#the first one might be because I personally found being a woman traumatizing as a transmasc

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you WIP excerpt behind the cut, as promised, friends; 7k of kidnapping your soulmate for fun and profit. (and non-chrono link for anyone on the app.)

Tana Moon follows Leech over to the group, looking a little wary herself. Tim sizes her up in his peripheral vision, pretending not to notice her approach. He’s “just” found out who his soulmate is, so he can sell the illusion of only paying attention to Superboy right now. It’s not an unusual reaction. 

It’s a pretty typical one, actually. The fact that Superboy decided to immediately show him off to everyone he knows is actually the less usual option, in fact. Not unheard of either, of course, but still. A lot of newly-discovered soulmates tend to just forget about the outside world for a few hours. Or days, even. A few missing person cases that Tim’s been involved in solving turned out to be cases of “I met my soulmate and we just eloped/ran away/went on a road trip/holed up in a hotel room without telling anyone”. 

Tim had thought it was ridiculous at the time, if obviously preferable to ending up with either a dead body or a traumatized victim, but Tim is currently in the process of planning an ethically-necessary kidnapping less than twenty-four hours after first cracking into Superboy’s file, so he supposes soulmates just bring out most people’s less pragmatic sides. 

Though he personally thinks carefully-planned ethical kidnappings are an improvement on spontaneous weekends in Vegas, pragmatically-speaking. But whatever. 

“He showed you?” Tana Moon says, glancing Tim over suspiciously. Superboy’s face reddens this time and he tugs at the slash in his own suit. 

“He, uh, saw mine first,” he says. “Kinda got into it with a dude downtown and Tim here was in the area, and like, he recognized it, obviously.”

“It’s fairly noticeable as a mark,” Tim supplies helpfully, figuring he should be being supportive of his soulmate here, and also be shutting Rex Leech up as efficiently as possible. “And Superboy came over to check on me after the fight, so it was hard to miss.” 

“Sure it was,” Leech says, his face souring. “So then you won’t mind showin’ yours to–” 

“Shut up, Dad!” Roxy hisses, kicking him viciously hard in the ankle. Leech yelps in pain. Roxy is immediately his favorite, Tim decides. By far Roxy is his favorite. The dog’s kind of cute and Dubbilex seems decent, but definitely Roxy is his favorite. 

Her dad definitely fucking sucks, though. 

And as for Tana Moon . . . 

“You’re a tourist?” Tana says, just barely frowning down at Tim. She’s taller than him. She’s also taller than Superboy, because she’s a grown-ass woman and why, exactly, is a reporter even here right now? How is that necessary or reasonable? 

. . . admittedly she’s also taller than Leech and he’s a middle-aged man, but that’s not the point here. If Tim has to “no comment” this situation and figure out how to get either his parents or Bruce to kill a story, he absolutely will. He isn’t even slightly gonna hesitate there. He is gonna the opposite of hesitate, in fact. 

“Yes,” he lies, which might not endear him to Moon, given she’s a native, but is better than confessing to having premeditated designs on kidnapping a teen idol superhero. Especially to a reporter. 

Even if it is legally salvage. 

“I’m just in town for the day,” he continues. “I needed to get away for a little while, you know how it is.” 

“Sure,” Moon says, narrowing her eyes at him. “Who doesn’t.” 

“He’s from Gotham. And he helped the civilians get out of the area while I was fighting that guy downtown!” Superboy says eagerly, which is . . . odd, actually, and throws Tim off a bit. That seems like a weird thing for Superboy to be eager about, considering. Like . . . just very weird. 

“Well, that’s a Gotham thing, probably,” Tim says, putting on a sheepish Civilian Smile (#7). “We’re used to rogue attacks with area of effect concerns involved, so we get pretty good at clearing a street.” 

“You did awesome,” Superboy says, grinning excitedly at him. That is . . . still weird, yeah. Tim really doesn’t get it. 

Well, maybe Superboy’s just relieved to have a soulmate who knows how to stay out of the line of fire and what to do in a crisis, given how often crisises probably come up in his life. That would make sense, considering. 

“It was nothing, just a little light crowd control,” Tim tries, assuming that’s what a normal civilian would say. Probably, right? Almost definitely. “Nobody even needed any urgent medical attention. And you used your TTK really strategically and contained the guy too, that was much more impressive to pull off in a mess like that.” 

Yeah, that was normal civilian talk, he thinks, pleased with himself for managing it. 

Superboy turns pink, then grins again. Dubbilex . . . tilts his head. 

Normal. Normal. Normal civilian. That’s what Tim is. A civilian! Who’s normal! Very, very normal! 

Normal. 

He smiles Normal Civilian Smile #4 and pats Krypto’s head again. Krypto makes an enthusiastic attempt at licking his fingers off. 

Ew. 

“‘Light crowd control’,” Moon echoes. That’s what Tim said, yeah, so he’s not sure why she’s repeating it. Well–reporter, again, so It’s probably a trap. 

It’s almost definitely a trap, actually. 

Really definitely it’s a trap. 

“Sorry to just show up like this, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he says to Roxy and Dubbilex with a smile, politely pretending not to be ignoring Moon. He is definitely ignoring Moon, though. Again: reporter. She may not be a Lois Lane or even a Vicki Vale, but he’s still not giving her any information he can avoid giving her. And he’ll just ignore Leech while he’s at it, too. 

“I invited you, man!” Superboy says with a laugh, shaking his head. “We’re gonna hit the beach for a while, go hang out. Just swung by to grab Tim a swimsuit I can lend him.” 

“You came to Hawaii to ‘get away’ and didn’t pack a swimsuit?” Moon says skeptically. 

“Yup,” Tim replies with the most placidly innocent expression he’s ever worn in his life. Nothing. He is giving her nothing. Let all her reporter instincts strike against mirrored glass and high-security privacy windows and come to naught. 

Moon stares at him in silence, clearly waiting for him to fill it. Tim doesn’t fall for the incredibly obvious bait and just keeps the placidly innocent expression on. 

She frowns. 

“C’mon, man,” Superboy says cheerfully, apparently–and fortunately–oblivious to their stand-off. He grabs Tim’s arm and drags him towards the front porch. Tim seriously doubts its structural stability, from the look of it, but tactile telekinesis is hard to argue with. 

The steps manage not to collapse–possibly also because of tactile telekinesis, Tim can’t help suspecting–and Superboy pulls him straight into the house, which is . . . not particularly well taken care of, no surprise. The furniture looks like it all came from a thrift store, and not a nice thrift store. 

Admittedly Tim’s upbringing might be showing here, but also the corners need swept and there’s random boxes of assorted Superboy merch everywhere, most of which looks like cheap junk, and a huge stack of mail and four empty pizza boxes on the coffee table and overflowing trash cans with random junk scattered around, and it’s just . . . it doesn’t look taken care of, no. Which is something Tim would expect from a teenager or two, and maybe Dubbilex doesn’t know how chore wheels work or whatever, but fucking Rex Leech should at least be capable of getting out the broom once a week. 

Assuming there is one, anyway. Tim isn’t particularly optimistic on that one, honestly. 

