#that was when i had (vaguely) realized that i was deeply hurt and traumatized and needed help

[please-picturemeintheweeds]

tw: abuse discussion, intimate partner violence, grooming discussion, power and control. Trying to be vague here and not fly too close to the muse Sun

Re: red tv and the manuscript discourse, I wonder if people realize that it is actually possible to have abusive/toxic/harmful relationships with people your own age, too? Like even if Taylor and jg were 2 years apart, harm still could’ve occurred….? Like it was obviously not grooming bc that is a very specific set of experiences usually involving a child and a person in a position of trust/power like a parent or teacher or coach etc (I know this bc I lived it!!!). But like… that is not the only kind of harm that can happen to young people???? Her youth/naivety was definitely a factor in how fucked up the situation was but it was not the only element. Power dynamics do not begin and end at age. Adults can fuck each other up, too…

[pinkautist]

you know, i was reading my childhood diary and i realized that. uhhh. the urge to write stuff down like that has never gone away. tumblr is my diary now.

[whereserpentswalk]

Capitalism's narrative of eternal security

Sometimes I think about people who, in 2023, still make covid the main part of their politics. Like people who legitimately want full lockdowns to have been constant for the past three years. It feels like they're still stuck in 2020, like, looking at their posts, their weird shrinking subreddit, makes me feel strangely nostalgic. There's a point where it goes from a coherent ideology (because I think we understand by now that there's not going to be some magic event to make covid go away) to something closer to "the world is terrible and people suffer, so any happiness is morally wrong".

I feel like there's a deeply conservative trend to want to regulate the world into something completely safe. It goes back to 9/11, both in the very tangible things like the no-fly list, and the narrative people had around it. I don't know this for a fact because it predated my birth, but there were people who wanted to cancel Halloween that year, or asked if there would ever be comedy again, after the attack, which isn't logical, but is the type of thing that makes sense to a traumatized brain. This idea that society must be regulated by an overarching authority to keep everyone safe, the idea that everyone's ability to live their life is secondary to a vague idea of security.

Even the idea that a group is unsafe is the core emotion behind a lot of bigotry. It's a big reason why a lot of people want closed borders, it's why a lot of people want to regulate the rights of trans people, it's created a type of policing that disproportionately hurts poor people, poc, and the homeless, its why mentally ill people have basically no rights in this country. There's this idea that the freedom, and often even the life of marginalized people, is limited by standards of public safety. Even going back to covid, the idea that no harm done by covid was acceptable is based on the idea that harm and death from unemployment, abuse, and mental health issues are acceptable. So much of humanity is more confident that we can abolish nature then that we can abolish capitalism.

We always present safety like it's this trolly problem every society must grapple with, with no easy answer. But once you realize it's the freedom of the marginalized, and the safety (or often just the feeling of safety) of the privileged.

In a way the entire system of capitalism is just forcing people to give up their freedom for safety from things capitalism caused. And when people make fortunes off of making people sell their freedom for safety, they end up really hating when you want to abolish the danger they profit off of, rather than just passively "protecting people" from it.

I don't think I'm wording everything well. But I think it's something to think about. I feel like the prime emotion behind conservativism for the average person isn't hatred but fear. And fear isn't rational, it's why it's hard to use rational arguments for any of this. When someone says something like "we need to regulate trans healthcare to prevent any cis children from being harmed" it's hard to defeat that with pure numbers, statistics are only calming to people who want to be calmed by them, you could mention that it's harming trans people to regulate these, but that doesn't help because their fear narrative is about cishet children having their status as socially conforming taken from them, not about trans people being tangibly harmed. The only real way to refute this line of thinking (especially as it starts to infect our own communities on the left, and not just outside ones) is to break the narrative that there's some amount of nebulose harm that takes away our rights. There's a reason why deaths under capitalism aren't a concern for the type of people who say our society should prioritize safety, it's more about

An airport with strip searches would be safter from terrorism. A world where lockdown was a permanent policy for the rest of the foreseeable future would have less people harmed by illness. A world where people were chemically castrated until marriage would have almost no sexual assault. For the most part we reject these worlds, even if they're safer we've decided that there are reasons why we don't want this level of safety if it means being subject to certain conditions. And we can extend that to more radical things too, we can say that we don't care if the world is safter with cops, we still don't want cops to exist. We can say we don't care if the world is safter with borders, we still don't want borders to exist. We can reject more narratives of fear. And that includes ones we see popping up in our own communities.

God this post was long, and I didn't even mention ecofascists being a thing, or the leftist argument against gun control. Maybe next time.

[xluciifer]

Oh Lucifer, what did you do?

Oh! You must be new to the blog and the shit that's ensued on here! Welcome! Long story short, @k1ttyb0t and Lucifer have a complex relationship with one another. She one day (accidentally) followed him home and never left. They got to know each other, she helped him with his depression to the point he actually thought he was getting better!

He often forgets she's a sex bot, always seeing her as a woman that deserves nothing but the upmost respect! It took him a while before he finally allowed Kitty to do what she's best at, she's unleashed things inside him he never knew he craved and eventually, he actually started to grow deep feelings for her.

He has no idea what she actually does outside when she leaves his home but he always misses her when she's gone, the constant company makes the loneliness feel heavier now. They've done almost everything under the sun together once he allowed himself to open up to her (but not about his trauma). And that's where tragedy struck in their relationship.

Kitty had begun to feel and understand somewhat what she was starting to feel for Lucifer, he's spoken vaguely about missing his wife but never indulged further into it. One day while cleaning around, she ran into an old audio clip that contained Lilith's voice that Lucifer had hidden away and out of reach. Kitty being a highly advanced machine thought it would be something nice for Lucifer to hear the voice of the person he missed. And portray her feelings the best she could through it as well.

In the midst of a session of making love together, riling him up into his demon form which she loved doing to him. Out of the kindness of her robotic form, she used Lilith's audio clip of her saying 'I love you' for the first time to Lucifer. It should've been an endearing and sweet moment for them, but it wasn't.

Remember how I said audio clips were hidden and kept away from reach and how anytime he spoke of Lilith, it was very vaguely? And lastly, how he has never spoken of his trauma to Kitty? Suddenly, in a heat of passionate, he hears the voice of a ghost and it triggered a trauma response in him - and while he was in his demon form.

Lilith and Lucifer didn't have a good relationship. He gaslit himself constantly, trying desperately to keep hold of any good image of Lilith but she was a good foundation to his trauma along with Heaven. And once Kitty had shared her true feelings to him through the voice of someone that hurt him; he blacked out, and instead of seeing Kitty beneath him, he saw Lilith. And all the resentment and rage he keeps inside lashed out and he ended up choking and manhandling Kitty, something he would've NEVER done. But in the midst of a traumatic response, he didn't realize what he did until afterwards.

And I'm not saying how he responded was okay, but fuck, is he tearing himself apart about it. Kitty was the closest thing he had to feeling any semblance of love in the longest time. As a little sided note too, he has his sigil also placed somewhere hidden on her body too because of how deeply he cared for her, one that she, herself, doesn't know about either. So if by chance she ever were in trouble, he'd be notified immediately.

SORRY THIS GOT LENGTHY, but it's where Kitty and I are at right now with Lucifer/Kitty until we can get their next arc going: Kitty running into the arms of Mammon and Lucifer learning about it, finding it the chance to be able to apologize and get her back.

[schizodelicpunk]

Oh! Someone else who's psychotic and a drug user! We're schizophrenic and have been interested in psychedelics, can we hear about your experience doing them while schizospec? Any advice in relation to being schizospec?

!!! Invitation to infodump about drug hyperfixation !!!

So. I've been using psychs for probably around 6 months, so I'm not super experienced, but here's what I've got so far

The main thing I've noticed with psychs is that they affect me a lot more than sane people. The first time I did mushrooms, I had a good sized dosage but nothing crazy, I got the most insane visuals. Melting faces, colors everywhere, auras, etc. This can be really fucking cool and beautiful, but it also makes a bad trip WAY worse, it will send you into full blown psychosis. I've had three drug-induced psychotic episodes, which I will describe here.

The first, and by far worst, episode I ever had was off of just 2 tabs of acid. The other people around me who were on 2 tabs experienced nothing like it. Visuals started only like 5-10 minutes after I took it, which is... Not Normal. It normally takes 30. This freaked me out and was probably the reason my trip went bad. I didn't tell my tripsitter because I thought I had messed it up by accidentally swallowing the tab instead of letting it dissolve (I know now that swallowing it actually makes it LESS potent, I don't want to imagine what would've happened if I hadn't swallowed the tab). By the time it hit the other people in my group, my visuals were so intense I could barely see in front of me. I'm missing a lot of memory from that night, but I do remember being very disoriented and scared. When I entered the full psychotic event it was a lot of looping and metaphors for my childhood. The next phase of the trip revolved around the concept of intensity (presumably because I was overstimulated). I kept waking up into new realities in the most intense moment of my life in that reality. I watched my dog die repeatedly and people I cared about get deeply hurt. It's actually really hard to talk about and I had to go take a nicotine break while writing this lol. The most intense and terrifying and deeply traumatizing part of the episode was watching the world end. I eventually woke up into this other dimension with alternate versions of the people I knew in this life. They welcomed me back, explained as quickly as they could that this was the end. This was the place I woke up after every most intense moment of my life and that the world was now going to end. I remember a feeling of "oh my God, they're real. I didn't dream them up." And I lay there, leaning against the gorey corpse of my dog, and watched the sun explode and atomize us all. I felt the pain of my body being destroyed. It's the most pain I've ever felt in my life. Even such a minimal and vague description of the event is enough to make me feel like I'm there again and is giving me creepy auditory hallucinations. This is not an attempt to scare you away from psychedelics, but a warning that you have to be EXTREMELY careful with them if you are prone to psychotic symptoms. The tips I'd give based on this event:

Up your dosages VERY slowly

Keep calm when something unexpected happens

Talk to your tripsitter, I don't care how embarrassed you are, if I had caught this earlier I would not have been through such a traumatizing event

The second psychotic event was a small dose of mushrooms, but I'd also had weed right before I took them. I was also currently in possession of a small amount of meth that I was keeping from my at the time partner. This was stressing me out massively and I had also just realized that I was probably developing schizophrenia, another stressor. The combination of weed and stress was probably the reason this trip went so bad. This trip was a lot less visceral and was more characterized by paranoia. I was also convinced my life was some sort of game and the two paths were correlated to my partner at the time and my now girlfriend. I experienced more schizophrenic symptoms like word salad and cognitive issues. I also kept hearing words wrong. One of the people I was with said something about me being schizophrenic and I heard "satanic".

Notes:

Don't mix weed and psychedelics

Do not take psychs when you are stressed

The final event was off of RSO. Just weed. That freaked me out cuz I'd never experienced psychotic symptoms from weed, and I'd had RSO in the same dosage two other times and never had any psychotic or psychedelic effects. I had some RSO and then went to take a nap with my girlfriend. When I woke up I had visual distortions that looked similar to the ones that I had in my first psychotic event. This triggered me and made me freak out. I couldn't move or speak and just sat there in my girlfriend's arms, trembling. My partner (same one from previous event) did not notice and was lightheartedly tormenting me, he shut my four cats and my dog in the tent with me. Every time one of the animals passed my eyes it looked dead. When they finally realized something was wrong they helped me out of the tent and set me up on the bench. I tried to use nicotine and alcohol to make the trip die down but it didn't work. As it progressed I ended up looping. I would see too many patterns between realities and it would reveal more and more realities until I was seeing everything at once. Since a human brain can't process everything at once it looked like this massive spiral of everything and nothing all at once and there was this terrifying feeling that I'd get lost in it and never come back. When my partner tried to snap me out of it, the way he frantically called my name reminded me too much of how I woke up into the world ending reality and freaked me out and I would spiral again. It just kept looping until the RSO wore off.

Notes:

Every time you experience a psychotic event, it gets easier for it to happen again

Being scared makes it worse

Bad stuff out of the way, I want to point out that it's only gone bad for me 3 times and I have tripped probably 20-30 times. Most trips are very lovely and beautiful. I once had a mushroom trip that just brought me so much inner peace I couldn't be mad at anyone for anything. I was struck with the realization that every single person in the world is doing their best. No one is going through life trying to do bad things, they're all just trying to manage their own shit. And the city lights on acid are the most beautiful, sparkly thing I have ever seen. If you want to do psychedelics I do wholeheartedly recommend them, but you do have to be VERY careful if you are psychotic. Sorry if this was more negative than you& were expecting, but I think it's important to know the risks involved. Psychedelics are the cause of some of the best things in my life, but they also caused the very worst thing I have ever experienced.

[unclekoopus]

Delving Even Deeper Into My Security Breach Sunrise/Moondrop Headcanons

You guys really seem to like my FNAF SB headcanons, so I wanted to share some more about the Daycare Attendant...

-Sunrise/Moondrop used to have control over their change from sun to moon. Usually it’s a day-night or morning-afternoon type of thing, but the Glitch made everyone unstable and seriously messed with the runnings of the Pizzaplex, making the technicians into nervous wrecks.

-They used to be able to do something of a peek-a-boo trick with younger kids going back and forth between Sunrise and Moondrop behind their hands or popping in and out of the ballpit, changing each time.

-Sunrise/Moondrop are part of the same deep learning AI personality, but it’s split in order to contain the vast amount of information about all the kids in the Pizzaplex Guest server. The two personalities developed independent of human interference.

-Sunrise/Moondrop used to be on very good terms. They communicate through “self-dialogue” inside their simulated consciousness.

-The glitch made it so Moondrop is much, much more aggressive, dangerously so, and so Sunrise has started trying to keep him from taking control. But when the lights go out- that is, power fluctuations in the Pizzaplex grid (not just the lights, that’s just an indicator) Sunrise’s control slips since Moondrop is designated to take over in cases of emergency as he’s supposed to be more level-headed and organized and versed in emergency protocols.

-When power is diverted or shifted as it is during night mode every hour or when Afton draws a particularly large amount into his recharge station Down Below, Moondrop automatically takes over.

-This is a theory I haven’t seen around very much, but Gregory was probably ‘banned’ from the daycare partly to try to protect him after Sunrise lost control. Sunrise spent the rest of the night trying to confine himself to prevent Moondrop from getting out.

-Sunrise/Moondrop are one of the first to notice and develop abnormalities because of Afton’s appearance since they’re such a big part of the cyber infrastructure of the Pizzaplex. His power siphon from under the Raceway affected him first. It was small things at first, twitches in behavior, personality switching without meaning to, and a great vague anxiety setting in.

-Sunrise/Moondrop tried to warn the techs about what was going on, but it was very difficult to tell from his end what exactly was going wrong and, being unable to vocalize or locate the source of the problem, they just kept it to themselves and hoped that things would clear up eventually, that it was just a passing issue.

-But things escalated one day when Moondrop went on a psychotic rampage when some kids weren’t being quiet during a sleepover event. “Naughty children! Naughty, naughty, naughty!” No one was seriously hurt, but there were a lot of traumatized kids. This event is mentioned in the Fazwatch messages:

Night Terrors CUSTOMER COMPLAINT -

My son never had sleeping problems. But after spending an evening in the daycare, he refuses to sleep with the lights out anymore! He just cries. And then when I do let him keep the lights on, he wets the bed!

