows that looked over the city, walking distance to the visible L-Corp building so she and her employees could either walk or ride to work, or even carpool, as one of her green initiatives for the company. Lena nods slowly and Kara can tell she remembered something. Maybe all this would take is gentle reminders here and there for Lena’s memory to come back. Getting her home would help also, at least that’s what the doctor said.

By three o'clock Lena s being rolled to the entrance in a wheelchair as Kara pulls the car upfront. Cameras flash at the entrance but Kara had hired a private security team to hold them back. Lena is glad she was able to at least put on jeans and one of Kara’s old sweatshirts instead of the pajamas. Kara pulls up in a car that looks remarkably similar to one Lena had drawn up last year, no wait, six years ago? Before she took over LexCorp. She had a suspicion it was her design which meant it was entirely electric and it made her happy to see something she had dreamed up had become a reality. There was probably much more but she was still reconciling memories to reality.

Kara helped her into the car with as little touching as possible while ignoring the shouted questions of the press. Kara had informed her earlier that Jess, her former assistant, now interim CEO and part-owner of L-Corp, had already made a statement that Lena had lost her memory due to the head injury but was quickly recovering both physically and mentally. She announced that Lena would be taking a temporary leave of absence but with full intentions of returning in two months time. Lena was relieved to know she hadn't just dreamed of promoting her loyal friend and confidant.

Kara drove her to a semi-familiar building and quietly led her up the elevator. She pressed the highest number and held her thumb to the button while it scanned her thumbprint and the light turned green. "Extra security," Kara mumbled. The elevator let out to a hallway with a single door. Kara input a password on the keypad and then placed her hand on a scanner beside the door and it also turned green. Lena remembers having it installed after a crazy stalker of Kara's had broken into their apartment and waited for them to get home. He wanted to take Kara’s brain for himself, or something just as crazy. Too bad he didn’t count on dealing with Supergirl and a Luthor.

Kara opens the door and ushers Lena in. Kara was watching Lena carefully and could see how that trip from the car as wearing on her. Kara planned to get Lena in bed straight away and make her favorite tea. She helps Lena to the couch while she takes their bags to the bedroom and unpacks. Lena looks around and takes in the space.

Memory after memory begins to trickle in as she takes in the pictures on the walls and the knick-knacks tucked between books on the shelves. The blanket Eliza made for them on the couch. The toy chest Alex made during her woodworking phase two years ago. The toy chest? Why did they need a toy chest?

Lena’s world crashes down on her then. She picks up the soft blue blanket and sees the little Danvers-Luthor stitched into it next to a green rattle. Lena runs her fingers over Eliza’s neat stitching and tears are already rolling down her cheeks. She remembers now.

She and Kara had tried the DEO’s experimental technology to use Kara’s DNA to merge with hers to create a child but it was still too early, even with Lena’s brain helping it was too expensive to keep trying after several failed attempts. They talked about an anonymous donor but Kara couldn’t carry the child and if Lena was honest, she didn’t want to have a baby with anyone but Kara. That left adoption. It also led to fights. Lena and Kara had such different experiences in their own lives. Lena was convinced it wouldn’t go well. In the end, Kara convinced her it was Lena’s chance to do better and Kara’s chance to share the love she was given.

After a year of waiting and paperwork and background checks, they just had to wait for a child to be matched with them. But that could take any time from three days to three months. Lena couldn’t cancel her trip to Hong Kong. The Opening of the L-Corp office there had been planned for three years. It seemed safe enough to just go for a week. Until Lena got a call on her third day from Kara that the Social worker was going to be coming in two days with a potential match. Lena immediately canceled her meetings and had the tech crew get her plane ready. It was self-flying and solar-powered, she just wanted it powered up by the time she got to the airfield. She smiled now at the time she and Kara flew to Katznia to confront Lex on an earlier model. It had taken a long time to get over but the lengths Lena went to protect Kara was comical.

But what happened to the one-year-old that had lost its parents in a car crash? What happened to that little brown-haired, blue-eyed baby girl? A sob racks Lena’s chest because now she remembers everything. She crushes the blanket to her chest and hunches over her knees.

She remembers the fights and the makeups. The 'I love you’s' and flowers and forehead kisses. The tension had built after the Supergirl confrontation to the point that they had a screaming match but then suddenly Kara was kissing her and Lena was pulling that stupid cape off. Right there in her office at three in the morning.