Superboy’s room is even messier than the living room, covered in dirty clothes and abandoned comics and crumpled-up papers, but Tim’s bedroom looks like a bomb went off in it so he’s not gonna judge. Anyway, that’s Superboy’s personal space, not a common area. He can keep it however he likes, Tim figures. 

Somebody should really sweep that living room, though. And throw out those old pizza boxes, too. 

Tim isn’t judging, just–well, no, he is very much judging, actually. Specifically what he’s judging is Rex Leech, noted asshole sleazeball manager with predatory business tactics. 

Fuck that guy, seriously. 

“You want trunks or a speedo?” Superboy asks as he lets go of his arm to fly over to the cluttered dresser. Tim turns seventeen different shades of red and nearly disassociates. 

“Trunks,” he says quickly. “Please.” 

“Gotcha, man,” Superboy says easily, and then all the dresser drawers yank out at once and dump out crumpled piles of . . . mostly swimsuits and super-suits, it looks like, yeah. Like, basically nothing else but swimsuits and super-suits and a couple of cheesy-looking Hawaiian shirts. 

Well, that might be one lonely, lonely pair of cutoffs sticking out from underneath the swimsuits. But otherwise, that’s pretty much it, yeah. 

Fuck, that’s depressing, Tim thinks. 

Superboy comes back over with an armful of swimsuits, just about all of which have the S-shield either printed or stitched on them. Tim wonders why the guy even has this many swimsuits, especially considering he barely has any other clothes at all. At least not as far as he can see, anyway. 

He also wonders if he’s gonna die if he wears Superboy’s clothes. Is that a thing that might happen? Because it really might happen, yeah. 

Also wearing something with an S-shield on it feels like just a little too much to handle right now, so Tim’s hoping for a basic black option to be buried somewhere in that pile. Given Superboy’s apparent fashion sense, it seems unlikely, but hope springs eternal. 

“Take a look, see what’s good,” Superboy says, dumping the entire armful of swimsuits on Tim. Tim’s just grateful he remembered to stick to just the trunks, at this point. 

“So you spend a lot of time on the beach, huh?” he says wryly. 

“C’mon, man, it’s Hawaii,” Superboy says with a sheepish grin. “And I mean, I look good in anything but wet leather is just not a comfortable fit, you know?” 

“I guess it wouldn’t be, no,” Tim says, giving him Civilian Smile #4 again. Superboy’s ears redden a little again, and then he leans back and zips back across the room to shove all his drawers back shut. Tim lays out the pile of swimsuits on the bed, since it’s right there anyway, and then immediately feels embarrassed to be this close to Superboy’s bed. Which is stupid, even if they aren’t platonics. They’ve just met; it’s not like anything’s gonna happen. 

. . . even if Superboy is a notorious flirt and totally shameless and–

Tim is just not gonna pursue that line of thought right now, he decides. Just for his own sanity and all. 

He accidentally knocks some paper off the bed as he’s laying out the suits to get a look at them, and reflexively leans down to pick it up. The room’s a mess, yeah, but it’s Superboy’s mess. It’s still rude to just drop shit wherever. 

The paper isn’t as crumpled as some of the others, and Tim sees a glimpse of color as he picks it up. His inner detective reflexively wonders what it is, and . . .

Tim uncrumples the paper a little, and blinks down at it in surprise. It’s a little kid’s drawing, it looks like. A sunny beach rendered in bright colored pencil and simple, awkward shapes all painstakingly but clumsily colored in and–

Superboy’s suddenly right back next to him snatching the paper from him and immediately hiding it behind his back, looking absolutely mortified. Tim’s confused, for a moment. What’s he embarrassed about? It’s obviously not anything he’d have drawn himself. It’s probably just something a fan or a neighbor’s kid gave him, or . . . 

Tim pauses. Then he recontextualizes just how much of the crumpled-up paper is lying around Superboy’s room and wonders, very briefly, if a bunch of STEM majors with delusions of grandeur would’ve bothered programming their custom-designed “Superman” with anything resembling art skills. 

So . . . maybe that is something Superboy drew himself. If Cadmus didn’t program him with the muscle memory or knowledge of how to draw . . . well, then he probably would draw like a little kid, wouldn’t he.

And given Superboy’s cocky, braggart personality and defensive ego and how all that paper is all crumpled up as if in frustration . . .

“Gift from a fan?” Tim “assumes” with Smiling Civilian Face #4, pretending to be oblivious. 

“Uh–yeah!” Superboy blurts quickly as he jumps on the provided excuse, though he keeps the paper behind his back. “Yeah, just–you know, just some kid gave it to me at a signing, whatever. Uh, bathroom’s through there, if you wanna get changed. Or like, whatever.” 

“Thanks,” Tim says, and resists the itching urge to peek at a few more of those crumpled-up papers. It’s just a lot of paper, especially if Superboy’s upset with the results.

He wonders why the guy draws so much, if he’s that frustrated and embarrassed by it. Maybe it’s a rebellion thing, since it’s something Cadmus didn’t want him to know how to do. Tim would definitely understand that logic, if he were in Superboy’s situation. Or maybe he’s just bothered not to know how and trying to teach himself to make up for the perceived failing. 

Or maybe he just likes it, Tim supposes. That’s an option too. 

Probably a less likely one, though, given that it’s Superboy. Not to be an asshole or anything, just it’s a lot easier picturing the guy assuming he should be able to do something and getting fixated on trying to pull it off than just, like . . . liking to draw. Also, judging by all that balled-up paper, it doesn’t seem like there’s much there for him to “like”, either.

Tim takes the plainest set of trunks with a drawstring waist, which are black and dark blue but still have an S-shield iron-on patch sewn onto their waistband, for whatever reason, and ducks into the bathroom with them. He realizes belatedly that said S-shield is probably going to rest right up against his soulmark, then feels like an idiot for feeling flustered by that idea and just sets his bag against the wall and starts getting undressed. 

He’s definitely wearing one of the spare shirts in his go-bag for this, he decides as he stuffs his clothes into his bag. Just–definitely, yeah. 

The trunks fit once he cinches the drawstring enough, but the S-shield definitely does rest right against his soulmark. Tim has never actually considered the sight of the S-shield to be, like . . . relevant or interesting outside of work, but he’s realizing that he sure does feel differently about it now that he knows his soulmate’s one of the people wearing it. 

Which is a little ironic, really, considering Superboy wears the S-shield as a branding thing or whatever and lets Leech slap it on whatever cheap shitty merch he can think of. Like, he’s probably the least respectful S-wearer there is. 

Tim pulls on a plain clean T-shirt and a short-sleeve button-down to go over it, figuring that’s beach-friendly enough. He should’ve packed sunglasses, probably, but he was a little distracted by his kidnapping plans and didn’t think to. 

Seriously. He didn’t think to bring sunglasses to Hawaii. 

This whole situation definitely has him off his game, yeah. 

Soulmate thing, he guesses.

Tim eyes himself in the bathroom mirror, mentally decides he’s being an idiot to worry about how he looks right now, and then grabs his bag and heads back out into the bedroom. Superboy’s changed into low-waisted S-shield-themed trunks of his own and flip-flops and nothing else, which does in fact give Tim an embarrassingly good and embarrassingly distracting view of their soulmark. It’s not quite distracting enough for him to miss the fact that the amount of crumpled papers strewn around the room has noticeably decreased, though. And there’s definitely more of them sticking out from under the bed and dresser and in the back of the closet than there previously were. 