-After this, Sunrise never again let Moondrop “out” during the afternoons and all upcoming Slumber Parties were cancelled. He was content that the children were safe with him, though he didn’t quite realize that he too was being affected by the burgeoning Glitch, becoming erratic and absent-minded, obsessively cleaning up the playroom and doing other compulsions. Panic attacks became common and he too started scaring the children or just weirding them out.

-Moondrop became a constant presence inside Sunrise’s mind after the Glitch took hold whereas before, when not in control, the other side usually went into rest mode. Moondrop’s nasty, hissing voice became like deeply upsetting intrusive thoughts growing more and more unpleasant the longer he was “locked away” and “compartmentalized”.

-The “voices in his head” sometimes got so loud they distracted him in the middle of the day and Sunrise would sometimes yells things at Moondrop that are taken as directed at Staff or random guests.

-Eventually, the night of the game, Moondrop and all the other animatronics came completely under the Glitch and Afton’s control, though Vanessa thought she was calling the shots.

-Once the Glitch receded and things went back to relative normalcy, Sunrise and Moondrop calmed down mostly, though for a while there was still hesitancy to shift from sun to moon.

-The Daycare Attendant used to be the most trusted of all the animatronics, but after the Glitch, everyone was a little more wary of him, including the Glamrocks and human Staff. This only broke their electronic heart more and made them determined to make things better.

-Moondrop felt very guilty about his actions and tried to apologize, but the damage was done. Trust is hard to rebuild, especially within oneself. He sought out the kids he traumatized on that day and did his best to make amends though.

-Gregory’s forgiveness is the most difficult to obtain though. The orphan boy has been hurt before and it takes a lot longer to repair that than a quick trip to Parts & Service.

-Extra: This may be obvious, but I like that Sunrise/Moondrop seem intended to be an allegory for Vanessa and Vanny even if they’re cool and strong characters in their own right too of course. The split personality and imagery related to it is a motif and theme that carries throughout Security Breach with the two sides of the Pizzaplex, the shiny, neon public places and the dark and dirty staff areas.

[cyokie]

Jack Vessalius as a Symbol for Depression

Ever since I first read PandoraHearts, I have interpreted Jack Vessalius as at least a partial symbolic representation of depression, especially in his relationship with Oz. 

(Skip to “keep reading” to go straight to the analysis; this beginning portion is little more than a disclaimer.)

Jack is a complex, fascinating character, and it is precisely due to this that I believe any number of interpretations regarding him contain merit. Whether you view Jack as an abuser, a manifestation of mental illness, or an extraordinarily-written character that does not require a figurative understanding to be interesting, I think this is valid. 

I am saying this first and foremost because I want to be clear: this is not a persuasive essay. I am not trying to change anybody’s minds about liking or disliking Jack Vessalius, nor am I trying to devalue any other interpretations of this extremely nuanced character. Some points may be a bit vague and connections disjointed, though I attempted to minimize this. Any discussion of mental illness and abuse is based on either my personal experiences or those of people I know. I do not intend to offend anybody. 

This post is simply the product of years of disorganized yet in-depth thoughts about this concept. I hope some of you will be interested.

Major spoilers for the entire manga below the cut. Manga panels are from the Fallen Syndicate fan translation. This...is going to get very long.

Emotional Abuse

Jack exists within Oz’s mind. When these two interact, it almost always occurs within Oz’s head, providing every conversation with an inherently emotional and symbolic element. 

Jack initially appears to Oz as an unknown but crucial figure. Whether he is trustworthy or even harmful remains to be seen, but his input is necessary. He is the only insight Oz has into his lost memories; he knows something Oz does not. Oz is suffering an identity crisis, realizing he has endured something he does not completely understand, something that could potentially change his entire life once he does understand it. And yet, this mysterious voice within his head understands it.  

This desperation makes it almost irrelevant whether Jack is credible, whether his advice is well-intentioned. Normally a rather cynical and distrusting young man, Oz follows Jack from the beginning despite wanting answers. He does indeed receive answers, but they are perhaps not quite what he bargained for, in more ways than one.

Once Jack’s true nature is revealed, the extent to which he has used Oz’s memories and emotions against him becomes apparent. Jack does present Oz with new insights into his experiences, but he only ever provides Oz with enough information to convince him to act a certain way. He never willingly gives a fair, all-encompassing portrayal of an event from Oz’s past. He manipulates Oz’s perceptions of his memories to fit a particular emotional narrative, one that is inevitably perplexing and demeaning to Oz. 

This bears a resemblance to the way depression warps how we view past events. When we look back at our experiences, we don’t see the entire picture--though we are convinced that we may. We see a skewed version of an incident that actually occurred. Perhaps this incident proves little to nothing about ourselves in reality, but viewed through the lens of depression, everything about it seems to scream that we are useless. And it is nearly impossible to try and perceive these events any differently, because when depression overtakes our minds, this perspective appears to be the only one through which it is possible to examine any of our pasts. 

By the time Jack’s intentions have been exposed, he is also explicitly emotionally abusive towards Oz. It is easy to recognize Jack’s statements as not only psychologically damaging, but disturbingly similar to what we hear in our own heads when suffering depression. Think about these assertions without the very literal plot elements that support them: Jack declares Oz less than human, insists that nobody loves him, and claims that he has no future because the only thing he’s good for is hurting those around him. He convinces Oz that he is useless, hopeless, and worthless. 

Jack drills these ideas into Oz’s head when he is at his most vulnerable. This is when Oz breaks down and becomes convinced that all of Jack’s statements are true. He is not who he thought he was; he never has been, and so his life is meaningless. 

This is arguably when Oz reaches his all-time emotional low. While it was already addressed that he had been struggling intensely with his mental health and was probably suicidal, up to this point, he always retained some level of self-preservation (however slight). Now, he silently accepts that the world would be better off without him and offers no physical or emotional resistance to his own execution. Jack’s words worm their way into his heart and corrupt his self-image to the point where his only reaction to Oswald’s sword swinging towards him is a blank, unflinching stare. 

Trauma Response

It’s not uncommon for Jack to manifest during catastrophic moments--that is, whenever a situation triggers (or comes close to triggering) overwhelming memories of Oz’s trauma. When Oz is losing control over his emotional and physical faculties, Jack often encourages him to make the trigger disappear using the quickest and easiest method available. Unsurprisingly, this method generally takes advantage of Oz’s extraordinary powers. In other words, the “tactic” Jack advises Oz to use is simply mindless destruction.

In the second half of the manga, Oz is at his least emotionally stable. It is not a coincidence that this is also the point during which Jack gains the ability to completely hijack Oz’s body. This development allows Jack to commit impulsive acts of aggression through Oz, while Oz himself retains little to no control.

Jack overwhelms Oz with unnecessary flashbacks to traumatic events and makes an excess of harmful connections between past and present circumstances. Oz’s panicked, distressed responses to this are tools he uses to further coax Oz into acting in a self-destructive manner. These tendencies may not only connect Jack to the concept of depression, but the concept of post-traumatic stress disorder as well. 

Identity Crisis

Although Jack is introduced extremely early in the manga, one of the story’s main mysteries is the exact nature of his connection to Oz. This relationship shifts several times, especially with regards to who is “in control” and who is the true “owner” of the physical body. 

Once it becomes public knowledge that Jack is “within” Oz, the identity of the former overcomes the identity of the latter in the eyes of the general populace. Figures who never before gave Oz a second glance begin to pay incredibly close attention to him; many directly address him through his connection to Jack rather than as a separate entity. 

Oz is deeply troubled by the way others ignore him in favor of an aspect of his identity that he feels does not truly represent him--an aspect of his identity that is at least partially out of his control. However, he is also relatively resigned to being judged in this manner. He lacks knowledge of how to change this circumstance because even he does not truly understand the extent to which he and Jack are connected. 

It is true that at this point in the story, Jack is practically worshipped. His destructive actions and devastatingly selfish nature have not yet been exposed. Because of this, Oz as Jack’s “vessel” is typically viewed through a positive lens. Still, this situation reflects how people with depression are sometimes reduced to nothing more than a mental illness by their peers. Because others do not understand (and mental illness is stigmatized), they start to see us as “different” in some indefinable but undeniable way, and our existence becomes that particular part of ourselves in their eyes. 

As time passes, the line between Jack and Oz becomes more and more blurred. Questions are raised about whether they are the same person or, on the contrary, whether they are similar at all. At what is arguably the climax of the manga, Jack declares that Oz’s body is, was, and will always be his possession; he claims that in reality, there is no “Oz,” only “Jack.” 

This thought haunts Oz intensely and sends him into a rapid downward spiral. Like the sentiments expressed near the end of the “emotional abuse” section of this analysis, the idea that Oz’s body belongs to Jack is backed up by rigid, literal plot elements. However, if we view this emotional catastrophe using a symbolic perspective, it is a representation of yet another common struggle endured by those with depression.

We come to ask ourselves who we really are. Was there truly a time when we weren’t “like this?” Could we truly escape this misery in the future? Who would we be if we were to stop feeling this way? Do we even exist without depression? Does Oz even exist without Jack?

Visual Symbolism

It is a classic literary device to represent hope through light and despair through darkness. The manga is rife with this exact type of symbolism, utilizing it to describe how the Abyss has changed throughout time, Break’s dwindling eyesight, and the oscillating emotional states of various characters. 

As I stated previously, Jack and Oz interact almost exclusively within the latter’s mind. The landscape drawn in the background of these conversations initially possesses a watery, clear appearance. However, as it becomes increasingly clear that Jack’s presence is deeply damaging to Oz’s psyche, this same landscape becomes overwhelmingly tainted by dark, ink-like shadows. 

Closer examination reveals that this “pollution” originates directly from Jack--and it reaches its peak once Jack’s intentions have been fully disclosed. Not only is Oz’s mind visibly corrupted by darkness, but Jack himself appears as an almost inhuman figure composed of these shadows. 

There is another level of visual symbolism as well--namely, the fact that Jack becomes increasingly physically aggressive and disrespectful towards Oz. In the first half of the manga, he primarily speaks to Oz from a distance, occasionally reaching out a hand in his direction. This is clearly not so in the second half of the manga, at which point Oz begins to defy his influence and it becomes vital that he subjugate him as quickly as possible.

By this time, Jack is almost always seen either restraining or caressing Oz. Even in the latter situation, when his touches are lingering and vaguely affectionate, they are possessive and constraining. In other words, though they appear different on the surface, both actions are ultimately methods of forcing Oz’s submission. It can be said that this represents his desire to gain complete control over all aspects of Oz’s being, as well as his total lack of respect for Oz’s physical and emotional autonomy.

It can be argued that both of these aspects of symbolism reach their pinnacle even before this point. Oz realizes his own worth when Oscar says he loves him and reveals that his greatest desire is for him to be happy. When Oz is at last able to grasp that he is loved and there is hope within his life, Jack immediately reaches out to grab him. And in one of the manga’s subtlest but most poignant moments, his hand crumbles to dust upon touching Oz. 

What follows is an extremely impactful display of Oz’s character development. He recalls Jack’s previous statements declaring his achievements worthless, denouncing the love he received from others as fake, and degrading his worth. Then he furiously rejects all of them, thrusting out a hand to push Jack away from him and consuming Jack in an explosion of light. 

The conclusion to be drawn from this is that Jack essentially lives off Oz’s misery. When Oz understands and is able to accept that he is not worthless, Jack is suddenly rendered utterly powerless. 

The manga culminates in a scene that coincides with this symbolism. This late into the story, Oz has succeeded in transcending Jack’s influence almost entirely, but Jack is not quite ready to let go. Though they stand together within a void, glimmers of light linger around Oz--despite everything, his life has come to be surrounded by hope and love. 

As Oz floats towards the path of light above, Jack reaches out and takes hold of his wrist. But his grip is feeble and hesitant, representing how little control he truly holds over Oz at this point. Perhaps attempting to provoke guilt or regret, Jack asks Oz if he is certain that he is prepared to move on without him, but Oz has grown too much to succumb to this manipulation. 

Without delay, Oz replies that there is no reason for him to stay, and Jack finally releases him. He escapes into the light--into a world full of people who care about him, into a life where he is happy to be alive. 

[quasieli]

12, 15, 23, 26, 30 for saube; 8, 10, 16, 24 for sparks !!

Saube

12. how loudly do they cry?

Depends on why they’re crying. If it’s a “I’m so frustrated” cry, they’ll be fairly quiet. If it’s a “oh g-d, this horrible horrible thing just happened”, she might be more vocal, but it depends of what the aforementioned horrible thing is. G-d, I just started thinking about that time SICL was in that haunted forest and the spirits made Saube believe she was fighting her own sister; full, blubbery waterworks there. 

15. have you ever said something as your character that stuck with you for a while after? what was it?

“We were just fucking outside!” afkajkldjskjzk I will never live that down. 

23. what's the pettiest thing your character's ever done?

This was almost my answer for the last question but Saube telling Ingot’s dad “This is a kindness” in Infernal as she ripped out the arrow that Ingot had shot into his mother’s foot. She’s not one for snide or petty gestures, but this just felt too good to pass up. They didn’t want him to understand what they were saying, they kinda wanted to make him a little afraid.  

26. does your know the names of their constellations? how did they learn them?

She’d be interested to learn, but she does not currently know. She’s pretty good at using the stars as a means of figuring out direction, but that she learned by walking around a lot at night and looking up at the sky as she did so. Saube has a much better internal compass than I do lol. 

30. how has your character's first impressions of their party members changed since they met them? have they stayed the same?

Ingot - At first, she didn’t really understand Ingot. For the one thing, she was pretty shocked to be seeing another tiefling in Sweetvale, and then to see how different they were to the tieflings she knew (which, at the time, was only her dad and sister). She’s very happy that she’s gotten to know Ingot more, because now she can appreciate the differences between then, but then still share moments like going to Tiefling Town together <3 

Whitlock - Whitlock is a little different cause Saube kinda knew him before the party formed, in that Whitlock lived in Saube’s hometown. She didn’t know him super well, but generally thought he was a nice guy. Now I think about Saube’s zebrith and Whitlock saying he wished he had gotten to know Saube a bit more in their time in Sweetvale together and I cry. I love that sweet sweet boy and so does Saube.

Aal - Aal.... confused Saube lol, but Saube is also now very grateful for them. Coming from the perspective of living in a very areligious home for 20+ years to then meeting a literal angel? It was a lot for them to digest and at first, they were kinda hesitant to approach matters of religion with them. Aal never pushed, but when Saube finally felt comfortable in beginning her journey, Aal was there to help her.

Rae - Saube definitely has more complex understanding of Rae now than her initial thoughts. Even though there’s only ~4 year difference between them, Saube felt like the two of them were from entirely different worlds. She’s reticent to admit it, but Saube can be fairly judgy about things like presumed maturity levels but she realizes now she completely misunderstood Rae. Rae has passion and cares deeply for people, but just has a unique way of showing it. Saube appreciates her boldness and is also very happy that Rae makes her little sister happy lol   

Eun Ha - Saube wasn’t quite sure what to make of Eun Ha when they first met. They had just gone through a whole traumatic thing involving believing loved ones were hurt/dead for days and then having to fight insane creatures to defend her hometown. She wasn’t much for socializing at the time lol. She still doesn’t know Eun Ha super personally well, but she does trust her and believe she is a vital part of SICL. She definitely would not pass up the opportunity to get to know her better (Eun Ha taking Saube to the quarry to throw rocks one shot when lol)

Sparks

8. how did your character feel when they left home for the first time?