Lena was on her way home, almost there, when her plane was shot out of the sky and Kara was there to protect her, just like she always was.

Kara rushed in at the sound of Lena’s crying, taking in the blue blanket in her white-knuckled grasp. Suddenly Kara is cooing in her ear and her strong arms pull Lena back together from where she was breaking in half with her heart. They lost another child. Another chance at a family.

“Shhh… my love. It's okay. It’s okay. Madison went to another loving family. Oh, Lee. We will get another chance. This isn't the end. So many children out there need love” Kara continues reassuring her until Lena can manage to even out her breathing.

“What happened?”

“They didn’t have the funding to wait to place her, and with you, in the hospital, we couldn’t prove to be a suitable home. The woman understood and told me to call her when we were ready again. We won’t have to start over.”

“But I wasn’t here! How did you even handle this on your own?”

Kara cringes. She handled it about as well as Lena was. She fell down right in the entryway, clutching the blanket as the Social Worker carried the baby away. She sobbed until she lost track of time and cried because she should have been at the hospital for her wife. Instead of saying all that she swallows.

“I cried. But I had you to worry about. You are my priority, Lena.”

Lena nestles into Kara, exhausted and just wanting to sleep. Kara’s warm hands rub up and down her arm as Lena cries softly.

“So I take it you’re not mad at me anymore?” Kara asks. Lena laughs wetly and rubs under her nose and her cheeks.

“No. No, I remembered everything.”

“Everything?” Kara teases, Lena elbows her softly.

“Yes, everything. But can I have some tea? This has been a rough forty-eight hours. And my head still hurts.”

Kara laughs a real laugh that is music to Lena’s ears.

“Yeah tell me about it. Come on. I got pretty far ahead on work over the past couple of days, so I took the next two weeks off. Just you and me. And several pints of ice cream to cry this out.” Kara moves to stand up, Lena grips her arm and holds her down. Kara’s forehead crinkles in the very way Lena missed. It felt like she had relieved the past five years and that this huge gulf had separated her from today and just two weeks ago when she had left on her trip.

“I love you. So much. Even when I didn’t know you, you kept all of our memories safe and brought me back to you. You kept all of your vows to me and made me love you even when I was angry. I know this was a setback, and it's going to be hard. You, Kara Danvers-Luthor, are my hero.”

“I will always protect you.”

They sat like that for a few minutes before curiosity overcame Lena.

“What happened to whoever shot my plane?”

“They may or may not have spent the night in the DEO sensory deprivation chamber. Not the goon that was hired but the rival CEO. Frank Chang, I think? The American born son of the former CEO in Hong Kong that you were competing with. Alex dealt with him after that. I was a little too angry to pay much attention other than taking him on the scariest flight of his life.” Lena chuckles at her wife's antics.

“And how were you there? When the plane exploded?”

“I was too amped up so I thought I’d fly along and make sure you got home safe. I just got distracted by…” Kara trails off.

“By what?” Lena arches an eyebrow.

“By what I wanted to do to you as soon as the plane landed.” Kara blushes and Lena thinks its cute, even after all these years. “I was really excited and… umm… well… a bit horny after so long without you.

Its Lena’s turn to laugh out loud and Kara delights in it. “Soon, my love. Soon. You can give me an idea once I’ve been cleared by the doctor. For now, take me to bed and cuddle me?” Lena asks.

“As you wish,” Kara smirks.

“Rao, You watched it again didn’t you?” Lena asks

“Well, how else am I supposed to protest that stupid remake?” Kara exclaims. Lena just rolls her eyes as Kara sweeps her into a bridal style carry with ease.

“All right Dread Pirate. Just don’t let the Rodents of Unusual Size get me.”

“As you wish.”

[fathercharlesoffdensen]