Which is kinda cute, honestly, but Tim should probably not say that. Like, ever. 

“Thanks for waiting,” he says, smiling Normal Civilian Smile #4 at Superboy as he hitches his bag up a little higher on his shoulder. “And for the loan.” 

Superboy stares blankly at him for half a second, then seems to startle a little and puffs himself up. 

“Uh–sure, yeah!” he says quickly. “No problem, man. Anytime.” 

“‘Anytime’ seems pretty open, as an offer,” Tim jokes, because normal civilians make that kind of joke, and Superboy turns red. 

“Oh, uh–you know what I mean!” he sputters awkwardly, holding his hands up, which seems kind of a lot as a reaction, and then somehow manages to nearly knock over his dresser without even touching it. Well–that'd be the TTK, Tim guesses. 

It wasn't even that much of a joke. Like, lame suburban dad joke territory, that's all. 

“I do, yeah,” he says with a wry smile. Superboy finds a way to turn even redder and shoves his dresser back into a corner. That also seems like kind of a lot as a reaction, but Tim doesn't comment. Just seems, well . . . awkward? Unnecessary? “Are we good to go, then?” 

“Um, yeah, yeah,” Superboy says, clearing his throat and then zipping out into the hall. Tim wonders if he always flies indoors this much. “All good, dude! Let's head out.” 

“Sure,” Tim says, keeping the smile on. Superboy is still red, but floats along down the hall. Tim follows. Okay. They’re almost definitely not platonic, but Superboy clearly isn’t any more sure what to do with that than Tim is, so . . . small favors, he guesses. Like–that they’re at least roughly on the same page there, he means. 

Unless he’s just reading into things because of weird personal biases he didn’t even know he had, and Superboy is completely straight and just kind of socially awkward around civilians, and Tim’s just being socially pressured by the background radiation of living in a society that over-values romantic soulmates in comparison to platonic ones and sometimes disavows platonic soulmates altogether. 

He supposes technically they could be familial, rare as that is. It’s not like he really knows how he’d feel about having a brother. Dick’s the closest thing to one he’s ever had, and that’s just . . . not actually the same thing, obviously, even if sometimes he wishes . . . 

Anyway. It doesn’t matter. He’s pretty sure having a brother wouldn’t in any way involve this level of embarrassment and unexpected hormones and just general sexuality-questioning over every little thing. Like, that seems very much not like what having a brother would be like. 

So–maybe he isn’t straight, or maybe Superboy’s not actually a boy, or maybe both of those things are true, or maybe he’s just really, really bad at having a soulmate.

Entirely possible, under the circumstances. Tim’s not really all that good at getting close to people. If he got a little confused about how to handle having a soulmate, well . . . that wouldn’t really be a surprise, would it. 

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to have to figure out how to come out to his dad or Dana or the goddamn Batman. 

One or the other, probably.

. . . statistically speaking, the likelier explanation probably is not wanting to come out to the goddamn Batman. 

“Wanna fly someplace or just chill on the beach out front?” Superboy asks as he floats backwards into the living room. Krypto runs up and jumps on Tim excitedly, his tail wagging so hard his whole little body’s wagging with it. He’s a weird-looking little mutt, but he’s really friendly, apparently. “Krypto, oh my god, get off him.” 

“I don't mind,” Tim says, leaning down to give Krypto a polite little pat on the head. Krypto barks happily and wags his tail so hard he knocks himself over. 

Yeah, weird dog in general, Tim thinks. But again, really friendly. 

“We can go wherever,” he says. “You're the local, you know the best places to get a little time alone to hang out, right?” 

“‘Alone’?” Superboy repeats, his ears reddening again as he somehow manages to trip in mid-air and hits his head on the doorframe. Tim can probably safely write off the idea of “platonic” at this point, but is still a little bit wary of his personal bias interfering. Though . . . “Uh–yeah! Totally! Yeah! We can do that!” 

Yeah, Superboy really isn’t selling the “platonic” idea here either. 

Does Tim have a boyfriend now? Is this how boyfriends happen? 

. . . well, or a girlfriend, maybe. He still hasn’t ruled out the “maybe Superboy’s just trans” option. That seems like a thing that might confuse his sexuality a little, if nothing else. 

This is definitely not anything like any previous girlfriend-getting he’s experienced, though. Like, not even a little bit. He’s not complaining, exactly, because admittedly it’s actually a little bit easier going into a new relationship with a plan and a cover established, even if the plan is admittedly still in flux and the relationship’s “romantic" vs "platonic” status is still unclear. It’s still something he can approach like a case, which is much more straightforward than just floundering around trying to figure out how normal people work. 

And Superboy’s about as far from a “normal person” as it gets, so really, this is a pretty ideal set-up on Tim’s end. 

Hopefully Superboy feels similarly, though he also, like . . . is lacking some pretty important information there, so . . . yeah, that might be an issue. Bruce would definitely not have appreciated Robin telling Superboy he was his soulmate, though, and who knows how Superboy would’ve even taken that. Going in as a civilian is going pretty smoothly, though, so Tim’s pretty sure it was the right choice. 

Hopefully it was, anyway. 

“Cool,” Tim says, keeping up the placid harmless civilian face and thoughts and Totally-Not-A-Vigilante vibes. Superboy does a very bad job of pretending he didn’t just bump into the doorframe and ducks back outside, putting on a cocky grin of his own as he does. It occurs to Tim, briefly, that maybe Superboy has his own catalog of performative expressions. None of his friends really seem to, but Superboy is in the community too, so . . . well, it’d make sense, right? 

Also he does sell his likeness via a sleazy manager’s sleazy business deals, so yeah. It does kind of make sense. 

Huh. That’s . . . a thought, he guesses. 

Not a thought he’d really had yet. 

Just . . . something they might have in common, Tim guesses. 

Though so is being in the community to begin with, obviously. And they're physiologically about the same age and have similar coloring, though Superboy is–well, not actually mixed with East Asian, because Krypton did not have an actual place called “Asia”, but he does have subtle hints of that look, same as Superman. Easy to mistake for just being white, but recognizable if you know what you're looking for. Superboy would be at least half-white given Westfield's DNA, Tim guesses, but . . . 

Yeah, no, he doesn't even know how to begin to figure out the nuances of racial identity on a dead planet he knows next to nothing about, much less any potential experience parallels there might be for a second-generation half-alien immigrant with effectively zero access to their own culture, but maybe he could–

Right, okay, he needs to focus here. There's some fascinating stuff there that he can theorize about and investigate later, once he's kidnapped Superboy properly. The kidnapping is the current priority, though. Like, it is very much the current priority. 

Tim follows Superboy back out onto the porch. Everyone else is still out there, which is fine in regards to Roxy and Dubbilex and not fine in regards to Leech and . . . well, jury's out on Moon, maybe. 

Also the dog. He doesn't really know about the dog. Though said dog does run after him and jump up for attention wagging his scruffy little tail hard enough to wag his whole little body, which is sort of cute. 