If you’re in my Frostmaiden party and you’re seeing this, no you’re not <3 lol. I’m gonna be a little vague about this one cause of some Spoilers. Leaving home was very strange for him, because, even though he had been planning to leave home for quite some time, things still didn’t feel quite so right. Things were tense with his family when he left, as he had grown more and more frustrated with the fact that he was being treated like a child. It felt good to finally leave when he did, but he can sometimes still hear his dad’s voice asking him not to leave, even all this time later. He had to do what was best for himself, and this was it. 

10. does your character have tattoos? were they alone the first time they got one?

Once again, gotta be a little bit vague for this one. Yes, Sparks has a glittering gold tattoo of a geometric pattern on her right wrist. It is an arcane tattoo, so the process of getting it wasn’t at all traditional. The person who gave her the tattoo is someone she knows and they helped make the experience a little less scary. She’s had it for a few months now and sometimes she’ll just find herself getting lost in the pattern and tracing it absentmindedly with her finger. 

16. what does getting flustered look like for your character?

She will not stop talking. If a moment or a person trips her up, she is going to try so hard to bullshit her way out of the situation. She hates being caught off guard, and will try to “take control” of the moment, but may get kinda upset if she can’t. She’s young, she’s still learning how to control her emotions lol

24. what made your character the angriest they've ever been? 

Probably the stuff mentioned in the first question. He has always presumed himself capable of doing things that others thought he couldn’t, and nothing would make him happier than to prove them wrong. Usually it was just some kid egging him on to get him to do some stupid stunt, but when it came to his parents talking like this, it was too much. They wanted good things for him, but the things that Sparks thought was good for him, they didn’t agree with. Eventually, it just got to be too much and he just, left. (Did a good job a being vague here /s lmao)

[mariinara]

TWENTY - TWO (Sam Drake x Reader) ANGST |PART 2|

A/N: Aaaand that's a wrap on this one, ladies and gents! This was all sorts of emotions rolled into a single one-shot but HEY it is what it is and y'all know how I am by now so :") HOPE Y'ALL ENJOY THIS ONE.

Tags: @easy-and-steady , @the-winchesterboys , @the-drakeboys , @missdictatorme , @psg-for-life , @elledrake , @samdrakeftw , @s4mdrake , @ghost-of-the-oldwest , @writersblockincoming , @purplezebra68 , @hrgnm

Request for anon: '14, 18, and 19 for angst prompts with Sam? 👀👀 I also really really adore your work!!!'

Prompts: "Can you just kiss me? One last time? That's all I ask.." + "Don't make this harder than it already is.." + "It's better this way."

Warnings: ANGST. Just ANGST, okay?

Word count: ~ 4.8K

(Part one here!)

-TWO WEEKS LATER-

Your fingers tapped away on your keyboard, your eyes flickering from the screen to your fingers as you filled in a resume for a teaching job in Boston. You wanted to quit your job in Philadelphia to spend as much of the summer vacation as you could with your mother. When she’d come back from Jersey, that is.. 

Avery was completely supportive of your decision and thought that you and your mother needed to squeeze some bonding time into your tight schedules. She wanted to keep her job in Philly, though because it paid pretty well and she wanted to gain her independence as quickly as possible, which Sam pretended to be proud of when it caused him severe anxiety, despite knowing fully how capable his daughter was. However, she was his only daughter and he liked when she counted on him for everything, but as she grew up, she became less and less dependent on him and it upset him to some extent but he hid it well.

Sam..

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him, your cheeks heating up as memories flashed through your head of that night. The images were so vivid that you felt the same sensations tingling you, causing every hair on your body to stand up and a shiver escape your parted lips and, suddenly, you were no longer focused on the resume and were only swimming in your pool of that night’s memories. God, it was so good. How he had no control over his actions. The look in his eyes that so clearly displayed his hesitation-- his debate on whether to take the next big step. And once you reassured him that it was okay and that he could do whatever he wanted, he took you hard and fast, his hand clamped over your mouth or his lips against yours to silence you and nothing in the world mattered at that point.

You inhaled sharply before chuckling lightly to yourself. The best thing about what happened was how you casually put your clothes back on and continued to play video games all throughout the night and laughing like nothing ever happened. To some women, that could’ve been a bad thing, but to you, that was the equivalent of cuddling. And he stayed charming and funny up until he passed out right next to you, which made you smile, pull a blanket over his body, and plant a quick kiss to his cheek. Next thing you knew, you were out of the shower and sleeping next to Avery, who was passed out and snoring softly like the heavy sleeper she was.

That was almost two weeks ago and you hadn’t seen or heard from Sam since you entered your empty home, but you didn’t question it. You reckoned he was probably busy with finding another gig with Sullivan. You and Avery called everyday, though, and she’d tell you how absentminded and distracted her father seemed. She’d be talking to him and he would be in another dimension and would snap out only when she alerted him, apologizing and asking her to repeat what she’d said before he’d do it all over again. She was complaining about it to you and you couldn’t help but wonder if that was a good or bad thing. For all you knew, you might’ve had him finally wrapped around your finger.. Or he was completely regretting what he’d done. 

Your cell phone suddenly started ringing, startling you out of your thoughts. You realized that you’d been staring at the blinking cursor aimlessly for the past ten minutes. A sigh escaped your lips as you reached for your cell on the nightstand, expecting it to be your mother checking up on you, but when you looked at the ID, you raised your brow. 

She usually didn’t call you more than twice a day and you didn’t know why she was calling again after you rambled on to each other for two straight hours but you decided to pick up with a smile: “Hey, Av--”

“(Y/N).” 

You frowned deeply at her tone. The way her voice cracked and the sniffles and little whimpers alerted you, causing you to sit up straight and push the laptop off of your lap, “Ave? What’s wrong?” You asked, causing her to let out a small sob, “Talk to me. What’s goin’ on?”

“It’s dad.” She croaked, her voice still broken. You found your heart sinking at her vague response and a million things popped up in your head, but before you could say anything, Avery continued, "He's going to Vancouver.." 

Your brows pulled together in confusion and you shook your head, "Wait, but– He travels all the time, Ave, what–"

"No, no, I'm goin' with him."

Your mouth snapped shut and you shifted on your bed a little so your legs dangled from the side, “H-Hold on, Ave.” You closed your eyes with a soft sigh, your fingers rubbing your forehead, “Slow it down for me.”

You heard her sharp intake of air and her shaky exhale shortly following, “Dad.. got a job in Vancouver and we’re gonna move there for a while.” 

Your eyes snapped open again and you felt your breath hitch in your throat, “What’s “a while”..?”

You heard a short pause on Avery’s end and your heart sank with each passing second. You were going to prod her to speak up, but what she said next almost made you double over: 

“A year and a half..”

Your blood ran cold and your eyes widened. And suddenly, everything around you started falling apart. Your whole being began to crumble. Your breathing started getting heavier when you asked yourself: 'If it's just work, why would he take Avery this time?' and you realized that he was probably planning on staying there for good and Avery knew it as well.

Your hand flew to cover your mouth to muffle a cry.

"I don't know what to do. He told me so suddenly and I pretended to be happy just because he seemed happy and I–" Avery paused to gasp for air, "Sully got him this job all of a sudden and he's been packing for the past twelve hours and–" She sobbed. The sound broke your heart to a million pieces and you wanted to just apologize to her. For all you know, you might've been the cause of what was happening. Maybe he wanted to leave because of you, "I dunno what to do and I'm runnin' outta time, (Y/N)."

You let out a shaky breath and squeezed your eyes shut, your jaw clenching as you cursed yourself before getting up to your feet, walking over to your closet, "It's okay; Calm down– I'll be here in a few."

"There's literally no time– The moving company came for our stuff and we're headed for the airport in a few."

You frowned, "Moving.. company?" 

"That's what I asked but he said that he needed everything in case the job took a little longer than he expected." She croaked and sniffled again, "I don't fucking know what he takes me for or if he's being an idiot on purpose."

"No– Listen to me: Your dad is not an idiot." You defended in a calm tone, "You shouldn't blame him for this; he, uh.." You stared down at your feet, biting down on your bottom lip in contemplation as you swayed back and forth on your heels and soles, "He–He hasn't worked in a while and he needs this, so just.." You looked up again, your shoulders slacked in surrender and your eyes glossy with tears, "Just see where this'll go.. You're all he has, Ave and he loves you so, so much." You slowly breathed out, not wanting her to hear how you were trembling– not wanting her to detect how you were one minute away from breaking down. 

You closed your eyes again as she spoke, letting your tears slip freely down your cheeks.

"I know." She sniffled, "He's been so strange and I feel like he's not telling me something."

At that, you mentally smacked yourself about three-hundred times in a row. It hurt you so deeply how you've betrayed her trust like that. And again, with your eyes closed, memories flashed before your eyes, but the narrative completely changed. 

Sam's groans and words of praise filled your ears, his chest hot against your arched back and his hand clamped over your mouth while you let out muffled cries. But you imagined Avery, standing there, watching you in horror, drowning in her tears, traumatized by the sight. And you made eye contact with her at that very moment, maintaining it, as if to taunt her– to highlight just how selfish you were. You imagined her staring back, betrayal written all over her face, her cheeks burning from the salty tears and her hand clutching her chest and her other covering her mouth. With one snap of Sam's hips, you were pushed over the edge and your vision blurred with white light, your brows furrowing and your heart furiously pounding in your chest as you let out a scream into his hand, but when your eyes readjusted, Avery was no longer there. And neither were her pictures that once filled every corner in the living room. They were white sheets in pretty frames. And the ones she had with Sam only had him in them. And somewhere, from afar, you saw your father, laughing as he sent you a wink and walked away from you, only to dissipate into thin air. 

"(Y/N)..?" 

You snapped out with a sharp inhale, your brows arched and your eyes wide with terror as your fingers ghosted your lips before you covered your mouth, hoping that she didn't catch that sound that slipped you. 

"You still there?"

"I-I'm here." You quickly replied, your hand dropping from your mouth to rub your chest, trying to ease the feeling of immense discomfort, "I'll be right at the airport, okay?"

There was a short pause and then, you heard him call out for his daughter, followed by a "We gotta go, baby!" and you didn't think it was possible for your heart to sink any more than it has, but it did. 

"Coming, dad!" Avery called back, her voice completely different, as if she hadn’t been bawling for the past hour, “I’ll stall him at the airport cafeteria, okay?”

You nodded, trying to catch your breath, “O-Okay. I’ll be right there.” 

“Hurry..”

“I will.” 

You quickly hung up and put the phone on your dresser before hurrying to put on anything. You opted for a hoodie and a pair of jeans, pulled your hair back with whatever hair band you could find into a low bun, slipped on whatever sneakers that were next to your door, grabbed your car keys and phone, and hurried out of the house, trying to keep calm so your drive there wouldn’t be a complete disaster. 

You wasted absolutely no time. You kept your eyes on the road, had a steady foot on the gas, but your chest bubbled with anxiety. The kind that made you let out a small, suffocated whimper from time to time. The kind that made your hands tighten around the steering wheel. The kind that made it extremely unbearable to listen to anything from the radio, which caused you to reach out and turn it off quickly. You rolled down the window after the light turned green, immediately speeding down the road, the wind ruffling the stray strands of hair that fell on either side of your face and drying the tears that rolled down your cheeks. Your eyes caught a sign that made you nervously chew on the nail of your thumb, your heart beat quicker, and your stomach churn with jitters. Your head was so empty and you were so fixated on getting to your destination that you haven’t even rehearsed what to tell Sam or Avery. 

You were filled to the brim with sadness, nervousness, and a tinge of anger. The street lights that rushed past you and the sound of the wind had a hypnotic effect on you. The sound of cars zooming by on the smooth asphalt put you at ease somehow. 

When you parked in the airport’s garage, you didn’t even pause to think about your next step. You were out of your car and running towards the entrance, pushing past families and couples, absentmindedly muttering ‘sorry’s and ‘excuse me’s, getting looks in the process. 

You were stopped at the first checkpoint at the entrance by a security guard, who thoroughly searched you while you looked ahead, getting on your tiptoes to look past his shoulder for the cafeteria, but your eyes only saw several ticket booths and passport checks next to each other. 

“Free to go.”

You closed your slightly open mouth and got to your feet, swallowing your nerves and flickering your eyes to look at the guard, “Uhh, excuse me, but is there a cafeteria close by?”

“There’s more than one, but--”

Your phone rang in your back pocket and you quickly pulled it out and checked the ID, letting out a shaky sigh before answering, “Sorry..” You mumbled to the guard, “Ave? Where are you?”

“We’re in Peet’s coffee and Tea.” She sniffled, her voice a bit above a whisper, “I’m in the bathroom but I’ll come back in a bit, I just, uhh..” She huffed, “I needed a little time for myself.”

“O-Okay..” You nodded, “I can wait for a bit..” You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your lips together, dreading the fact that it meant you’d have time with Sam. Alone. 

“I love you, Sparrow.”

You nodded your head, smiling softly, “I love you, too, Salazar..”

The line went blank and you looked up at the guard with a sheepish smile, “Peet’s tea and coffee..” You shook your head, your brows pulling in confusion as you scratched your forehead, “Er.. Coffee and Tea..” He chuckled at that.

“Uhh, you’re gonna continue along this path and find east Terminal B. You’ll continue past Starbucks and the vending machine and you’re there.”

You huffed softly and nodded, “Okay, thank you. Thank you so much!” You ran past him and made it through the crowds of people, apologizing and mumbling your way through people, your eyes fixated ahead. The sign above your head displayed ‘Terminal B’ and your stomach did flips as you ran past Starbucks and the feelings that bubbled up in your chest caused you to slow down. It was only then that you realized how out of breath you were.

How unprepared you were.

Your hand reached up for your fingers to gently brush the silver, heart-shaped pendant around your neck, with the letter 'A' engraved in beautiful cursive. 

You looked down at your feet as you walked, your hand clutching the silver heart.

Avery had the same one around her neck, with the initial of your name engraved. You'd had those since you were fourteen, but never in your life did you feel like you didn't deserve her love or trust. 

Again, you found yourself at your destination, with no semblance of an idea of what you were going to tell Sam. 

The chattering noises around you started dying down and were replaced by your loud heartbeats as you stepped into the café, your eyes carefully searching for a familiar face. Normally, the smell of brewing coffee and cold club sandwiches would draw you in but at the moment, you felt like you were growing sick. 

You looked around a corner, scanning the tables, only to see couples sitting and talking, teenagers being a tad louder than the rest of the people around them, or businessmen, sitting along in their fancy Tom Ford suits and their open macbooks, sipping on their typical cold brew. 

You sighed, but didn't know if it were from relief or frustration and just when you were about to search your head for how to approach Sam while you turned on your heel to look in another corner, you bumped into someone much taller than you, causing you to stumble back with a groan.

"Fuck." You cussed lowly, raising your hands in defense and backing away, scared that the person might be holding coffee, "Jesus, would you–" Your eyes flickered up and the aggressive furrow of your brows melted into a mildly surprised arch as you blinked, your eyes softening.

Sam pursed his lips and pushed one hand into the pocket of his Levi's while the other rested at his side, fiddling with a fraying thread in the side of his jeans. His eyes wandered from yours for a second before he looked deeply into them and his shoulders sagged, "Hey, kiddo.." He breathed out, giving you a tiny, awkward wave.

You blinked again, taking in a deep breath and crossing your arms, "Hey." You responded, swallowing down the lump that formed in your throat, "Did you know I was coming?" You asked, your hand quickly flying to wipe a stray tear from your cheek before you crossed your arms again with a small sniffle.