In Defense of Fat Thor

I not only enjoyed Thor’s portrayal in Endgame, but found it to be a productive and well-developed(/acted, DAMN, Chris Hemsworth) characterization that has been steadily building up across each consecutive movie. Caveat: I do not fault anyone for being skeptical that the directors, etc. had it in them, considering the clunky nature of some of their previous creations, to say nothing of some of their interviews, etc. I am also not 100% surprised to see people maligning Fat Thor, and/or saying they don’t understand his trajectory and/or that they felt some of the humor at his expense took away from the legitimacy of having a fat, depressed, anxious character able to accomplish the same feats as when he had more physical prowess, etc. I disagree with this as well, in part because Fat Thor feels very personal to me, though not exclusively, and at the very least would like to propose a reading of many of the scenes in Endgame that offers a considerably more well-intentioned and good faith portrayal of Thor, with my own caveat that at least the anti-Ragnarok people using Fat Thor to further their agenda that Thor’s characterization sucks because Chris Hemsworth and Taika Waititi spent each day on set shaking Tom Hiddleston down for his lunch money and laughing at their own fart jokes are still wrong, which balances out everything else, because balance is still important, even if Thanos’ fuckboy interpretation of it is ridiculous. Anywho, apologies in advance for how messy this ends up being, I feel like my thoughts are very roundabout right now, but getting it out of my system will really help.

Thor has been ~emotionally fat~ for a while now, folks. As far back as Thor (2011), we see him disassociating, aka spending at least a few moments staring off into space in the midst of dealing with sudden upheaval, often because his angry outbursts have failed to be satisfying or get him what he wants/needs. One of the things that made me so excited to see a physical fallout to this in the MCU is that it actually ties into a bunch of other canons, too, including a recent spell in the comics leading up to the War of the Realms, wherein Odin sort of admits to his own role in breaking Thor, as far back as being “too drunk” to be there for his birth, as well as his being dubbed the God of Thunder because baby Thor used to wail whenever there was a storm, and Odin used to make fun of him for it because you don’t get a #4 Best All-Father coffee cup from your kids for nothing. @thishereanakinguy and I are even reworking parts of our Thorki paper for publication to put forth even more evidence that the pressure on Thor to be the Golden Child was too much, and that he’s been unraveling for a long time.

Again, none of these reactions to turmoil are new for Thor, though it’s fascinating that the conversation between Frigga and Thor in Endgame is largely focused on her assuring her son that it’s okay for him to fail, and/or for him to delegate tasks (there’s a recent comic that’s gone viral where Mister Rogers visits with Thor, and it has a similar bent), or realize that he has to shift his perspective on Who He Is. In part, it’s lowkey hilarious that Frigga, aka “send Loki some soup and some library books he’ll enjoy after our big fight because I still love that little asshole, never mind that he’ll probably receive them after she has been killed omfg,” is so blatantly ignoring Odin’s decrees to basically withhold basic affection from their children so that they’ll toughen up on their own, because fuck that noise. At the same time, Frigga imparts words that Thor (and Loki) should have heard and taken to heart a long time ago, and it’s painful to realize that Thor has felt as though he hasn’t been allowed to express his feelings, but so God damned great that that’s what Frigga hones in on. Notably, Thor isn’t trying to botch his trip to 2013 Asgard, either; he has a panic attack when he and Rocket arrive, and Frigga sneaks up on him because Frigga knows her babies no matter how much they are made of pizza or in Loki’s case magical artifacts. (Sarah read something saying that in households where the Golden Child and Black Sheep co-exist, statistically it’s common for the Golden Child to turn to alcohol and food, whereas the Black Sheep is more likely to turn to drugs/more illicit substances wherein they opt not to feel their feelings as much, and I was really floored by that because that really fits a couple of different scenarios that I’m familiar with for one reason or another.)

SO ANYWAY, we see Thor disassociating in previous movies. In TDW, even Odin comments on Thor’s confused heart, which Thor assures him has nothing to do with Jane Foster, even though it would be very easy for him to pretend he’s not actively thinking about Loki a thousand times a day and spending so much time stalking Heimdall and the broken Bifrost remnants that dude is like holy fuck please talk to your kid or I am going to commit treason again so hard. Thor reaches out to Odin for guidance/arguably comfort once Frigga dies, and his inability to provide either sends Thor immediately to Loki, who at the very least can help him properly realize the revenge he seeks, while also saving Jane. In Ragnarok, we get that great moment where Loki is talking directly to Thor, and Thor simply stares straight ahead; Loki doesn’t seem all that surprised by it either - he and Thor have different triggers and whatnot, but he knows the emo fuck who ends up at his cell in a fucking black poncho and handcuffs isn’t a new creation by any means, and he is into it fwiw. Even stuff like Korg admitting at the end of Ragnarok he carried around Miek’s presumably dead body because he felt so bad that he was dead warrants a little nod of understanding from Thor. Likewise, we see Thor stress-eating a bowl of bread at the beginning of Endgame, before the focus on his weight became a thing. Thor doesn’t run outside to see Tony Stark come home; whenever possible, he’s barely there, even before his five-year hiatus.