Or as cute as a wet dishrag can get, anyway. 

Tim’s trying not to judge Krypto for that, since obviously he didn't ask to be born as the living embodiment of a wet dishrag, and anyway he's a really friendly dog, so judging by appearances seems like a dick move. Even if Tim kind of wants to iron him, to be honest. Steam-clean, maybe. 

At least take him to a decent groomer, if nothing else. 

“Down, you little shit, Jesus!” Kon says, scowling down at Krypto and trying to shoo him away. Krypto growls at him, which seems weird, then goes back to fawning all over Tim. Tim leans down and pats his head, figuring it might calm him down. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “He is cute.” 

“Whatever,” Superboy grumbles, folding his arms and inexplicably glowering at his dog. 

“You gonna go swim, or just hang out?” Roxy asks curiously as she comes over to them again. 

“Oh, we’re–” Superboy starts, but Moon cuts him off. 

“Want some company?” Moon inquires, pleasant and suspicious all at once. Superboy looks–conflicted, momentarily, and then awkward. 

“Um, well–Tim’s only in town for today, so . . . next time?” he hedges. Tim resists the urge to eye Moon. Can I just spontaneously insert myself in your first day with your brand-new soulmate? is incredibly rude, as a suggestion. And incredibly fucking disrespectful to boot. Like, what entitled-ass kind of thing is that to ask, exactly? 

How old is she again? Twenty? Twenty-one? He should look that up later. Well–no, she’d graduated college and started her career by the time Superman had died, which was a good eight or nine months ago now, so unless she skipped a grade or two in there, she’s gotta be closer to twenty-four, if not twenty-five or twenty-six. 

That’s . . . a thought, considering there is definitely news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. Like, Tim very definitely saw news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. And she was very definitely kissing him too.

In retrospect, that seems like something someone should’ve, like . . . done something about? Or at least addressed? And is definitely further proof of how fucking useless and slimy Rex Leech is. Sure, let the five-minute-old clone make out with a twentysomething reporter and hang out with her at home; all publicity is good publicity, so it’s fine, right? Sure. Why wouldn’t it be? 

Tim is going to absolutely decimate that bastard’s credit the first chance he gets. Leech probably already has terrible credit, mind, but he’ll make it worse. He’ll find a way. 

. . . though he’ll wait until he’s sure Roxy is eighteen and financially independent, he doesn’t actually know if she is or not. Roxy seems nice, she doesn’t deserve that particular fallout. 

“It’d be nice to get to know each other later, I’m sure,” Tim says before Moon can say anything, smiling Gala Smile #1 at her, which is a targeted psychological attack and not actually very moral to be trotting out this quick, probably. 

He has no regrets, for the record. Absolutely none. 

Moon narrows her eyes suspiciously. Tim blithely strokes Krypto’s ears, Gala Smile #1 flawless and unphased. 

“I’m sure,” she “agrees” frostily. Superboy remains apparently oblivious to the tension and grins brightly at both of them. 

“Cool!” he says. Oh, sweet summer child who has clearly never socialized with sharks, Tim thinks resignedly, petting Krypto again. Has Leech taught him literally nothing about conversational warfare, for fuck’s sake? At least living with your sleaze of a manager should be good for that, dammit! 

Then again, Leech is probably not actually competent enough to teach Superboy anything actually useful, so maybe that’s for the best. 

If nothing else, Superman could’ve taught him a bit of “bless your heart”, but apparently that’s not a thing either. 

Tim has a brief moment of dread that maybe underneath his personal list of performative expressions, Superboy might just be a straightforward and honest person, which is a concerning thought. He doesn’t even know how to talk to a straightforward and honest person at this point, after this long as Batman’s emotional support sidekick. How do you form a lasting relationship with someone who isn’t habitually using at least three layers of double-talk and constantly locked in on all your microexpressions, anyway? 

That’s going to be a weird experience, yeah. 

“Ready to go?” Superboy asks Tim, grinning brighter at him. Tim feels momentarily overwhelmed and just sort of . . . has to collect himself about that, a little. 

Or a lot.

“Lead the way,” he says, smiling at him. He’s flustered enough to forget to use an appropriately-planned smile, which is embarrassing, but Superboy just grins even brighter–which should not be physically possible, but apparently is–and reaches out to scoop him up into his arms and into the air again as Krypto lets out an offended bark. It’s totally overkill and not even slightly necessary. 

Tim isn’t complaining, just–well–

It’s really flustering. 

“Air Superboy up, up, and away!” Superboy says cheerfully as they float up over the others’ heads. His face is way too close to Tim’s face. 

Tim is gonna need a bit longer to collect himself this time, he’s pretty sure. 

“Do I get an in-flight meal?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. Superboy laughs, which is even worse than his grin, and then takes off across the beachfront with him. It’s another bridal carry, which is quietly mortifying but could be worse, probably. Maybe. 

Somehow. 

Superboy flies them straight across the beach and then straight out over the water, skimming them along just above the waves. Tim makes a briefly startled noise, reflexively tightening his grip on the strap of his bag. 

“This isn’t waterproof,” he says just as reflexively, and Superboy laughs again. 

“I’m not gonna drop you, dude,” he says. Tim actually more assumed Superboy was intending to either dive-bomb them both into the water or just dump him in on purpose, because that seems like Superboy’s sense of humor, but maybe that was an unfair assumption. 

He really is not prepared for how it feels to be held in close against Superboy’s bare chest and arms like this, even if he’s still wearing a shirt himself. The idea of possibly doing that while they’re both wet seems a lot worse. 

Yeah. Definitely worse. 

Tim should’ve worn long sleeves. And maybe a wetsuit. And maybe a few layers on top of that. 

Jesus. 

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” he says, barely resisting the urge to loop his arms around Superboy’s neck as the other hangs a right and swoops them back around towards shore. Flying over the water like this is a pretty cool experience, admittedly, now that he’s not worried about Superboy dumping him in the water. 

Well. Less worried, anyway. 

Camera next time, Tim promises himself, glancing back over Superboy’s shoulder towards the shining horizon. The sun reflects off the waves bright and beautiful, and the sky is a smooth and perfect blue dotted with sparse but billowing clouds, and everything smells like salt and sea and leather, which is probably Superboy, even without the jacket on anymore. 

Definitely camera next time.

“Definitely holding you to that, actually,” he says, and Superboy laughs again and brings them down in the surf just past the tideline with a splash. Neither the splash or the water goes high enough to soak Tim's bag, so he figures it could've been worse. 

Assuming Superboy isn't planning to toss him or anything before he can put his bag down somewhere safe, anyway. 

They both settle down into the surf and onto their feet, and Tim becomes very aware of how close together they’re standing and also how very, very shirtless Superboy is, and in fact the only thing between their soulmarks is the very thin layer of cotton of Tim’s own shirt, and if he leaned in just a little bit . . . 

Jesus, Tim thinks faintly, and forces himself to take a step back before he can make it weird. 

He smiles Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 just to make sure he doesn’t look like a creep or anything, and Superboy grins excitedly at him. Tim allows himself all of two seconds to be overwhelmed by that gorgeous expression and their physical closeness and the reflection of the light in Superboy’s eyes, as bright and perfectly blue as both the sky and water, and then reasserts standard operating procedures and keeps Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 locked in place on his face. 