"Yeah. Yeah, uh.." He looked down for a second, as if he was ashamed of something. And you knew exactly what, "I figured Avery would call."

Your brows pulled together and your lips trembled slightly, "Why didn't you?" The bitterness that you tried to hide to no avail made him look up at you with a frown. 

He knew where this would go. It was inevitable. 

Sam reached out for you, "Okay, let's just sit down for a sec–"

"No." You sternly said, flinching away from his touch. The raise in your voice caught some attention around you, making Sam sigh softly and retreat his hand, "I want to know why you're doing this.." You whispered, your voice laced with heartbreak and disappointment. 

"Doing what?"

"Escaping me..!" You responded immediately, looking into his eyes as you took a step towards him. He ripped his gaze from yours and shook his head.

"I'm not escaping anything." He let out a mirthless chuckle, "I am trying to provide for Avery–"

"Oh, spare me the bullshit, Samuel." You venomously replied, narrowing your tearful eyes at him, "You are a coward." Your arms unfolded so you could push him away, which did nothing but make him take half a step back from you, "You're a fucking coward–" Your voice got louder as the lump in your throat grew more unbearable as you pushed on his chest again. He was quiet but his jaw was clenched. When you went to push him again, Sam grabbed your wrists to calm you down, knowing that both of you would be escorted outside if anyone from management took notice of the scenario.

"(Y/N)–"

"Get– offa me." You yanked your wrists away and took a step back, staring at him with wide, bloodshot eyes as you wiped your nose with the sleeve of your hoodie, "Don't fucking touch me.." You croaked, pointing an accusing finger at him, "You are just like that fucker."

He paused to narrow his eyes at you, "What..?"

"You're gonna leave me just like he did!" You let out a broken sob, your shoulders shaking with every quiet cry that broke through you.

Sam closed his eyes and shook his head slightly with a soft sigh, "Sweetheart, don't make this harder than it already is–"

"Please, stop.." You begged weakly, "You used me. Do not talk to me about things being "hard" because while you have a fucking escape, I do not!"

He scoffed, offended, "I did not use you–"

"Then why are you acting like that?!"

"Because."

"Because what?!"

"Because!"

"Because what!?–"

"Because I have feelings for you!" He snapped, making your breath hitch in your throat. You took a step back, feeling a little unbalanced as you frowned at him. His nostrils flaring and his eyes burning holes in your soul, his brows pulled together.

"What..?" You sounded confused. Or maybe hurt. Did you hear that right? By the look on his face, you seemed to have heard it right. Did it make sense? No. Absolutely zero sense, "Why did you.." Your brains froze on you, the gears not spinning properly, just lagging at every dent.

He took a step to make up for the distance you made between the two of you, "And I don't want to feel like that.." His hands were on your shoulders, then your upper arms, his thumbs drawing back and forth in comfort, "I'm pulling myself from the equation because I do care for you.. If we stay around each other, Avery's gonna notice and you're gonna lose her. I know that for a fact.." He searched your eyes for something. Anything. But it still seemed like you were at a loss for words, your mouth hanging open a little. It made him smile softly, his eyes gleaming with the sort of warmth that brought you a feeling of safety, "I don't want us to get in trouble. This could cost us everything and it is not worth it–"

"But it is." You refuted, hopeful. Your eyes brimmed with more tears at his words.

"No, no– Sweetheart, listen." His hands quickly cupped your cheeks so his thumbs could wipe away your tears, "I.. am not worth it."

You felt a sting in your heart. One that your face slightly contort in pain, "Sam–"

"You deserve someone who'll love you unconditionally without being a threat to every single relationship around you, and.." He shook his head, trying to search for the right words, "I love you unconditionally, but you and I've been through enough.." He breathed out, "You should be comfortable with the guy you bring. You should be with someone to bring home to your mom. Not lead a dangerous, tiring lifestyle. You don't need that." 

God, you hated how right he was. It made you love him all over again. His sincerity and tenderness with you contrasted the rough touch of his hands that you leaned your cheek into, your face shifting into one of complete pain as you let out a small sob.

"It's better this way.." His own eyes began to gloss the more he blinked and it took you back to that same night when he was completely vulnerable to you, "Trust me, sweetheart." He gave you a warm smile, tucking your stray strands of hair behind your ears, "C'mere.." He pulled you into a tight embrace, his chin on the dome of your head and the side of your face pressed against his chest. You felt his hands rubbing circles on your back. Slow, comforting, very familiar ones, "And I'm me.." You felt his chest vibrate and his cologne filling your nostrils, "I'll always be me; I'm not him.." Your fingers curled to clutch onto the front of his red flannel shirt, your eyes squeezing shut as you cried quietly against him, "I'm never gonna really leave you." He pulled away from you for a second to look at your beautiful crying face that you used to make when you'd fall off your bicycle when he taught you or came back from school and straight into his arms when you'd have a rough day of bullies. It made him smile with a wistful sigh from his nose, "Not if you ever forget me." He flicked your nose gently with a teasing smirk, making you chuckle unexpectedly with a big grin. 

"Never." You replied, smiling up at him with that glimmer in your eyes and for a minute, it was only you two in the entire airport and it didn't matter how many eyes were on you. And there it was again.

That spark.

And again, your mind convinced you that he was leaning closer to kiss you, but you shook your head profusely, getting your vision straight before looking down at your awkwardly shuffling foot, "Can I, umm.." You clicked your tongue and scratched your cheek with your forefinger, clearing your throat, "Can I ask for a favor?" You mustered enough courage to look up at him, your hands clasped behind your back.

He shrugged a little, "Shoot." 

You bit down on your lip and your eyes traveled to his, "Can you just kiss me?" You quickly asked, afraid of wasting any more time before Avery would get back, "One last time..?" His shoulders fell and his eyes flickered to every corner of your face, as if he was mesmerized by you, thinking 'Oh, man..' at the angelic look on your face that he couldn't for the life of him resist, "That's all I ask.."

He let out a shaky breath and glanced around. No sign of Avery. He then looked back at you and reached out, gripping the front of your hoodie and yanking you forward, making you yelp and stumble a little, but he caught you with a firm arm around your waist, pressing you against him before capturing your lips in a soft kiss, relaying his utmost care and love for you. For a second you were taken aback but when it clicked, your eyes fluttered shut and you kissed back with a soft exhale from your nose. God, it felt so right. So good. 

It wasn't fair.

How something could feel so perfect but be so wrong in every aspect.

Sam slowly broke the kiss and the sound brought you back from paradise, causing you to slowly bat your lashes to adjust your eyesight, gripping onto his strong, muscular upper arms for support, "Oh, wow.." You muttered, swallowing thickly afterwards.

Sam let out a light, breathless laugh, still looking into your eyes. You smiled warmly up at him, wishing that you could take him and keep him forever, but it wasn't up to you.

His arm loosened from around you and his hand was now on your hip. When you backed away from him a little, his hand went back into his pocket and the lack of physical contact from him almost pained you.

"(Y/N)!" You heard Avery's voice, causing both you and Sam to look to the side, but before you could say anything, she ran into your arms, making you stagger back a little, "(Y/N).." She whimpered, her arms tightly wrapped around your neck and her face buried in your shoulder. Your arms slowly snaked around her and you held her close, closing your eyes. 

"Hey, Salazar.." You tried to lift her mood, your hands comfortingly rubbing her back. Sam looked down at both of you with a thin smile.

"I'm gonna miss you so.. so much." She breathed, her voice muffled in your hoodie, but you heard her loud and clear and it caused you to smile sadly.

"Hey.. There's still college.. And we'll video chat every day, okay?" You suggested, but your voice cracked with both uncertainty and hurt, "It'll be like.. like I'm right there with you." 

She nodded against you, hugging you tighter, "I love you, Sparrow.." 

"I do, too.." She pulled away from the hug to smile at you, tears staining her rosy cheeks, "So much." You returned her soft smile, sniffling a little. 

Sam's hand was on Avery's shoulder as he stood behind her, giving her a few squeezes.

'Flight to Vancouver in thirty minutes. Please head to Gate 15B.'

All of you looked up as the feminine voice broke through the speakers.

"Well.." Sam sighed, "That's our cue.." His eyes locked on yours and you pressed your lips and swallowed to prevent yourself from crying. Sam stepped forward and towards you, and again, you were in his arms and he hugged you close as you stood on your tiptoes, "You take care o' yourself, alright..?" Came his deep, raspy voice, making you feel safe again. But all you could do was wordlessly nod, afraid that if you talked, you'd cry again.

And as they walked away, stealing glances over their shoulder at you with smiles and small waves, you kept it together. 

You held your own until they disappeared in the large crowds of people, and suddenly, you felt hollow again, as if something sucked all air from your lungs, and suddenly, you hand was clutching your hoodie as if it burnt your very skin while you let out small sobs and gasps of air, trying to keep as quiet as possible. 

You squatted on the floor, not caring how many people stared at you or circumvented your body. You quickly pulled your phone from your back pocket and with a shaky hand, you dialed the only person you could think of and pressed it against your ear, trying to keep your emotions at bay.

Finally, she picked up, her sweet voice filling your ear with a gentle "Hey, sweetie."

"Mom.." You sobbed, "Mom, please come home." 

"Baby, what's wrong? Are you okay?!"

"Mom.." You sniffled again, your whole body shaking as you debated yourself on what to say, but if you kept it to yourself, you’d feel like you'd explode, "I need to tell you something.."

                                           __________________

[stxphxn-strange]

protected

a/n: stephen angst about the Dark Dimension ft: wong being Fancy in the background and tony being flirty but caring and loving and supportive

Stephen shuddered. “There’s a roach in our bathroom.”

“Did you do something about it?” Tony asked, the light from the TV illuminating his face.

“No! Those motherfuckers are scary!” Stephen replied. “Pardon my French. I would sooner fight Thanos again and make another thousand bargains with Dormammu before dealing with one of those things.”

Tony rolled his eyes affectionately. “I don’t blame you, but I’ll take care of it.”

Tony turned away just as Stephen blanched. He hadn’t meant to ever actually tell anyone about Dormammu, outside of those sorcerers who had a vague understanding of what happened. No one knew the full story, and no one needed to.

As Tony walked towards the bathroom, his brain caught on an unfamiliar word Stephen used. What was a... a Dormammu? It was probably some kind of Mystic Arts thing that was far too complicated and storied for Tony to understand, but he didn’t fail to notice how pale Stephen suddenly was.

“This thing is a monster,” Tony called, “At MIT if I ever saw a bug like this, I’d hide under Rhodey’s quilt. Except, of course, for that time when the bug was under his quilt.”

Stephen laughed through gritted teeth. Just mentioning the demon of the Dark Dimension made the sorcerer panic, his hands trembling as he tried to stop himself from casting spells in the air. Even still, he felt the golden burn of magic in his veins and its longing to be freed from the cage where Stephen kept his emotions. He felt a bit more relieved when Tony reemerged from the bathroom, his hands still dripping with water and vanilla soap as he climbed back into bed.

“Well, Prince Stephen, the beast has been dealt with,” Tony said coyly, laying down and facing his partner.

“How dare you, bitch? I’m a King,” Stephen replied, pulling Tony into a hug.

Tony snuggled closer to him, alarmed at how fast Stephen’s heart was beating. “You’re my King,” Tony murmured, trying to make his voice reassuring.

Stephen hummed. He was trying to breathe, trying to relax and convince himself that he was fine, just home in bed with Tony... but the darkness of their room suddenly felt suffocating. The lights of the city looked more like the hazy purple shadows of the Dark Dimension. And then Tony’s voice, the thing that usually kept Stephen so grounded in this reality, made it all worse.

“By the way, what was that thing you said earlier? A Dormammu? What’s that?”

He was so innocent and curious it hurt. Tony didn’t mean to harm, he just wanted to learn and understand. But this was one of the sorcerer’s worst moments.

How could Stephen bring himself to let his love in?

How could he explain his irreversible mental scars that he gave himself by breaking the rules voluntarily?

Stephen shivered. “Oh it’s nothing. Can I be the little spoon? I’m cold.”

Tony nodded against Stephen’s chest, leaning up to kiss him before settling again and pulling him close. “Is that why you’re so tense and shaky?”

“Yeah,” Stephen replied, not at all convinced by his own answer. “I guess I could get a blanket but I don’t need one as much when I have you.”

Tony smiled in the darkness, pressing a sweet kiss to the nape of Stephen’s neck. “I’ll always be here to be your blanket.”

Stephen yawned. “I know, and I love you for it. Goodnight Tony.”

“Goodnight Steph,” Tony whispered. “I love you.”

++++

It didn’t take long for the nightmares to start. It was almost as if Stephen closed his eyes and went instantly to the Dark Dimension, into fight or flight mode. 

He began to fight against everything in his path, from blasts of energy and stabbing shards to the sheets tangled around his legs and Tony’s arms holding him still. 

Tony woke up when Stephen (accidentally, of course) elbowed him in the face. He loosened his embrace, whispering to the sorcerer to try and calm him down.

It was almost fifteen (15) minutes later when Stephen woke up, accidentally opening a portal to the Sanctum in the process of relaxing his body and mind. On the other side of the portal, Wong frowned as he lit a tea tree scented candle.

“Stark, take care of him,” Wong said.

“I’m fine Wong, goodnight,” Stephen replied, his voice short and taut as he closed the portal. He turned to lay on his back, pressing a trembling hand to his head.

“FRIDAY, lights at 25% please,” Tony said quietly. He slipped out of bed, adjusting the thermostat until the room began to cool.

Stephen then realized how warm he was, but it wasn’t the same warmth he fell asleep to. He was sticky with sweat and tasted blood as he bit the inside of his lip.

Tony gently took Stephen’s hand, the one clamped on his head. “What do you need?” He asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“I’m fine Tones,” Stephen replied. “It was just a bad dream.”

“It seemed like more than a bad dream,” Tony ventured. “You were defending yourself against something, fighting for your life even in your sleep.”

“It felt real,” Stephen muttered numbly. “It felt like I was there all over again.”

Stephen shifted, resting his head on Tony’s lap. His stupid brain and cursedly supreme memory had given him the opportunity to be open with Tony about what he’d done. This was the chance he’d been waiting for to just be honest.

And yet here he was, a coward afraid to face it again.

Tony clearly wasn’t willing to let this go. In the dim light of the room, Stephen could see concern and empathy all over his face. He just wanted to understand, and Stephen couldn’t deny Tony that chance.

“There are beings out there, extradimensional beings I mean, that are bigger threats than even Thanos,” Stephen began.

Tony flinched at the mention of the Mad Titan. “Are you about to tell me that you’ve faced them?” He asked gently, beginning to card a hand through Stephen’s sweat-damp hair.

“Not all of them, just this one called Dormammu,” Stephen replied, taking his turn to flinch. “It was really early in my training, before we met and before Thanos. I didn’t know how to handle him, and long story short I...”

Stephen exhaled annoyedly.

“You don’t have to tell me the full story now,” Tony said.

“But I do! I have to tell you because the fact that I haven’t yet is tearing me up,” Stephen replied, shaking in frustration and exhaustion.

Tony hummed. “Okay. But hey, listen to me: it’s just me here, we’re home, and I promise no matter what you say it won’t change anything about what I think of you. I know it’s usually you saying that to me, but I think it’s important that you hear your own words.”

Stephen sat up, resting with his back to Tony’s chest. He smiled as Tony continued to play with his hair, holding him close. He sighed and continued his story.