The use of well-placed humor in a three-hour sob fest does not seem all that weird to me. Shakespeare does it in all of his tragedies; and to continue this egregious metaphor, a lot of his comedies contain tragic bits, aka loss of family identity, which is arguably something that underpins how good Ragnarok is, as well. Being able to laugh at stuff has always been very important for me personally, though I realize it’s not for everyone. Still, I think there’s an additional caveat with Endgame regarding who the ‘fat jokes’ are coming from, aka arguably all of the Avengers have their own significant traumas to work through even before The Snap, and are also just trying to survive, even if they seem to fare physically better than Thor at this particular point in time. So Tony Stark calls him “Lebowski”; but as soon as the musical cues and Hemsworth’s amazing acting switches over into Thor being triggered by thoughts of all that he’s lost only minutes later, we see Tony, who canonically has major issues with being touched, putting his hand on Thor’s shoulder and allowing himself to be grabbed and held because he knows that is what Thor needs from him. Bruce, too, has to set a boundary for his own personal safety about being grabbed, but still gives in to Thor’s need for physical touch. One of the tragic touchstones of Ragnarok is that Thor doesn’t touch Loki once, even though in the first two Thor films and Avengers 1, he is constantly pawing at him. Thor wants to make a point in Ragnarok that he has decided he must let Loki go if that’s what Loki truly wants, and so he withholds his own instinct for physical contact - which Loki gives back to him, however briefly, in Infinity War by knocking Thor out of the way of Thanos and the Tesseract, to say nothing of how all Thor can do when he arrives at Loki’s corpse is to mewl and cling and bury his head and wait for everything to explode, himself included.

In any case, the other 'fat jokes’ come from Rocket, well established as being caustic in the face of personal tragedy, and having been put in the position even back in Infinity War of sort of making sure Thor keeps going, and Rhodey, who is probably just trying to deal with all these new people hanging around, and the fact that all of the structure in his life pretty much has been upended in a really short amount of time. Regarding Frigga’s “eat a salad” remark, as his mom, she seems to understand how much his physicality comes into play for him, and how devastating it is for him to see how others react to him seeming both physically and emotionally diminished. This is why it’s so powerful for him to still be 'worthy’ of Mjolnir, I think, and why that moment book-ended Frigga’s admonishment. Likewise, we don’t get a suspiciously fast glow-up wherein Thor’s all muscley again. He has to hold his own against Thanos in his current form, and he fucking does. Sometimes, life happens, and you have to respond to it as you are because you don’t have the time or energy to get everything in order first, and so you do the best you can. IMO, Thor did a pretty fucking good job.

I also find it completely understandable that Thor went off with the Guardians at the end of the film. (P.S.: Peter Quill is still absolutely intimidated by Fat Thor.) For one thing, I don’t think he’s going to stop trying to find a way to bring Loki back, regardless of what Clint said about the Soul Stone’s magic not being able to be reversed. For another, Valkyrie deserves her own glow-up into becoming Queen of New Asgard, as much as Sam deserves to be the new Cap. I’m of the mindset that Steve likely wouldn’t have gone back in time to be with Peggy if Tony had lived, and that doing so was him honoring Tony’s legacy by taking the advice that he gives several times in the film to go and live life while you have it. Likewise, as sad as it is for Tony to have died, I’m not sure he would have been able to rest, post-Thanos. You also can’t tell me for a second he hasn’t left all sorts of little messages and trinkets and whatnot around for his loved ones to find, cough AI Tony in Peter’s next suit or something cough.

Overall, I thought Endgame was a good send-off. It was well-acted, well-scripted, beautifully scored (Thor’s Pink Panther-esque theme when he’s trying to explain the Aether is amazeballs, as well as the theme that plays when everybody gets to the battlefield), and really just surprisingly, suspiciously good. I am glad that if we have to see this leg of the MCU end that it did so in such a way as to leave character arcs open to further interpretation, and I’m legitimately excited for a lot of them. While I don’t think everybody is required to be fake-positive all of the time, I do think that in fandom spaces, if one’s sole focus is how disappointing something is all the time, it’s not a productive or soul-enhancing use of one’s energy, and it makes me sad to see it. Nuance is important; the MCU has more of it than it’s given credit for having, and I hope more people realize that as it continues into Phase 4, or at the very least, that they find something they enjoy and keep coming along for the ride.