“The water’s really warm,” he observes, glancing down at it. “Is that normal?” 

It’s probably not an impending supervillain thing, he tells himself. 

Maybe global warming or something, though.

“I mean, feels normal to me?” Superboy says with a shrug. Tim considers mentioning the average ocean temperature, comparatively speaking, or at least the average temperature of the water off the docks in Gotham. Admittedly, Gotham waters barely count as “water”, legally speaking, but that’s not the point. 

“It’s pretty out here,” he says instead, and Superboy grins at him and leans in. He’s pretty sure it’s more an instinctive thing than a deliberate one, just from the way Superboy does it, but that doesn’t exactly make it less flattering. 

Or flustering. 

“I mean, it’s Hawaii, man!” Superboy says, grinning wider before kicking at the surf. “‘Course it’s gonna be pretty!” 

Actually you specifically are possibly the prettiest damn thing that I have ever seen, Tim thinks, but isn’t stupid enough to actually let out of his mouth. Superboy, unfortunately, continues to be all warm and grinning and lit up by the island sun. Tim did not come prepared enough for this. 

“I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I’d be the guy who came to Hawaii and got a monsoon,” Tim says wryly, and Superboy laughs brightly. 

Tim really did not come prepared enough for this. Like, not at all. Not even slightly. 

“Guess you’d just have to come back, then,” Superboy says, grinning wider again and kicking at the surf again as he floats back up out of it. It’s–weird, a little, looking up at him like this. 

Well, not weird, just . . . yeah. 

Something like that. 

“Guess so,” Tim agrees, feeling embarrassingly flustered. Superboy’s friends can probably still see them from the porch, distant though it is, but part of him is still just considering very weird and dumb ideas like maybe tugging Superboy back down to earth and into the surf and just . . . confirming the little sexuality crisis he’s been having since breaking into the other’s file and seeing their soulmark in it, maybe. 

Just, you know, ruling things out. Making deductions. Going through the process of elimination. 

Kissing him, maybe. 

He could very, very much kiss Superboy right now. They’re on a gorgeous beach in the surf and under the sun and Superboy is floating in front of him and grinning as happy and excited as could be and Tim’s stomach is fluttering in a stupid and also-embarrassing way, and . . . 

He could kiss him. That’s all. 

“I mean, it’s a nice place to visit, right?” Superboy says casually, linking his hands together behind his back. 

“The tourism industry seems to think so,” Tim says wryly, and wonders what the “normal civilian who didn’t come here specifically looking for his soulmate to kidnap/salvage him to begin with” thing to say is here. He has absolutely no idea, because he actually has absolutely no idea how normal civilians react to superheroes. Robin is . . . not exactly an urban myth, necessarily, but definitely not a publicly-recognized superhero. He’s a vigilante that’s just barely allowed to operate outside the law, and not one with any kind of publicity or celebrity involved. 

eSuperboy, on the other hand, is not only a superhero, but a professional superhero. He’s selling his likeness and doing events and has signed a stupid predatory contract with a sleaze of a manager that technically shouldn’t even be legal, given Superboy isn’t even considered a legal person by the government. Apparently no one has ever realized that, though, or at least no one’s ever let Superboy realize that. 

Tim really doesn’t love that that’s a thing, to put it mildly. 

Actually, he just fucking hates it. 

Superboy laughs, and looks very, very pretty doing it. Tim continues to wonder what a normal civilian would do here, and for lack of a better idea falls back on small talk. 

God, his best plan right now is small talk. What is his life, even? 

No wonder he’s gonna have to take six months to kidnap Superboy, ugh.

“So, uh–this seems like a weird question to be bringing up this late in the conversation, but what’s your name?” he asks, because it’s occurred to him that he actually has no idea what Superboy goes by when he’s off-duty. He knows he doesn’t have a secret identity, of course, but there’s no way his friends just call him “Superboy”. Well–maybe his slimy asshole manager does, but otherwise. “I mean, if that’s okay to ask. Marks or not, I understand if you don’t feel like we’re there yet, given the whole superhero thing and all.” 

Robin knows Superboy doesn’t have a secret identity, after all, but Tim Drake is a normal civilian and shouldn’t act like he knows too much about any superhero in general, so–

“Naw, it’s fine, I don’t even have one,” Superboy says, for some reason just beaming at him, which is . . . weird, Tim thinks, but nowhere near as weird as that answer is. 

“You don’t . . . have one?�� he repeats slowly, and Superboy shrugs easily. “Like–not at all?” 

“Yeah, everybody pretty much just calls me 'Kid' or 'SB', when it's not Superboy,” Superboy says. “Oh, and Knockout calls me 'Pup' when she's around but like, that's really just a 'her' thing. So, you know, you can call me whatever.” 

Tim stares blankly at him for a long, long moment, speed-runs all five stages of grief, and also discovers a couple of new and unexpected ones. 

Alright. Well, he officially regrets literally nothing about this impending kidnapping. 

“Oh, okay,” he says. “Um–sorry, I guess I just assumed you’d have a more . . . civilian-ish name too, I guess?” 

“I’m a clone, man,” Superboy says, looking amused. “The only other name I’ve got is ‘Experiment Thirteen’, which is definitely not something I answer to."

Tim discovers a few more stages of grief that hit with all the subtlety of a spiked baseball bat and makes himself nod as much like a normal person as he can. 

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d go for that one if I were you either,” he says. “Kind of a mouthful, if nothing else.” 

Superboy laughs, then grins at him again. He is actually doing so, so much of that, Tim’s realizing. Tim was really not prepared for how much of that he’s been doing, in fact. He just did not come prepared for any of that at all. He’s got some nebulous kidnapping plans, but everything else here–from the supervillain attack to Superboy’s ripped suit and exposed soulmark–has been a crime of opportunity. 

He probably should’ve done more research. Actually, he definitely should’ve done more research. He kind of just panicked and bought a ticket and flew right over, and just because Dick didn’t stop him doesn’t mean it was a good idea. He just–he should’ve done more research. Planned more. Not shown up without something concrete. 

Admittedly Superboy doesn’t hate him yet or anything, but this was just . . . yeah, this was not his brightest idea at all. Not even slightly. 

Why didn’t he do more research? 

“You really can just call me whatever you wanna, don’t worry about it,” Superboy says with an easy shrug as he settles back down into the surf, which, unfortunately, puts him back into kissing range and is therefore incredibly distracting. 

Dammit, Tim thinks, trying to beat his stupid teenage hormones into order. 

“Whatever I wanna?” he repeats. 

“Except for Experiment Thirteen,” Superboy says with another grin. Tim politely pretends not to notice the slight tightening of the corners of his mouth as he says the word “experiment”. 

“Uh, okay,” he says, clearing his throat. He guesses Superboy doesn’t really care what his name is, then, but being told to just call him whatever he wants to is . . . well, a weird feeling, maybe. “What do you do when you just want to be a civilian for a while, though?” 

“I don’t,” Superboy says. 

“. . . don’t . . . what?” Tim asks slowly, not sure if he should be dreading the answer or not, but–

“Be a civilian,” Superboy says. 