“I chose to do what I did, y’know?” He began. “I went to the Dark Dimension and trapped myself in a time loop with him. I let him kill me over and over again until we made a bargain and he left. It was agonizing, but anytime I get upset about it I remind myself that I chose to do that. I brought it on myself. I—”

“You’re one of the strongest people I know,” Tony interrupted, his tone laced with sadness and awe. “And hey, regardless of the circumstance you still went through something traumatic that still affects you deeply. There’s no shame in that. Anytime you want to tell me about these things or anything else as a means of healing is more than alright.”

Stephen shuddered at Tony’s affectionate speech. “Why should I let you get dragged into this? I brought it on myself, now I have to deal with the mental consequences.”

“You’re not alone, Steph. Your shoulders aren’t broad enough to carry the entire world, lovely as they are. You don’t need to handle everything by yourself, including trauma. If you want to, that’s respectable, but you don’t have to,” Tony replied. “You know me, by the way, you know I’d follow you to the end of the Earth. I’m here for you.”

Stephen yawned. “Did I kick you in my sleep?”

“I got an elbow to the face, but I’m fine,” Tony replied.

“Sorry,” Stephen muttered. “I’ll try not to do that again. Will you hold me for the rest of the night?”

Tony nodded. “Gladly.”

“Actually wait, I feel gross. Before I go back to sleep I’m going to take a shower,” Stephen said, sliding out of bed. After turning the water on, he turned around to face Tony. “That was your cue to join me, by the way. I’ll need you to protect me if there’s another bug lurking anywhere.”

[bisexualadamparrish]

why the hunger games series had to end the way it did...

      Okay, so before I get going I want to give a little background on my own perspectives of this book over time. The first time I read the series, I was ~11 years old and in the sixth grade. I read the books shortly after my mom (for some context, I come from a southern, pretty conservative, military family, which obviously gave me some very specific world-views). Now I’m 21, have been out of my house for 3 years at college, and have very different views on society, the government, and military/police forces than my family and myself at age 11, which are the major themes explored in this series. The point of providing this information is to say that, as an 11 year old reading and discussing this series with my mom and other 11 year olds, a lot of the real-life implications of the series were lost on me, and I think these real-life implications are pretty important to understanding why the series had to end the way it did. 

My full analysis is under the cut (as well as a “too long, didn’t read” summary)

      Looking more into the real-life connections in the series, I never put much thought into the fact that Panem is specifically a future & fallen version of North America, that fell specifically as a result of natural disasters and resource scarcity that led to a nuclear war. The series could have been written as a vague unnamed location in the future, but Collins chose to explicitly say that this new society rose out of the ashes of North America, and the USA specifically. If you read the prequel, it explores a little more in-depth how the capitol specifically rose to power, and how the relationship between the districts and the capitol were in the early years of Panem, during the first revolution, and in the early years of the era of the games. 

      The Capitol is very clearly painted as the direct result of wealth and resource hoarding and the abuse of the working class and how insidious it is for that to be allowed in even small amounts because with time it can snowball into more and more severe exploitation.This makes the themes explored even more relevant, because all of the major themes in the novel (war, military/police, capitalism, and government), while portrayed as more severe than in real life currently, are all big factors that do effect every-day life in America. This story is a portrayal of a potential future if these kinds of actions are left unchecked and the opinions and well-being of the vast majority of the population are swept aside in favor of the interest of the powerful. Sound familiar? 

      As a kid reading this, these are the points that were lost on me, and I think these points being lost are what made me feel that the ending was disappointing, or too abrupt, or unfinished. Back then I chalked it up to miss Collins being put under pressure to finish the last book and meet stricter deadlines, etc. We see that kind of slight decline or failure to wrap up loose ends a lot in series that get rapidly popular, and I genuinely just thought that was the case. Now however, while I do still feel that the ending is depressing and upsetting, I do believe it was the perfect way to end this series and a perfect ending to Katniss’s character arch.

      Katniss is a character that has been hit with hardship after hardship from a very young age; forced to grow up even earlier than the other kids in her district, who all had to grow up earlier than they should have anyways. She then had to face the games, which were incredibly difficult on her physically, mentally, and emotionally; which we see the effects of throughout Catching Fire. On top of her own personal troubles moving past that, president Snow targets her that entire year and she witnesses other people hurt and killed because of her actions surrounding the games, which is horrible for her to go through. Then we reach Mockingjay and she is pretty much forced into this leadership role against her will, and even though she does embrace it eventually on her own terms, that’s a lot for an already traumatized teenager to be put through. Katniss is a wonderful character and Collins does a truly wonderful job at showing how these different situations she gets put through affect her. The books do not shy away from showing the uglier side of things and the inner-turmoil it all causes Katniss and how all of the different people in Panem are affected by everything.

      All of this has been a really long lead up to my ultimate point, which is that if the story had wrapped up any differently; if Gale hadn’t committed the crimes he did, if Katniss hadn’t killed Coin, if Prim, and even Finnick, had lived and no other significant characters had been taken in their place, it would have undone three books worth of build up. To give the story an idealized ending where Love Heals All and the Good Guys™ win and they all live happily ever after would have suggested that the after effects of the war could have been overcome quickly. This would have undermined the entire message of the series. This series is a poignant look into the effects of capitalism, a totalitarian and authoritarian government, unchecked military/police force, wealth disparity, and war. In real life, there would be casualties and Katniss would never fully heal, and it makes sense that it would take her years and years and years and Peeta’s unwavering hopefulness to get to a point where she could even think about the world in a generally positive way. 

      I always felt when I was younger that the ending was just so depressing- it felt like they could have given us a little more of the epilogue, a little more cheerful of an ending to Katniss and Peeta’s story, but now I realize that the small amount of hope Katniss shows in the end is enough. She’s a deeply traumatized woman in a deeply traumatized world that is overcoming generations of war and poverty and oppression. Katniss never felt very hopeful even before she got put in the games, so for her as a character and the story as a whole, that small bit of healing and the hope that things will continue to get better, even if they aren’t just yet, is what we needed without it being so much that it disregards the serious tones of the series. Of course I wish Katniss and Peeta could have been completely fine and lived happily ever after, but the fact of the matter is that their society will take generations to truly heal, because the themes explored are things that leave deep scars and I think the ending Collins gave us helps prove that point. 

TLDR: Yes, the ending of the Hunger Games series is depressing, but if it had been more focused on romance or if things were fixed quickly/totally it would have been too idealistic and undone three books worth of build-up showing the lasting effects of unchecked capitalism and wealth disparity, totalitarianism, and military/police forces. 

[nope-body]

I talked to my therapist about my sensory issues and how it fits into sensory processing disorder pretty much perfectly and I know that we’re trying to work through a whole lot of things right now but it feels like she’s not actually listening to me on it? She sent me an article on sensory processing sensitivity, which isn’t what I was talking about and the article itself came off as sort of... weird? Something about it seemed off and I usually trust my instincts when it comes to that stuff because they’re never wrong. It also just. Didn’t fit what I was describing to her. Here’s what they say about someone with sensory processing sensitivity:

“A highly sensitive person — whether child or adult — processes sensory stimuli and information more strongly and deeply than do others. Individuals with SPS express these characteristics:

Deeper cognitive processing

More attention to subtleties

Greater emotional reactivity

Pausing before acting

Greater awareness of environmental and social stimuli, including the moods and emotions of others”

And half of those are the exact opposite of what I experience! I don’t even know what “more attention to subtleties” even means, but I don’t pick up on things that everyone else does, much less pick up on more things. I don’t pause before acting; I realize I’m doing something halfway through the task! Others moods and emotions? No clue! None whatsoever! I’ve only learned to identify when someone might be upset because of my parents- if they were having a bad day or were angry or frustrated or tired or anything negative, I have to be able to pick up on that or I will end up getting yelled at. Some of the identifiers I use for them can be generalized to others, but not always. And usually I think someone is irritated when they aren’t, so if anything, I’m less aware of “the moods and emotions of others”, not more.

And the stuff that does fit me? Can all be explained by other things. Deeper cognitive processing? Possibly adhd, possibly just genetics; I can’t say for sure because the wording is so vague that it could mean almost anything. Greater emotional reactivity? I’m traumatized! What do you want from me? And yeah, I have “greater awareness of environmental stimuli”- again, vaguely worded and can be clearly explained by my adhd- adhd brains don’t filter out the stimuli that neurotypical brains would deem unnecessary and filter out. I’m aware of everything happening and every sound and touch and bright light because my adhd doesn’t let me ignore them.

And my issue isn’t that I’m overwhelmed because my brain isn’t filtering stuff out. The issue is that I have so much difficulty processing any sensory input, which is made worse when I’m trying to process everything with no filter, and when it gets to be too much, it is physically painful to me, something that no one seems to get.

I don’t understand what people are saying half the time! Not because I can’t hear them or because they’re talking about things I don’t know about. I don’t understand them because the sounds they’re making, the sounds that everyone else seems to understand perfectly, sound like garbled gibberish to me. And when my brain gets tired from trying to process something (or everything)? The stuff it can’t process just becomes painful to me. The lights? Not even as bright as outside, just regular lights you’d see in a school or a building or wherever, they are too much for my brain to process. They are too bright and they hurt my eyes and to be honest, light in general hurts my eyes. When I’m in the shower and I think I got soap in my eyes, and I close them and rinse them off? I have to cover my eyes when I open them or else I won’t be able to tell whether the pain I’m feeling is soap or just the light.

And I looked at the Wikipedia article (as a base point) for sensory processing sensitivity, and it seems to be almost entirely based off of the research of one psychologist, Elaine Aron, and it started with a book she wrote, which seems to be the origin of the term “sensory processing sensitivity” and “highly sensitive person”, and only after the book was published did they formally establish the terms in any scientific context. Despite asserting that sensory processing sensitivity was a trait, and highly implying that it was a personality trait (she published an article connecting it to Carl Jung, who is a widely known psychologist who studied personality, in an academic journal), previous research 20 years earlier connected high sensory sensitivity to a lower stimulus threshold in the thalamus.

In non psychological terms, Elain Aron says that her sensory processing sensitivity is a personality trait, but other research shows that high sensory sensitivity is because the thalamus, the part of the brain that all sensory information passes through before it’s essentially “sorted” to the other parts of the brain, lets in more sensory information. The extra information that it lets in is what would be filtered out by a thalamus that belongs to someone without sensory sensitivity.

Elain Aron seems to be the driving force behind the term and concept of sensory processing sensitivity, based on her many books on the topic and her research articles, which, when looking up “sensory processing sensitivity” on scholarly google, seems to be the only articles cited on sensory processing sensitivity when it’s then used to look at how it impacts businesses people and technology use and pretty much anything. When sorted by relevance, she is an author of half of the “most relevant” articles on it (5/10), and almost everything else is taking her research and adding onto it through their own lens. Her first article using sensory processing sensitivity in a scientific context (as I said above, published a year after her book on the topic was published) has been cited by almost 800 other articles according to google.

She seems to be the only primary source of information on “sensory processing sensitivity”, and some of her conclusions, primarily the ones about “highly sensitive people” having a greater awareness of others’ moods and emotions, seem to be a bit. questionable. She has an article where they did MRIs on “highly sensitive people” and found that they all activated the same areas of the brain when looking at happy pictures, but I haven’t seen anything comparing the awareness of others’ moods and emotions between highly sensitive people and not highly sensitive people. And since she was also the one who created the questionnaire that establishes whether or not you’re a highly sensitive person, I’m starting to question things a bit.

I think that “sensory processing sensitivity” is simply not a thing, at least not in the way Elaine Aron defines it. I definitely believe that sensory sensitivity impacts people, some more strongly than others, and I think that being aware of others’ moods and emotions is a trait that can be present more strongly in some than others, but I don’t agree with how they are seemingly lumped together into “sensory processing sensitivity”, and the subtle wording around it that makes those with it, so called “highly sensitive people”, seem better and special and different, in a good way.

Sensory processing disorder, on the other hand, fits my experiences. The symptoms aren’t very clear cut, since it is not an official diagnosis in the DSM-V (though the symptoms of it are listed as possible symptoms of those with autism spectrum disorder), but from what I have gathered, it can be simply listed as

Hyper-responsive or over-responsive to sensory stimuli

Hypo-responsive or under-responsive to sensory stimuli

Sensory stimulation seeking

It seems like basically your brain processes sensory stuff weird and wants a certain level of input from each sense, beyond which that sense’s input ranges from mildly irritating to excruciatingly painful, and under which your brain almost ignores it completely. To get the correct level of input for each sense, your brain creates drives to seek out that correct level of input, and those drives can be distracting if there isn’t enough input or painful if there’s too much. So you then would take an action in response to that drive- whether it’s fidgeting with something (adding touch input), listening to music (adding sound input), turning off the lights (decreasing visual input), pacing (adding proprioception input, or your sense of your body in space), or something else.

Additionally, sometimes your brain just doesn’t process something right, like not understanding a word being said, not recognizing what’s in a picture, not recognizing the taste of something you’re eating, even if you’ve had it hundreds of times before, or something else. I think this may fall under hypo-responsive to sensory stimuli, but that symptom is more of a reaction to the actual symptom of your brain not processing a sense. If it’s not processed correctly, how can you be expected to respond the way you would otherwise?

This is what I’ve sorta concluded based on what turned up in my searches, because they were either unreliable, unhelpful, or both, so this is my understanding of sensory processing disorder. I might be wrong, but what information I’ve gathered on it makes sense for me, and fits my experiences. “Sensory processing sensitivity”, on the other hand, doesn’t, and I’m not even completely convinced it’s a “personality trait” that makes sense.

[motherhenna]

Writers Rants: Backstory

How to Smoothly Integrate a Character’s Past into the Narrative

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If you are even remotely interested in the process of writing, then you’ve probably heard this phrase at least a hundred times over: show, don’t tell.  Such a vague sentiment, but hell if it doesn’t pack a punch. In fact, it’s probably one of the only “rules” of storytelling that ought to be followed as closely as possible and as often as possible—at least in my opinion. But what, exactly, does it mean? In layman’s terms, show don’t tell is a simple recommendation: that authors should actively illustrate a concept rather than passively explain it. Why? Simple. One leaves the reader more room for interpretation and draws them deeper into the action at hand, and the other just…well, tells them what to see and what to feel in the same way a set of DIY instructions describe how to make a quirky set of kitchen lights out of mason jars. While yes, you got a straightforward idea of what to expect, did you actually have fun reading it?

These basic concepts are important to understand if you consider yourself a writer of any kind, as they function as the foundation for a) improving your prose, b) strengthening your characters, and c) forming a flowing narrative that will catch and keep readers’ attention.  And naturally, this also applies to the art of exposition.

Most people with even a cursory knowledge of telling a story know that characters should never be blank slates. If you have any desire to portray even a facsimile of real life, you have to put at least some effort into fleshing out the main characters. And when I say ‘flesh out’, I mean do more than just describing what they look like, a laundry list of personality traits, and what they’re wearing. I’m not going to go into this process deeply, as that’s a matter for another think-piece entirely, but it’s a starting point for the more convoluted parts to come. What I’m building up to is that your characters need a backstory, especially if they’re the one(s) through whom we, as readers, experience the story, i.e., the point of view (POV) character. This applies to both first- and third-person limited narratives, unless you’re going for a more anonymous / incidental narrator, like Mr. Lockwood in Wuthering Heights.