Tim’s running out of new stages of grief, he’s pretty sure. 

“Ah,” he says. 

Superboy–for a second, Tim thinks he looks self-conscious, but then he’s grinning again before he can be sure, and . . . 

“Why would I?” Superboy says, puffing up proudly. “I’m Superboy, man! Nothing else I’d rather be.” 

Given how limited Superboy’s options for anything “else” he could be probably are . . . well, Tim’s not sure what to think of that statement. 

He doesn’t think it’s anything good, though. 

Yeah, no, he thinks as he looks at Superboy’s too-bright grin and thinks about how he just said "nothing" and not "no one". Definitely not anything good. 

Who wouldn’t pick being “Superboy” over being “Experiment Thirteen”, after all? 

And what else would Superboy even know how to pick, if he thought those were his only options?

[midnight-in-eden]

It’s the two-year anniversary of my official resignation from the Mormon Church! I thought I’d do a little post reviewing the journey.

In 2020, I moved out of my parents’ house to stay with friends who were nonreligious. At the time, I had no idea this would give me a little breathing room from the church to explore myself, especially combined with the pandemic. In fact, at the time, having to attend church via zoom and not having access to the sacrament (because I was assigned female at birth) was painful to me.

But it did give me breathing room. And in 2021, I felt able, for the first time, to come out as gay.

My nonreligious friends’ reaction was loving and accepting.

My parents’ and LDS friends’ reaction was about what you’d expect. Earthly trials, temptations, the “gay lifestyle”, Family Proclamation, law of chastity, etc.

But I loved the church. I clung to it.

Until August 2021, when Jeffrey Holland gave his infamous “musket fire” talk right after a lesbian newly couple was brutally shot and murdered in Utah.

One of the friends I was living with, a kind older woman, listened to me sobbing on her counter about it. She cut through my attempted explanations of how Elder Holland is normally so loving, how he gives talks about mental health, how he cares about people—

She cut through that, looked me in the eye, and said, “That’s hate speech. What he said in that talk is hate speech.”

I realized that I wouldn’t accept that kind of speech from anyone else.

I cried myself to sleep that night and woke up a complete nonbeliever: in Mormonism, in prophets, in priesthood, in Jesus, in God. What a traumatizing earthquake of an experience that was. But it had happened, and I could not undo it.

It took a long time to process everything. I remember crying with shame and nervousness the first time I tried to wear a tank top; I remember feeling so incredibly rebellious the first time I took a sip of coffee. I remember swearing feeling so, so wrong and taboo at first, but then one day I discovered it could feel powerful or cathartic or even playful. I remember being completely mortified by the first (very tame) sex scene I saw in a movie.

I read books on deconstruction, religious trauma, alternative spiritual paths, and practices (like secular meditation) that could fill that gap. I worked to reparent my inner child and undo the shame and fear that had been ground into me. I spent a lot of time in nature. I wrote my thoughts out, deliberately studying people I looked up to—real and fictional—figuring out which of their traits I found so important, what kind of person I wanted to be. I wrote down the values I’d been taught and tried to untangle what I agreed with, what I wanted to discard, and what new ideas I wanted to add. I dipped into church issues, both modern and historical, that had bothered me, and tried to process those issues as well (something I’m still doing, because I’m slow going when it comes to that).

The friend who had told me Holland’s talk was hate speech advised me to wait a year before officially resigning. She said it was best to make decisions like that with a settled mind. I’m glad she told me that, because I think if I’d done it impulsively in a time of high emotions, I might have questioned the decision when looking back.

I waited a year and then began looking into the process, because I was sure. It wasn’t impulsive; it wasn’t emotional; I was sure that the future I wanted was not a future in the Mormon church.

There are several options for resigning, which you can read about in detail on getmeofftherecords.com. I went with the option of sending a notarized letter to church headquarters. I began drafting my letter, starting with a basic template provided on that website. I fiddled around with the draft—I wasn’t completely sure what I wanted to focus on. Around this time, I heard about that horrible child sex abuse case in Arizona, and that clinched it. I don’t know if anyone even really reads these letters. If they do, I hope they thought about mine, even for a few seconds. I hope they thought about the fact they work for a church that spends money on lawyers and court fees to defend its right to hide child rape.

September 13, 2022, I got up early and went to go see the sun rise. (These pictures are from that day!) Then I stopped by the post office and mailed the letter. A few days later, confirmation from church headquarters came in the mail: I was officially no longer a member.

I’m still growing! After more self exploration, I realized I’m nonbinary. I’d consider myself an agnostic atheist but I’ve dipped into secular witchcraft, non-theistic paganism, soft animism, druidry, and other paths I’m curious about. It’s genuinely exciting to realize that my life and beliefs are 100% a choose-your-own-adventure project. I’ll never again be locked onto one path or limited to what someone else tells me to believe. That freedom, most of all, is what has made life outside Mormonism so much better and healthier for me.

[hundredandsix]

inner child headcanons ✩ [ellie williams] ✩

✩ wc: 1.2k

✩ Just thinking about Ellie's inner child and helping her heal it. She's so cute. I want to give her a hug and make her cookies.

✩ cw: none. only fluffy cuteness overload.

✩ As with any happy relationship, you are going to see all parts of Ellie. You will see the newborn whose mother did anything she could to save her, the happy-go-lucky girl that had a useless feud with Bill, the angry teenager who felt betrayed by Joel's actions, and the young woman who got a tattoo to cover her scar. But you will also see the child whose first love was ripped away traumatically and who was manipulated by an evil man who promised to help her.

✩ She obviously had a very fucked up childhood, but she might not register it as that because most people her age went through similar experiences (besides the whole having immunity and almost being killed for it kinda thing). The person that helped her discover her sexuality was taken from her in a very violent way, and she likely had to be the one to kill her. We're not even going to talk about David because he doesn't deserve a second of my thoughts.

✩ So it's kind of obvious to you but she likely wouldn't see it that way. Joel played a part in her healing initially. I don't see him as a parental figure for her, but having an adult that she trusted in her life helped her make some progress. That is until she found out the secret he kept from her. Then she spent so much time running away from it and away from him because she felt it was her fault.

✩ And that's why it's really confusing for her when she gets so attached to you. She never thought of herself as the clingy type, but after you get together, she wants to be with you all the time. This is not to say it's her self-esteem that's lacking, but she feels so safe and validated when she's around you. Like she's useful and needed.

✩ In short, it creates a lot of confusion for her. She doesn't understand why she always falls asleep when you two are alone. She's a chronic insomniac, but even when she feels well-rested, she gets so sleepy from the heat of your body and the curve of your smile. She feels so safe and knows that with you is where she's meant to be. Her nervous system finally relaxes and she gives in to the simple pleasure of your body against hers.

✩ Physical contact is important to her, but it can't be something she feels used for. Touching you in a way that is tender and not at all sexual is healing for her. She can be gentle. She can be soft and loving. You just need to help her prove that to herself.

✩ She's used to the attention being on her for the big things. Like when she found out she was immune and when she finds something useful on patrol. But the way you notice the little things about her sends her heart racing and warmth flooding through her body. You notice when she parts her hair on the other side and when she pulled the string out of her hoodie because she chewed off the ends. You notice when she doesn't eat because she's "not hungry" and when she changes her soap. Those little things drive her crazy because it feels so strange to be noticed on a deeper level like that.

✩ She finds a lot of comfort in what some would consider "childish" activities and hobbies. She collects cards and action figures because these were never things she could keep as a kid. They'd get stolen or broken. So now that she has her own space, she likes having these little items to make it truly hers.

✩ I'm just imagining finding her a little stuffed dinosaur that has mostly survived the elements of the apocalypse. She will pretend she finds it silly, but the fact that you remembered her fascination with dinosaurs and thought of her when you saw something so cute and soft made her feel what can only be described as childlike joy. She names it after you and cuddles it when you're not around. Otherwise, he sits politely on her lopsided couch in her little shack.

✩ Having her own space is very important to her, and she wants to create a shared solitude between the two of you. That being said, sometimes she just wants to be alone and she needs you to respect that. She didn't have this as a kid, so it means a lot to her that she can decorate her space as she chooses and do whatever she wants in it.

✩ She doesn't understand that she's seeking someone that comforts her inner child like this, and she may never realize it. She's just so angry about the childhood she never got to experience and the parents she doesn't know how to miss. So finding someone that knows how to hug the hurt, exhausted little girl who doesn't want to be alone would be monumental to her.

✩ She's great with kids. It almost feels like they seek her out because they just have that innate understanding between them. Ellie knows what it's like to feel unwanted and hopeless and she never wants any other child to feel like that.

✩ She finds spending meal times with you so comforting. Sometimes, she feels like she can actually get something down. You help take her mind off of the texture of the food and how it feels. It's just so intimate because she's used to eating on the go, but being vulnerable in front of each other and talking about your days makes her so happy.

✩ She gets so lost in her thoughts that she needs you to physically pull her out of them sometimes. Whether it's grabbing her hand or running your fingers through her hair, she needs that distraction. Ellie needs someone to remind her that going over a thought, again and again, is not going to change the outcome.

✩ She won't show it, but words mean a lot to her. She is the type of girl that will think about arguments for hours afterward and roll the conversation over her mind, thinking of what she should have said. She can take things very literally, so she might misunderstand what you are saying as something hurtful. That seems to be the default to her, so that's what she expects from others.

✩ When she feels safe with you, she will rant to you. She's so quiet at first, but once you've established that sense of trust, she wants to tell you about all her interests, and what she found on patrol, and the joke Jesse told her yesterday. She has no problem reciprocating this. She wants to listen to you rant and rave as well. But if she even gets the slightest idea that you are growing annoyed or irritated at her words, it'll be hard to get her to open back up again.

✩ She looks most at peace when she's sleeping. Her face relaxes and the years of running and scavenging seem to disappear. It makes you want to cuddle her deeper into your arms and never let her go <3

[vanderwoodlings]

how do you kill a feeling: a blair/dan playlist (x)

Tracklist and commentary under the cut:

This is also entirely country music, because, uh… I wanted to? And at least one person (hi Liz) seemed into the idea? Generally when it comes to GG, we skew more towards pop than anything else, so it was a fun experiment!

1. “Easy Silence,” The Chicks. And I come to find a refuge in the/Easy silence that you make for me/It’s okay when there’s nothing more to say to me

2. “Walkin’ After Midnight,” Patsy Cline. [dan voice] I’ve been walking around the city all night with one paralyzing, all-consuming thought

3. “Found It In You,” Tiera Kennedy. The confidence to know that I can be happy/Just ‘cause you tell me that you got me.

4. “Friends Don’t,” Maddie & Tae. [Insert obligatory aromantic disclaimer that Friends Do, Thanks, here.] That aside, this is just… so stupid best friends in pining denial dair-coded

5. “I Try to Think About Elvis,” Patty Loveless. When you’re ass backwards crushing on Blair Waldorf and you would like to not be, please

6. “Hey, Good Lookin’,” Hank Williams. This one was one that just clicked as a dair song at random somewhere—something about the I’m gonna throw my date book over the fence bit especially—and sparked this playlist into being

7. “Lay It On Me,” Mickey Guyton. I want the truth and all your lies/I want your perfectly imperfect

8. “I’ll Be,” Reba McEntire. And mayhaps Dan has a white knight complex. I’ll be the rock that will be strong for you/The one that will hold on to you

9. “Marigold,” Paisley Fields. Marigold, bold and bright/Marigold, through spring and summer/You brighten up my night, marigold

10. “After I Fall,” Lee Ann Womack. And mayhaps Blair is a bit traumatized. After I fall, where do I stand/After my heart is in your hands/And you’ve got it all

11. “cowboy take me away,” Brittney Spencer. This one is in the Vibe—because God knows neither of them want to get out of the city and get dirt on their hands—it’s more something wild and unruly

12. “I Can’t Help It (If I’m Still in Love with You),” Johnny Cash. Dan pining moments

13. “This Kiss,” Faith Hill. I always love story imagery with Blair, so of course we’ve got Cinderella said to Snow White/“How does love get so off course/Oh, all I wanted was a white knight/With a good heart/Soft touch, fast horse.”

14. “Wrecking Ball,” Emmylou Harris. This song’s got the narrator offering a first date if the other person is in, in spite of the lack of privacy she’s got/the things the other person might know, which is very Gossip Girl, but there’s also something about the Meet me at the wrecking ball (wrecking ball)/I’ll wear something pretty and white that feels very Blair

15. “Death Of Me,” Reyna Roberts. Took this barely beating heart and brought it back to life/But this love might be the death of me.

16. “Starting Over,” Chris Stapleton. Gotta give them something good. And, honey, for once in our life/Let’s take our chances and roll the dice

17. “Grow Old with Me,” Sunny Sweeney. They all said we’d never fit so well together/Grow old with me, I’ll keep you young forever

18. “Jolene,” Dolly Parton. I’ve used this as a Blair’s Serena complex song before, way back on the blairena playlist and uh… I was right ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

19. “Milwaukee,” Wyatt Flores. Okay, yeah, wrong city, but—You can hate my eyes for watching you leave/You can hate my should have chased you down feet/…/Please don’t hate my heart

20. “What Brings Life Also Kills,” Kolton Moore & the Clever Few. Dear, I’m writing this for you/As I contemplate tomorrow/Why did it end so soon?

21. “Buddy,” Willie Nelson. S6 dangina hours!!!!

22. “Why’d You Come in Here Lookin’ Like That,” Dolly Parton. Exists in the theoretical Dan slut era of my dreams. He’s out slow dancing with every girl around/I’m a soft-hearted woman, he’s a hardheaded man/And he’s gonna make me feel just as bad as he can

23. “Foolin’ Ourselves,” Evan Honer. Welcome to the dairfair! We get a little chronologically blurry here for the sake of the Sound being right, but I trust y’all to follow along

24. “On the Other Hand,” Randy Travis. On one hand, I could stay and be your lovin’ man/But the reason I must go is on the other hand.