Now, these backstories don’t have to be a strict, detailed, chronological transcription of every year in that character’s life (though doing so certainly doesn’t hurt!) Rather, you should write it much like you would describe your own life if you had to plot it out on a timeline. At first, just stick with the most essential elements: where and when in history they were born, whether they have siblings or present family, and a simple list of significant events from various periods in their life. What specific things have most influenced who they are as a person, for good or ill? Next, it’s time to look at the family, since nothing impacts an individual more than how they were raised and how they were treated during their formative years. Were their parents present during their childhood? What was their parents’ relationship like before and after your character’s birth? Are they natives of the country in which the story is set, or did they immigrate—and if they immigrated, why did they do so? All of these and more are, to me at least, vital to developing a well-rounded and realistic character. I’ve even gone so far as to type out entire timelines for each character as well as their parents. Personalities, quirks, trauma—these are all just as hereditary as one’s genes, though this doesn’t mean that this inheritance has to be through blood. Nature vs. Nurture: they’re both equally important in the formation of an individual.

…So, what to do when you’ve finished all that? Do you dutifully transcribe it into the first chapter of your story? Absolutely not. Copy it into a separate document window and keep it there. A large chunk of this is for your benefit: most likely, less than half of it will make it into the written canon of the novel, and for good reason. All of that detailed history isn’t for the reader, it’s for you to use as a framework. Some of the most powerful elements to realistic characters are the unseen, the implied: all the hidden little things that lie just under the surface, but are never fully visible to the naked eye.

What a lot of inexperienced writers may not realize is that everything doesn’t always have to be stated unequivocally through dialogue or info-dumps. How often, in real life, do acquaintances explain upfront that this specific behavior they often exhibit is a result of how they were abandoned by their father and raised by an emotionally distant mother? Most people don’t psychoanalyze everything, nor do we ourselves do it to others—at least not often! Plus, it’s boring. Getting to know characters over the course of a story should be comparable to meeting a new friend. You find out the surface things at first, but pick up bits and pieces along the way that hint at what lies deeper inside. Little by little, you learn about their family, their hopes, dreams, fears…not always directly, and sometimes even in spite of their desire to keep up a front of normalcy.

With all this said, I think it’s become clear where I stand on backstory: it should be subtle, woven gradually into the narrative rather than stated by the character themselves or described by an omniscient narrator. Not only does this make the process of reading about it flow better and progress more naturally, it’s also far more interactive. Instead of being told why a character acts the way they do, the reader can catalogue said character’s actions, motivations, dialogue, and the way they interact with their surroundings, gradually putting the puzzle pieces together for themselves. In a sense, it’s almost a reward for those who read with a careful, inquisitive eye, and can be just as satisfying as solving a mystery before the detective does in a murder mystery.

I’ve used—and will continue to use—a lot of metaphors in this section because it’s the most thorough way I can to explain this process and why it’s so important. That being said, I approach backstory in the same way I might organize a scavenger hunt. It’s not about a treasure map, but rather an ongoing set of little discoveries without which the ultimate prize can never be found. But in keeping with this analogy, why would anyone want to take part in this if a) they’re just given the prize’s location outright, or b) don’t really care about the prize anyway?

When you’re straight-up told about character’s backstory within the first few chapters, there’s no groundwork for investment. Why should I care about this character’s history if I don’t even know them yet? Investment is a gradual process, and ought to be an interactive process too. One of the best strategies of implying backstory without stating it directly is illustrating how a character reacts to specific triggers. Yes, you can tell the reader in the character’s introductory paragraph that he was almost killed in a house fire as a child, which still haunts him to this day—but how else can you impart this information more effectively and poignantly? For some examples, he might…

Be too frightened to turn on the stove.

Avoid any type of matches or aerosol at all costs.

Get anxious when filling up his car at gas stations.

Constantly check and re-check the smoke detectors throughout his apartment

Panic when he smells her neighbor’s lit fireplace.

Why would we need to explain to readers what made him this way when we have all the evidence we need to figure it out for ourselves? Of course, there’s nothing wrong with, later on down the line, this character actively opening up about this trauma to a friend or therapist, as this is only natural and also supplies us with details we would have never known otherwise. This just shouldn’t be the first way we find it out.

Another efficient and interesting approach to gradual backstory incorporation is through dialogue. The way a character responds to nosy questions, criticisms, or simple observations tell a lot about the kind of people they are and how they’re coping (or not coping) with potentially painful parts of their personal histories / insecurities. For example, Character A can ask Character B, “Why don’t you want to go out tonight?” In truth, B is trying to back out of these plans because she can’t fit into a dress she was supposed to wear for the party, and is trying desperately not fall back into the pit dug by the various eating disorders she has suffered from since adolescence. She is afraid her friends will want to take group pictures, or remark on what’s she’s eating or not eating, or notice the extra pudge in her stomach. She remembers how her mother would chide her for eating second helpings when she was young, or all the times her ex called her fat. But B is not going to be capable of explaining all of this to her partner. So how does she respond?

1.     “I just…feel tired all of a sudden…but don’t let me keep you from going.  I don’t want to spoil your night.” Implication: saving face—she doesn’t want to reveal her real insecurities, so she uses a physical illness as a cover story.

2.      “What’s it to you? If this stupid party so important to you, then you can just go without me!”  Implication: defensiveness—she is uncomfortable being vulnerable, and lashes out instead.

Now obviously these are just two examples of a plethora of different responses a person might have to a question like this. But what matters is that each answer should give the reader some sort of information as to why said character reacts the way they do. And these reactions don’t have to have traumatic roots, either! Perhaps, because Character C’s older sister always encouraged them to stick up for and respect themselves, C is able to take that positive reinforcement and pay it forward, inspired to protect others who may not know how to protect themselves.  Positive change ripples and spreads just as much as negativity, and should never be discounted just because a character has gone through their fair share of tragedy, too.

 ---

In short, there is nothing simple or easy about creative writing—there is so much nuance involved in every aspect, though that shouldn’t discourage newcomers from experimenting and taking everything step by step. There are no absolutes in writing, and every rule can be challenged, so take what I say with a grain of salt. But still, I cannot emphasize enough the importance of backstory when developing strong characters, nor how much more natural a narrative will feel when these things are integrated with subtlety and grace. Your characters should never be objects, concepts, or a means to an end: if you want to make them seem real to your readers, then they must first seem real to you.

...And real people all have their own stories: to find them, all you have to do is watch and listen.    

[darksunrising]

Sola Gratia (17/?)

Masterlist

Rating / Warnings : Heavy horror themes, body horror, violence, non consensual blood sucking.

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 17/? (2314 words)

Author’s notes : Eris is back, for better or worse...

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“Professor ? Would you have a minute ?”

I snapped my head up, suddenly realizing I had been staring into the void for the better part of an hour. Popping out of the office's doorframe, Stephan Helder's familiar, disheveled head of dark blond hair of made me force a little smile. I passed my hands over my face, and invited him to come in. It was already late, but I knew he preferred to work in the school library than at home, which was understandable.

He stepped in, carefully closing the door behind me, as if doing it too loud would startle me. He put down his heavy-looking bag on the floor, and took a seat across from my desk, nervously bouncing his leg. I'd learned to know it wasn't from actual anxiety, but more of small quirk of his. It tended to unnerve me, but I did my best not to be concerned by it.

“So, what can I help you with ? Everything going fine in your classes ?”, I asked.

“Oh, yes, sure, everything's great. I mean, I'm not really here for me.”

He took a pause, staring at me. “Well, what is it then ?”, I pressed, puzzled.

“I-I was worried about you, professor, actually”, he began, avoiding my gaze by looking intensely at the leather-bound version of the Odyssey, at the end of my desk.

“Worried about me ?”, I only repeated, hoping to have a bit more information.

“Well, you haven't been responding to my e-mails in some while, and, no offense, but you look sort of tired.”

That kid would be the end of me. I leaned back into my seat. He was a bit annoying at times, but his boldness was at the very least amusing. I smiled at him, hoping it would put him a bit more at ease, as I could see he was already regretting his last sentence.

“I am tired, actually, but you'll see this when you'll try and get a doctorate”, I joked.

That seemed to make him have a couple of laughs, but he still had that crease between his thick eyebrows.

“I know you met my mother”, he told me.

Ah. He looked almost apologetic. Children seem to often have to find excuses for their parents, as they're often more conscious of the feelings of others, while adults mostly aren't. I knew that look, as I had found myself presenting it a lot.

“I have met Mary Van Helsing, yes.”

He shifted on the edge of his seat. “She told you about professor Balaur, didn't she ?”

Gods, more lies. What the hell was I supposed to tell this kid ?

“She did, although I'm... not sure what to think of it”, I prudently told him.

“I'm sorry”, he almost cut me off. “I'm- I'm the one who told her about him, I was worried and I didn't think she'd actually come to you. I know she can be... Well. You know.”

I wasn't even angry at him. I could have been, easily, especially given how on edge I was. I couldn't imagine what it would have been like. As children, we believe in monsters, hiding in the closet, or under your bed, lurking in the shadows. But at the very least, you had your parents reassure you, tell you they aren't real. That they can't hurt you. I wondered if his parents told him about all they did. Mary Van Helsing didn't seem like the sort to go soft, but I hadn't met his dad. With luck, he was a regular guy, and took care of not traumatizing his kid into anxiety disorders and paranoia. Although, on that particular count, he had been right. I wished he'd kept his worries to himself. Then again... That was an odd coincidence that he should show up exactly the semester after I met Vlad. I think he believed it was just that, a coincidence, but I was starting to suspect foul play there. Mary Van Helsing didn't seem like one to leave things to fate.

“Don't worry about that”, I tried to reassure him as best I could. “I work with medieval historians all the time, it takes a lot to scare me.”

He had a little laugh, sounding less nervous ans shaky than before.

“You should know”, he added, a bit hesitant. “My mother has her flaws, but she is rarely wrong. Professor Balaur is often around you... I can only tell you to be careful.”

I smiled, and promised him I would be. Gods, if he knew. He had a few more questions, about my class and the use of some cartography software that I knew for a fact was nightmarish to use. He then took his leave, while I remained seated in my office, without really having a reason to.

I say “my” office, even though I supposedly share it with two other doctorate students. They were rarely there, and if it was only a coincidence that we never crossed paths, they didn't seem to mind that I used half their shelves for my own stuff, and even their desks. More often than not, then, even here, I was alone. Now that I thought of it, my life since I finished my master's degree had been more nocturnal than ever. If you asked anyone who would be more likely to be a vampire between Vlad and I, I'd be the surer choice.

Realizing that I wouldn't be able to get any more work done tonight, I decided to take my leave for the day. It was close to midnight, and the last tramways ran little after that hour, so if I wanted to avoid two hours of walking, I should probably find a way to get that last one. I gathered my stuff, and slipped my laptop into my bag. Once again, at that sort of hour, no one remained on campus. The empty corridors seemed too long, too narrow, repeating my steps after me, just to spook me. You know, that feeling when you start thinking “what if someone followed me”, and the more you try to brush it off and make light of it, the more you want to walk faster, and dread looking back ?

At this point, I was practically running, when I forced myself to get a grip. I breathed in, deeply, and stopped. Standing in the middle of the main hall, only lit by pale moonlight, I controlled my breathing until my legs stopped shaking. Slowly, but deliberately, I turned back, my heart sinking into my stomach. Obviously, there was nothing to be seen.

A bit reassured, if not completely serene, I continued towards the exit, and stepped out into the cold night air. If the silence of the inside was eerie, outside, the multitude of noises the night produced were worse. A rustle of leaves, a gust of wind, howling and whistling in the crooks of the buildings. I sighed. Everything was fine. Creepy atmosphere never killed anyone, as far as I was aware of. Still, I walked as fast as I could, not wanting to linger for more than absolutely necessary.

Eris...

The voice made me stop dead in my tracks. It echoed in my mind, soft, and deep, but somewhat... Metallic. Scraping. Like rusty gears coated in honey. I wondered for a second if it might have been Vlad, playing a very questionable prank on me. He didn't seem like one to particularly enjoy practical jokes, except the occasional dramatic entrance. I elected to ignore it, and started walking again.

Eris.

This time, the voice was insisting, more firm. It still seemed to come from deep withing myself, which was... unnerving, as it left no idea as where to look for it. I stopped once again. Bracing myself, I turned, looking back. Nothing, no one.

Right behind you.

I swiftly turned around, not freezing for whatever miracle, only to gaze onto the empty campus once more. That was, until I turned back, and noticed a silhouette, over in the distance. It was tall, long. It almost looked like it... Shifted, undulated in the wind. Like something you see through great heat. It was dark, so much that I couldn't actually distinguish any particular features, except two bright dots of light, where its face would be. I didn't dare move, or blink. I was sure if I moved a muscle, or looked anywhere else, it might disappear, or move closer, like a sick game of 'Red light, Green light'.

Eris.

The voice was even more grating, dark, so low that I could feel it vibrate in my bones. I had the gun. In a pocket I quickly sewed in the lining of my coat. I knew where it was, the movement I'd have to do to take it. Yet, I was unable to move. No matter how hard I tried, no matter the tears starting to stream down my face.

I think fear doesn't begin to describe what feeling was settling all over my body, from the pit of my stomach. It stretched over my every limb, like a fungus, spreading to every cell, encasing every bone in a mycellium of primal dread. The only sound I could hear was that of my own raspy, trembling breathing, coming out choked, and leaving me craving for air. I heard the faint sound of Leah's ringtone, in my pocket. It turned off.

It didn't move, yet was closer. It wasn't a thing. It didn't feel human, it didn't feel neither here nor elsewhere. A persistence of vision, engraved into my iris. For a moment, I wanted to believe I only fell asleep at my desk, and the whole thing was just a nightmarish delirium. Leah's ringtone broke the silence again, and turned off. Again.

It was feet from me now. I could make out the vague outline of a suit, that hung weirdly on the body. The body... If you could call it that. It could have looked like a human, if you only glanced at it, from afar. I didn't have that sort of luck, however, and was very privy to its deformities. The sleeve stopped at mid-forearm. A long, thin forearm, hairless, skin white as parchment, so dry it looked like it would crumble to ash if I touched it. The hands were swollen, too long, too... they almost looked like someone gave a vague instruction as to what a hand looked like, and it grew them from that description. My eyes fell on his chest. The shirt was too small, the buttons struggling to keep it in place, even though the thing was sickly slender. What terrified me was the darkness behind the holes, stretched out between the buttons. Not as if its skin was dark in itself, but an utter and complete void.

A hand stretched out, and still, I could do nothing but silently cry as a fingernail dragged across my cheek. Even though the movement was disturbingly light, and slow, I could feel the nail dig into my skin, and blood blend into my tears.

I see why he chose you...

Its mouth did not move. To be fair, it was more of a slightly agape slit than a mouth. The details of its face were fuzzy, shifting, like something... Crawled under its skin. I felt the other hand press onto my back, tearing through my clothes like paper, and into my skin. I couldn't even scream. The hand near my face sunk into my hair, and pulled my head aside, revealing my neck. The slit opened, ripping the skin at the edges as it became larger, revealing dozens of needle-like teeth, gleaming in the absolute darkness of the mouth. The jaw unhinged itself as it opened wider, and lowered into my neck, excruciatingly slowly. I wondered if it enjoyed seeing me sobbing in terror as much as it would enjoy killing me.

I had no doubt I would die, there and then. I started to feel the little points setting against my skin, on my neck, shoulder, my chest. They sank in with no resistance.

What a waste...

I don't know if you have ever had blood sucked out of you, but I wouldn't recommend it. It's not like bleeding out, after a cut. No. You feel your veins forcefully pulse from inside your body, the blood forced to turn back as it was supposed to run the other way. It feels like maggots, running inside your body by the hundred, and the worst part is the sound. That slurping, wet sound of tongue and teeth and the gurgling of-

Everything was dark.

I found myself standing in darkness like I'd never seen before. I had been in caves, lights all out, and still nothing compared to this. I could see myself, but no shadows set anywhere on my body. It was cloaked in some sort of robe, that felt more like a shapeless, thick smoke. I felt some solid ground, though I couldn't have told what it felt like, even barefooted.

“Is anyone here ?”

My voice seemed to carry nowhere. No one answered. Was I already dead ? Was it what death was like ? Unending darkness and silence ? Nothing to feel, to touch, to hear ? The sudden presence that manifested behind me almost made me jump. It might always have been there, now that I thought of it. I didn't need to ask if I was dying. I felt at peace with it, somehow. A low humming filled the silence. Not ominous. Almost like a lullaby. I closed my eyes, not that it made any sensible difference. A small tingle ran over my limbs, and as it went up, I lost sensation to them entirely, until nothing remained, but the humming. Soft, until my mind, like an eye, finally closed.

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Taglist : @carydorse @angelicdestieldemon @bloodhon3yx @thewondernanazombie @battocar @moony691 @mjlock @thebeautyofdisorder @festering-queen @paracosmfantasy @lost-girl-inc

[bigskydreaming]

How old was jason when he died? And when he was resurrected?? And that time he spent dead make him crazier than Ra's when he is under the pit's effect?

The general consensus as far as I’m aware is that Jason was fifteen when he died, and he came back to Gotham in Under the Red Hood about five years later. There’s a couple different versions of the in between time, but most common I believe is that he was resurrected due to multiverse bullshit (like, the official explanation is that an evil teenage version of Clark Kent punched the dimensional walls of the place he was trapped outside of normal time/space so hard that the ripple effects of him breaking through like, caused ‘hiccups’ or anomalies across various universes - one of these being Jason’s resurrection. Yeah. I’m not making this up. LOL).

ANYWAY. The go-to version of the timeline I believe is that this happened about six months after Jason died, which was right around the time Tim started trying to convince Dick to come back and be Robin again and ultimately ended up becoming Robin himself. When Jason dug himself out of his grave, he was largely catatonic and unresponsive, and here’s where it tends to be most vague. After some period of time, which could have been anything from days to weeks to months, depending on who you ask, Talia was in Gotham for supervillain shenanigans or whatnot, came across him and realized who he was, and took him back to the League with her. 

Where again it depends on who you ask, after some period of time, ultimately Talia convinced Ra’s to put Jason in the Pit to see if it would restore him to full consciousness and heal the remaining physical after-effects of his death. And also, her reasons for doing this tend to be subject to your own personal interpretation of Talia. Some view this as her doing it for Bruce’s sake, some view it as her just wanting to use Jason as her pawn against Bruce, etc.

Personally, I view it as somewhat in between, though again this is just my take. I ignore ‘Talia the rapist’ characterizations in both regards to her actions with Bruce and Jason, so I mean, I’m just not here for Morrison or Winick’s take on her in that regard. BUT I also kinda....highly object to the ‘soft’ characterizations of Talia that kind of make her the ideal parent that highlights how crappy Bruce is in comparison? Like, its no secret that I’m hugely critical of Bruce’s parenting, but I just....personally am not a fan of acting like Talia is amazing at it and noble and selfless either. I don’t like the outright vilification of Talia - especially when she ends up coming across as worse than Ra’s, which, no thank you - BUT I don’t like...blunting all her edges either, for lack of a better phrasing. 

I tend to view her as someone who is extremely ambitious, ruthless and uncompromising in her own ways. I think a huge part of her dynamic with Bruce is that they mirror each other in so many ways, even if they’re not always on the same page. She’s often used as a narrative foil to Bruce, but I disagree - I think Selina and Bruce are the ‘opposites attract’ whereas Talia and Bruce are the ‘like calls to like/their bond in large part stems from how well they understand each other, even though they have different goals and aims most of the time’. 

But point being, like......I don’t like shallow, two-dimensional interpretations of Talia where she’s just evil and has no shades of gray to her, but I also don’t like the flip side of that and her being viewed as the lesser of two evils compared to Bruce. Like, sorry not sorry, I think both of them need to take some parenting classes. Unless you drastically change Damian’s entire backstory and characterization by the time he arrives in Gotham, and/or insist that Damian’s upbringing was all entirely due to Ra’s control and Talia at no point in ten years had the option of arranging for her son to end up with Bruce or somewhere else where he didn’t spend his childhood being taught that affection was a sign of weakness and how to murder his nanny in six hundred different ways and show his work plz, like......I have trouble with the super!mom Talia takes.

All of which is just to say....I don’t believe Talia brought Jason back with her and put him in the Pit out of the goodness of her heart, but I don’t think it was entirely absent of positive intentions either? If that makes sense? I just mean...she’s a SUPER complicated woman in my take, and that’s what makes her so much more interesting than she’s usually reduced to being in a lot of stories. Talia is not as stone cold as she often comes across as a defense mechanism - I think she is someone who feels things deeply, but she shuts that down even harder than Bruce. She’s a very pragmatic individual, and I think she tends to justify a lot of even her most emotional-driven choices by finding an advantageous spin she can put forth as her ‘real reason’ for doing things.

So....I think her feelings for Bruce DID have a lot to do with her taking Jason with her. She does love Bruce in her own way, she always keeps an eye on him so she absolutely had to have been aware just how badly Jason’s death was affecting him, and so I think when she first saw Jason and realized who he was....I do think on a gut level, her motivations were like, she felt a need or want to take him with her and see that he was well cared for, for Bruce’s sake if nothing else.

BUT....I think the complication is she has trouble justifying that to herself, even, let alone to her father or subordinates or any of the others who constantly seek an edge over her within the League’s inner power structures and hierarchies. So I think that’s where the pragmatic side of her took over, and once she DID see to Jason at least nominally being taken care of....that’s when she started to look at it in terms of how she could play this to her advantage as well.....and whether that ultimately was in pursuit of convincing Bruce to join her side, and using Jason as leverage there, or just hurting Bruce for rejecting and hurting her and her chosen path, and using Jason to accomplish that.....tbh, like I said, I see Talia as an extremely complicated person and IMO the most likely take is that even SHE probably couldn’t say which she truly wanted or intended.....or perhaps it just changed at various points, and more than once.

My point with this tangent is I think there tends to be a very narrow focus on Jason’s return and Talia’s role in it as opposed to just the Pit in general. As much as Talia did help Jason, I think it doesn’t get acknowledged enough that as long as her own motivations and agenda were AT ANY LEVEL behind her choice not to reveal he was alive to Bruce....that’s something that I think could use more scrutiny in fandom, because that is a selfish choice, even if she did nominally spin it as being in Jason’s best interests. I just mean....it was a complicated situation, she’s a complicated person, you can’t add that up and still walk away with the simple narrative “Talia helped Jason after he came back to life and everything she did was to his benefit and in his best interests’ you know?

The thing is, the Pit’s influence aside, we have NO idea how things might have gone if Bruce, Dick and Alfred had ever gotten the CHANCE to get to Jason immediately after his submersion in the Pit and try and help him through it.....because Talia and Ra’s didn’t allow for them to ever have that chance. And that is a hugely critical plot point I think, that’s gone largely unexplored. There’s a lot of attention paid to how Jason felt upon learning that the Joker was alive, that there was a new Robin....but not a ton of attention paid to the HOW of Jason finding out all these things, and just how exactly this information was delivered to him and in what framing and context.

Because again, Pit influence aside....just sheerly in terms of the massive trauma and disorientation Jason had to have been going through upon having his full cognitive faculties restored by the Pit.....like....Jason came back to Gotham as an adult, ultimately. But at THAT stage of things....he was still likely only sixteen or so. VERY young. VERY traumatized. COMPLETELY isolated from all previous existing support networks.....and all of that adds up to being VERY. VERY. Impressionable.

And this is the part I wish got more focus. Just how much influence Talia, Ra’s and the League in general had over Jason’s thought processes, morality and ethics during that period he lived and trained with them....in the wake of a massive traumatic ordeal and with zero effort paid towards helping him cope and recover in any way other than what they laid out for him there. See, whatever Talia’s actual motivations for bringing him back and putting him in the Pit were....there’s not really any denying IMO that once that was done, she still took advantage of the opportunity Jason’s impressionability and gratitude for what she’d done (and just the interest and care she’d demonstrated in his eyes merely by doing it)....like, she still took advantage of the...influence this gave her over him.

Like.....Under the Red Hood? Eight heads in a duffle bag as Jason brutally slaughtered some of the key members of various crime organizations in Gotham and used that to gain the attention and fear and/or respect of various crime lords and organizations?

That didn’t come out of nowhere. And personally I think there’s too much focus paid to Jason’s potential for violence before his death, the murkiness surrounding Felipe Garzona’s death, and the effect the Pit still had on his mind when he returned to Gotham.......and not enough focus paid on WHERE AND WHO HE SPENT ALL HIS TIME WITH IN BETWEEN THESE THINGS.  

Because as brutal as Jason could be at times as Robin......eight heads in a duffel bag is still a LONG way away from that. What its NOT a long way away from, however....is League of Assassins training, methodology and worldview.

Like, literally everything Jason did in Under the Red Hood came right smack out of the League’s playbook, so I’ve always just been like....forget the Pit for a second, guys! What about just....examining what effect being surrounded and trained by League assassins for three or four straight years in the wake of massive, life-altering trauma and circumstances that make you feel both INDEBTED to said League and BETRAYED BY all your previous loved ones who weren’t there for you....because they never had the opportunity TO be there, given that they weren’t the ones that ran into Jason while he was on the streets after digging himself up and like, even in the DC universe AT THAT TIME ‘hey wonder if he might end up resurrected somehow’ was not like, something that was at the forefront of anyone’s mind as a likely possibility?

LOL. Anyway. So that’s my hot take on Jason’s return.....yes, the Pit undoubtedly played a role, but I would love love love to see more of a role given just to looking at the sheer INFLUENCE the League and their teachings had over an isolated, traumatized and impressionable teenager.

As for the Pit itself.....that’s a topic for another day, probably, lol, but like...I have a LOT of thoughts about the Pit and how its used in various narratives, canon and otherwise. Because the thing is....its effects STARTED out as being brought into stories about Ra’s as kind of a moral fable. Like, essentially, the effects of the Pit in early stories were like....IMO more intended as a cautionary type narrative about the dangers of greed and being power-hungry, seeking to control even life and death, etc? I just mean like.....it originally came off as more of the idea “there’s no such thing as a free lunch” or in essence...everything has a price, and with something like immortality, the price is steep. There was a lot of focus initially on the idea that Ra’s was the man he’d become...only after centuries of using the Pit’s power to remain young, vital and alive. Power corrupts, essentially.

However, the problem I have...is that narrative becomes a wholly different thing when the Pit affects someone who DIDN’T seek to use its power, who wasn’t using it for selfish gain....nor like in Jason’s case...did they even have a choice about using it at all! This is the same issue I have with keeping Dick as a Talon in Court of Owls stories, and certain ways Cassandra’s story is told and her body language skills are used and discussed: I have a deep dissatisfaction with the idea of abuse inflicted by others, being like...the origin story or source of someone’s powers....when its paired at the same time with consequences that the person never asked for, would never have asked for......but the powers themselves tend to be the only thing focused on, rather than the drawbacks, with the overall takeaway ending up being that like.....the person should be grateful that the abuse happened in the first place because now they have these powers see, and isn’t that the most important thing?

So to correct myself, it isn’t quite the same thing, but I mean....the issue I have with Jason and the Pit here, in comparison, is that....Jason had no agency in choosing to go into the Pit. So to me.....its a big, BIG problem to have him ‘benefit’ from that in the form of look, he’s alive and well again, he has a second chance.....IF equal scrutiny isn’t being paid to the price he is stuck paying for the ‘gifts’ of the Pit, that second chance.....when he never asked to pay it in the first place. 

And I don’t actually think I’m the only one who has that problem, I think most people just don’t spell it out to that degree....because what I mean there is......the Pit’s effects ever since Jason’s return like....aren’t viewed in the context of being a morality narrative anymore. At least not in regards to him. People rarely write the Pit as ‘corrupting’ Jason the way it was once suggested to have corrupted Ra’s, because like....Jason was a victim, not a person motivated by selfish desires for immortality. And people want him to be a hero (or at least an antihero) rather than the villain that DC has at times tried to make him instead....and I think even unconsciously, we’re all aware that it doesn’t really work to have a character like that ‘forced’ into a villainous role because of exposure to a mystical corrupting agent they never asked to be exposed to.

SO. The end result of THAT is that.....the way people write about the Pit has shifted, both in canon and fandom. And now the Pit’s effects are viewed less as a cautionary morality fable and more as like...a heightened form of PTSD, a metaphor for the extreme and beyond-imagining trauma of being brutally killed and brought back to life again.

And that is where things get murky for me again, because you end up with an unintentionally confused/skewed narrative where writers and readers often aren’t even sure themselves if they’re writing this mystical McGuffin as being an external force of corruption that makes people ‘worse versions of themselves’ OR whether its a PTSD/trauma metaphor that highlights the hurt/confusion/paranoia/intensity of tangled emotions that survivors of great traumas experience. And the problem there is, without actually intending to....I think you inevitably end up dipping into a lot of really problematic ableist ideas that reinforce some pretty negative impressions of mental illness, bad survivors and recovery in general.

Oops. Tangents happened again, huh. Oh well. Hope your answers are in there along with everything else I stuffed that response full of, lol!

[flightfoot]

A Convergence of Apollos Chapter 7 - END

God!Apollo’s POV

We arrived at the Empire State Building shortly before sunset. On the one hand, I was afraid that maybe the demigods (and satyr, and... me?) had already completed the quest, and my counterpart had fled. On the other hand, I was grateful I didn’t have to wait long for them to show up. I have a tendency to get lost in my own head when given the opportunity to think while stressed, and right then, I had nothing BUT time. Well I suppose I COULD have practiced for my concert (which at this rate I’d probably have to cancel, I didn’t think I could deal with performing at the moment) but there’s no way I could concentrate on it.

So I paced.

I was grateful that Artemis believed me enough to come at least. My tale was absurd; I KNEW that. If I’D heard another god spouting about a time-traveling mortal version of themselves, I’d assumed they’d either been tricked or was crazy.

But I COULDN’T write off what I’d seen. I’d felt a vague sense of familiarity while looking at the boy, something that said ‘Look closely and THINK.’ But another, louder part of me had screamed ‘DON’T LOOK. Don’t listen. Not if you want to maintain your worldview. If you look too closely, even you won’t be able to hide from the truth of what you’ll see.’

So I tried to avoid looking. I invented a somewhat plausible-sounding reason for why they might have appeared out of thin air. I tried to maintain my careful facade.

Then my other self smashed it to pieces.

“Do not harm her.  Don’t you dare harm ANY of them.  LOOK AT ME!  REALLY LOOK AT ME, DON’T JUST STARE THROUGH ME LIKE WE ALWAYS DID, DON’T PRETEND PEOPLE FEEL THE WAY THAT’S CONVENIENT FOR US, FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, TRY TO UNDERSTAND! “

I couldn’t stop myself. I did as he asked and looked closer, into his essence, into his SOUL.

What I found shocked me. But I can’t say I was truly surprised. Part of me had already known what I’d find.

It was my own essence. My own self. Only a bare sliver, but undeniably there, and undeniably ME.

I’d freaked. I couldn’t help it. And I did what I always did when in emotional turmoil. I went to my family.

I glanced over at Artemis. She stood stock-still. To someone who didn’t know her, it might have looked like she wasn’t doing anything. I knew better. That was the look of a hunter waiting for their prey.

If my other self HAD been a trick, I would’ve felt sorry for them. Most gods knew better than to get on my sister’s bad side, myself included. We might mess with each other a little, but it was very, VERY rare for us to do something that would truly, deeply upset the other person. The times that’d happened...

I shoved the thought away before it could fully manifest. I had enough going on with my current internal crisis. No sense picking at old wounds.

I heard the sound of rapid footsteps. I glanced up.

My mortal self charged towards my sister, a look of desperate NEED on his face.

How long had he - had I - gone without seeing Artemis?

Was Zeus truly that cruel, to deny me from seeing my twin?

Who was I kidding. Of course he was.

My mortal self SMASHED into Artemis, sending him sprawling to the ground. I winced. That HAD to hurt.

He scrambled back up, winded. My sister - HIS sister - helped him up.

I looked at Artemis’s face. The look of concern and shock in her eyes... clearly she’d realized that I hadn’t been tricked or mistaken. This boy was somehow, impossibly, ME.

He babbled brokenly into Artemis’s shoulder, tears running down his face and soaking Sis’s shirt. I watched silently. I was NOT about to get in the middle of this. For one thing, my other self NEEDED this. For another... well, who WOULD? Honestly if I could reasonably give them privacy I would, but we were in the middle of New York City right near the Empire State Building, and it didn’t seem like either of them were thinking about the location at the moment. I also hoped to hear more about what my future self went through. Maybe if I knew I could prevent it, or at least make it less traumatic.

Then Artemis checked him for injuries. And things got so much worse.

At some point along my journey, I’d been injured BADLY. Really, REALLY badly. And I seemed almost ASHAMED about it.

What my other self hinted he’d done - how he hinted about these other people being held captive, with his own life as the only bargaining chip he had - it chilled me to my core. Had he done what I thought he’d done? Nearly killed himself to help save a handful of demigods?

I didn’t quite know how to feel about that. I’d never had that level of resolve. I’d never been put in a situation where I’d had to choose between my own life and someone else’s.

If I was, could I make the choice my counterpart had?

Maybe... maybe if it was Artemis or Leto. But for a handful of demigods? They were disposable. I tried to help my own children at least, but even then I didn’t always realized that they’d died until years later. I’d been striving to get better on that front, but I still wouldn’t put myself in mortal danger for them.

The closest I’d come was with my favorite son, Asclepius. When Zeus struck him down, I’d been FURIOUS. But even then, I didn’t go up against Zeus directly for fear of being destroyed. I’d taken it out in the Elder Cyclopes instead. I was still punished, but it would’ve been MUCH worse if I’d outright attacked Zeus.

What had happened - what had he - what had I - been through, that had caused me to put the lives of a few demigods above my own?

Why did he care so much?

I refocused on my other self. Maybe I could glean some answers from him.

I listened to his description of what Medea was going to do to him. What she HAD done.

I nearly threw up.

I stumbled to the nearest light pole and slid down it until I was sitting on the ground.

I- I’d nearly been destroyed. COMPLETELY.

Death was one thing, but THAT? That was MUCH worse.

And Zeus! He must have seen this. We weren’t omniscient - not by a long shot - but he would be watching me already, if only to laugh at my suffering.

He didn’t do anything.

Of course he didn’t. He didn’t even want me to help Artemis when she was captured, why would he intervene on MY behalf?

Because he would be partly responsible for your destruction, I answered myself. Because this goes beyond just sitting back and not helping. He would be the reason I was vulnerable in the first place. He would be responsible for it.

Oh who was I kidding. Zeus would just shove the blame onto someone else. Or maybe he’d just argue that I deserved it and it was my own fault I wasn’t tough enough to survive.

“I- I w-was saved. I- I- regained some of my memories. But n-not all. I- I...! ”

Wait, WHAT?! I hadn’t regained all my memories afterwards? What did I forget...?

No.

PLEASE NO.

PLEASE ZEUS, PLEASE.

“I- I- I forgot you, Artemis. I forgot you existed.”

Not seeing my sister was one thing. But forgetting her entirely?

That- that went beyond anything I could’ve imagined.

I couldn’t - not without my sister - how - how had my other self even had the strength to CONTINUE? When something so fundamental to myself was ripped away?

I could survive with being mortal. I’d done it twice before.

I didn’t know if I could survive without being able to even REMEMBER the person I was closest to.

Artemis knew me best - perhaps even better than my mother. She was my rock.

To have that swept away...

“I’m- I’m so sorry Artemis. I for-forgot you. I’m a horrible-”

From my outside perspective, I knew it wasn’t his fault - MY fault - that he’d forgotten Artemis.

But I also knew that in his shoes, I’d blame myself too.

Maybe we weren’t so different after all.

Artemis wasn’t having ANY of it.  “NO. Apollo, you are NOT a horrible ANYTHING, least of all for something you have no control over. YES, I’m shocked and angry, but not at you. NEVER at you. At our Father, at Caligula, at Medea, yes. BUT NOT AT YOU.”

Artemis... what had I done to deserve such a wonderful sister?

I teared up as my other self collapsed into my sister’s arms.

Artemis... she’d known just what to say. Of course. She always did.

After awhile, my other self calmed down enough to speak.

I almost wished he wouldn’t. That I’d never have to learn what had caused him such pain. But I needed to know. I needed to UNDERSTAND.

My other self finally said how, EXACTLY, he’d gotten that wound.

So this... this was why he’d changed. Why I’d changed. Jason... he’d been willing to die without a complaint, because he couldn’t stand someone else dying in his place.

No gods had come to his aid. But a demigod HAD.

Jason had been more willing to help, to put himself on the line, then any of my divine brethren.

Of course that’s what heroes do, a voice whispered in my head. Jason is hardly unique in that way. But you never cared about that before. So why are you being affected now?

Because it’s me, I answered myself. It was always someone else before. It wasn’t me, so I wrote it off. I wrote off all those demigods and I HADN’T CARED.

My other self’s tale wasn’t done.

It got worse.

Jason at least was a demigod hero. I would at least EXPECT heroic actions from him, even if I hadn’t fully appreciated such heroics in the past. And from the sound of it, he hadn’t just sacrificed himself for me. It had mostly been for Piper.

But Crest?

It took me a moment to even remember what a Pandos WAS. I wouldn’t have expected much of anything from one of them. And from the sound of it, Crest was a child.

And yet...!

He’d... this kid... he’d not only gone against the orders of one of the cruelest people I’d ever known in the hope of getting some music lessons, but had continued to help my other self beyond ANYTHING he would have asked for.

He hadn’t stopped either. He’d sacrificed himself for me. He’d had SEVERAL chances to leave me to my fate, and yet he’d chosen to save me even if it killed him. Even though it killed his dream.

He didn’t even KNOW me.

Abruptly I realized that I’d stopped thinking of this as happening to some other version of me, and had started thinking of it happening to MYSELF.

I couldn’t help it. Hearing what had gone down, I connected more closely with this other version of myself. I saw how I’d gone from being me to being him.

We weren’t any different at our core. Of course we weren’t. We were the same person until very recently. It was only his recent experiences that distinguished him from myself, and hearing what he’d been through, I at least had a shadow of his experiences.

I didn’t think I could ever become like this other version of myself entirely, never reach the sheer depth of his understanding and compassion for the mortals that I’d been neglecting for so long.

But I could try.

Maybe that would be enough?

Watching my other self collapse into my sister’s embrace for the third time, I decided that it would HAVE to be enough. I had to become someone worthy of the help my other self had been given. Someone worthy of those sacrifices.

I- I wanted to be a better person. A GOOD person. I didn’t know whether that was even possible. I’d done some horrible things in the past, and allowed others to occur in my ambivalence.  But I would TRY.

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My other self calmed down enough to continue speaking again after a few minutes.

He turned to me, seeming to just remember I was here. I couldn’t blame him. With all he’d been through, with all he’d lost, I’d get tunnel vision too.

He stared at me for a moment, seeming to search for words.

“Do you understand?” he asked at last, seeming to look into my soul.

“I- I think so,” I replied, my mouth suddenly feeling dry.

He seemed to consider what I said for a moment, then nodded. “There are some things you need to know. I told Percy a lot of what happened, what’s GOING to happen, so you can ask him for more information later. But there’s some things I didn’t go into. Some things I wanted to tell you in person.”

I nodded, trying to hide my anxiety.

“Our kids - ALL of them... try to be there for them more? When I went to Camp Half-blood, they- they tried to make me feel comfortable. Tried to help me feel like I belonged. Even though I barely knew them. Even though I’d only visited them in person a handful of times, spoken to them in dreams a dozen more. They still tried SO HARD to help me. They cared about me SO MUCH. They deserve better.”

Guilt twisted my stomach. I’d always felt that I should spend more time with my children. But I was afraid of what the other gods would say, ESPECIALLY Zeus. He preferred us to be hands-off if possible. I couldn’t do what he was asking...

Oh who was I kidding. It was true that Zeus didn’t like us spending too much time with our kids. He might notice if I vastly increased the amount of time I spent around them in-person, but he wouldn’t be paying as much attention to dreams, especially right now, when he had bigger things to worry about.

And I could probably sneak in a few more visits to Camp Half-blood than I did before. I’d just have to come up with some sort of excuse, like needing to talk to Chiron about something, or needing to drop off some stray demigod Artemis found who didn’t want or was unable to join the Hunt.

“I’ll try my best,” I said.

My other self sighed, “Good. Sometimes that’s the best we CAN do.”

He fell silent for a moment, his face twisting up a little. “There’s also the matter of one of my Legacies. Octavian.”

I tensed, glancing at Percy and Grover. He was talking about the Romans HERE? Now? In front of some Greeks? Sure he’d mentioned Jason before, but he hadn’t said anything to give away that he wasn’t Greek. Just MENTIONING the word ‘Legacy’ was a tip off that something was different about Octavian.

My other self noticed the look on my face and explained. “I already told Percy and Grover about the Romans. They’d need to know soon anyway, since Gaea is awakening and the Greeks and Romans will need to unite.”

I choked. Gaea was WHAT!

I opened my mouth to speak, but my other self cut me off. “I already told Percy most of what he needs to know, you can ask him for details later. I don’t know how much time I have and I don’t want to repeat myself too much.”

He took a breath and let it out. “So, Octavian. I think... he’s kind of like Commodus. I was enamored with Octavian’s promises, his vision of a future where I was head god of Rome. I fell for his flattery, ignoring any warning signs, just like I did all those years ago. Octavian, he... something’s wrong with him. I’m not sure what. Not exactly. But he REALLY hates the Greeks. I’m not sure why. You’ll have trouble forging peace between the camps if he’s in a position of power, at least as Octavian is now. Octavian... I think he’s ill somehow. After an unfortunate incident that led New Rome to believe the Greeks had attacked them - again, ask Percy - he went kind of crazy. Manic. He refused to listen to reason, and believed that anyone who questioned him would stab him in the back.”

“I don’t know whether he can be saved. I wasn’t able to save Commodus. But maybe... maybe if you catch him early, you can stop him from deteriorating too far. It’s worth a try. There’s no chance of success without TRYING.”

“Just make sure he’s not in a position of power or influence right now. He needs therapy, or medication, or SOMETHING. But if he’s able to retaliate... well, I don’t think he’d even believe ME telling him that he needs help. I can see him believing that I’m compromised or tricking him or something. And if he believes that there’s a threat, he’ll try to neutralize it. Probably fatally.”

“I don’t know whether you could get him the help he needs. Maybe there’s no saving him. Maybe there was no saving Commodus. But you HAVE to try.”

I flinched, thinking of Commodus. I HAD to kill him. The alternative was too horrible to withstand.

That didn’t make the guilt lessen.

If I could avoid having that situation again, I would.

“I’ll try. I’ll look in on Octavian, try to find some sort of help for him. I think I’ll take a closer at the Romans in general, I haven’t spent much time with them lately. I think I’ll try to get to know Jason better as well. After what you’ve told me... well, I want a chance to know my little brother for more than a few hours. I’ll visit my children as often as I can get away with, considering Zeus and the War. And I’ll try to find Crest. Teach him to play the ukulele. Even if he’s never met me in this timeline, I still feel like I owe him for what he was willing to do in yours.”

My other self smiled at me, a bit of hope entering his eyes. “Thank you.”

I felt something snap into place, threads of destiny coming undone and reweaving themselves into a new tapestry. I could tell my other self felt it too.

He blurted out, “Find Meg! She was captured by Nero, She’s in-”

The air started twisting around them. My other self cut himself off, looking back at Meg in a panic. I had a distinct feeling he didn’t know WHERE Meg was, and he didn’t have time to ask.

Meg read his look. “Albany!” she blurted out.

CRAAAACK

The air untwisted, turning shimmering shades of green, then returned to normal.

There was silence for a moment.

“What just... happened?” my sister asked.

Oh yeah. She was the only who hadn’t seen this happen before.

“That’s what happened when they arrived. Except, you know, they appeared instead of vanished. Presumably they’re back in their own timeline now.”

I turned to Percy and Grover. “We need to talk. But it can wait until tomorrow. I need to hold this concert - can’t cancel without a lot of people wondering WHY, and I don’t want to divulge what happened to everyone just yet. Not before making plans. And I’m sure you two are tired after everything that’s happened.”

Percy smiled at me slightly. “Thanks. I’ll need to tell Annabeth, she can help.”

Grover suddenly looked nervous. “Um... Lord Apollo...” He gingerly returned my lyre.

I looked it over, noticing the reason for his anxiety. A large scratch on the shell. Nothing that would impact the quality of its music, but I HAD said “not a scratch”.

That seemed like a lifetime ago.

I gave him a small smile, hoping I looked comforting. “It’s fine Grover. I should have expected it to get a little banged up, with you bringing it into combat.”

His face collapsed in relief. Percy gave me a weird look... awe? Understanding? I wasn’t sure. But he seemed happy with what I’d done.

As they walked away, I called out, ‘Oh, and Grover?”

The satyr looked back at me questioningly.

“Happy birthday.”

His face broke out in a smile. “It has been.”

I stood there for a moment, savoring this brief period of peace. Tomorrow I’d have to meet with Percy and Grover, find out what else my other self had to say about the future, what else should be changed. Tomorrow I could go looking for Meg and Crest.

But tonight, I had a concert to get to.

“You coming Artemis?” I asked my sister.

“You have room for all my Hunters?”

“I think something could be arranged.”

“I’ll see you there then.”

I vanished as the sun set on one of the most important afternoons in Greco-Roman history.

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(A/N) So that’s it for this fanfic! I’ll probably write a sequel showing what happens in this new timeline, but I don’t know when I’ll start it. I might work on something else first. Oh, and in case anyone’s wondering, Meg and Apollo reappeared back in their own timeline back in the room with the cloth. This uses a divergent timeline model of time travel, so nothing that happens in the past will impact them.