25. “Summertime,” Orville Peck. You and I/Bide our time/And I miss summertime

26. “Satin Sheets,” Tammy Wynette. If Serena gets “Jolene” (or even, sort of, the pseudo-honorable “On the Other Hand”), Chip gets this. Blair canonically sings Wynette’s “Stand By Your Man” about him (which really fucks me up), so I knew she had to be on here somewhere, but I wasn’t expecting something quite so suitable to jump right out. But your money can’t hold me tight/Like he does on a long, long night

27. “Your Someone,” May Erlewine. I thought that I was stronger/I willed myself to be/But love can be so tender/I feel a tenderness in me

28. “To June This Morning,” Ruston Kelly, Kacey Musgraves.

29. “Love is Alive,” The Judds. Love is a man and he’s mine/Love is alive/And at our breakfast table

30. “Love Is A Wild Thing,” Kacey Musgraves. There’s no way to stop it, so don’t try to

[belit0]

Hello!! I'd love to see Madara with a single mama. Baby could be hers and the dad died or poofed, or could be her friends passed and in their will they requested her to care for the baby. With Madaras temperament I think a little girl would be so perfect! She'd put flowers in his hair or share her bows and no one dares say A THING about it. Please and thank you!!

As soon as I received this request, I had to write it, because I love Madara's tender side (and having a break from nsfw things is also nice)!🤗💕

This ended up being way longer than I anticipated, I hope you like it!

(Y/N) finally realized the depth of her problems when she held her baby in her arms, the physical proof that things were not going to be easy at all. Of course, she adored her little girl, and after giving birth alone and unaided, without any support, she knew it would be the two of them against the world.

One night of passion and need turned into a lifelong contract with the one she now carries in her arms, and nine months of pregnancy were far from easy. (Y/N) only wanted to feel alive, experience some sort of sensation, and she made the mistake of getting involved with a man who was only interested in the bounty between her legs.

With no clan, no family, and no friends, she went through gestation on her own, until the physical changes in her body would no longer allow her to work. She couldn’t do anything to earn a living, resorting to begging for charity among the wealthy as her only source of income.

Childbirth was devastating and traumatic, full of uncertainty and terror. The pain was overriding, and (Y/N) had to sneak into an abandoned barn in order to give birth indoors. She didn't know if she or the baby would survive, pushing and struggling alone to finally meet the only bit of happiness in her life. After hours of suffering, hearing her daughter's cry gave her back her willpower, and she forgot all her negative thoughts.

It would be difficult, but the two of them would make it together.

(Y/N) found a new motivation in her little ray of sunshine, and fortunately, people were kinder when donating money because of the baby in her arms. For years, she managed to get by, doing her best to find shelter and food.

When her child was five years old, (Y/N) knew things had to change. Her daughter could not grow up on the streets, exposed to any person or factor that would harm her, and the woman became determined to find a permanent destination for them both.

She asked anyone who might be willing to talk to her about possible inexpensive and friendly places to go, and got information about a particular territory. The journey would be long and laborious, a month of walking at least, but as the person who gave her the information related, "Senjus are the most compassionate and empathetic clan in the whole world, if anyone will help you, it will be them."

Ignorant of the war and all the chaos surrounding that particular family, (Y/N) embarked on a journey to find them, praying the legends about the mighty Hashirama were true.

The first weeks passed without any problem, fifteen days of movement where she met people kind enough to give them both a hot meal and a place to spend a few nights. Her little girl resisted the adversities alongside her like a warrior and never stopped smiling. Her attitude helped (Y/N) stay afloat, fighting against life to reach their destination.

The last two weeks of the trip got chaotic, with hints of war along every road they traveled. Near Senju territory, all the houses seemed to be abandoned, and the territory completely destroyed. Trees had been reduced to ashes, residences collapsed, the skies were gray and filled with smoke.

It was a battlefield, and she walked into it without any qualms.

A feeling told her something was wrong, and her daughter refused to walk in those surroundings, demanding to be carried in her arms out of fear. After a few kilometers of walking, she realized she would find no shelter or help there, and decided to retrace her steps.

They would find a more promising route.

A strange sound sings on the horizon, and (Y/N) can see how the heavens turn red. Clouds seem to bleed, as hurricane-force winds wake up unprecedentedly from the ground. The panorama becomes apocalyptic, triggering panic and terror in the two of them. She hugs her little girl and crouches to the ground, trying to hide her face from such brutal and sudden weather.

Two groups of five people each approach from opposite sides, as if they are about to confront each other. A few meters away from her, they run at impossible speeds, and the attack swiftly begins. Fire and water fly everywhere, screams, and metal on metal.

Smoke and debris fly through the sky, landing near where (Y/N) is reduced. She knows they must flee, and her little girl's cries indicate urgency. She has to get them to safety right now, or something terrible could happen.

Quickly scanning her surroundings, she finds no place to hide, the ground crumbling to dust and ruins. Far from any structure that could shelter them and make them go unnoticed, (Y/N) squeezes her daughter tightly, and hopes those men are too intent on their battle to notice them.

She decides to run in the opposite direction of the battle, standing again on shaky legs and holding back tears. There is so much dust in the air it is impossible to see, and she keeps her child's face hidden in her chest for protection. Holding the infant with one arm, she covers her eyes with the other in an attempt to move forward.

While taking her first unsteady steps, there is an embracing heat coming towards them, feeling almost as if about to be burned alive. Everything happens so fast there is no time to react, instinctively acting. Her first impulse is to scream, clutching her little girl tightly and hoping to shield her from whatever might be happening.

An incredible explosion hits just a few meters from where she is standing, and the shockwave sends them both flying backward. In the air, (Y/N) continues to hold her daughter, an inexplicable force helping to keep her close to her. She has a few seconds to calculate how to position her body and be the one to hit the ground, but it never happens.

Before she can slam into anything, two large hands grab her under her legs and shoulder blades, holding them both and pulling them away from the floor. The event is sudden (Y/N) cannot comprehend what is happening, only seeing the face of a man both handsome and terrifying holding them in his arms, preventing them from falling to the ground.

(Y/N) feels the cold armor the man wears against her body, rising and falling with his agitated breathing. Long, frizzy black hair hides half of his face, and upon making eye contact, she is met with an unnaturally red eye.

At that moment, she falls prey to an overwhelming drowsiness, and can only think of her daughter as she falls asleep against her will.

......

"That was close, you know..." A male voice booms against her ears, as (Y/N) tries to gain order and command of her body. All her muscles feel exhausted as if she has gone days without moving. She struggles to open her eyes, but when she does, she finds a cozy room, lit only by candles.

A window indicates it is nighttime, and the mattress under her body feels comfortable and warm. Examining her surroundings, the woman notices she is lying on a large bed, and wearing clothes that are not hers.

"My daughter..." she whispers feebly, trying to sit up and get out of her comfortable rest. "Don't worry, she's fine. Last time I went to see her, Izuna was with her buying candy."

(Y/N) focuses her eyes on that disembodied voice, and is met with a heavenly image. A handsome man with prominent shoulders is sitting against the sliding door of the room, looking out into the starry night and admiring the view. He wears a yukata similar to the one she wears, but much bigger. Long black hair rains down his back, framing his defined jawline.

She might have blushed if finding her girl wasn't a priority, and the stranger seems aware of her urgency. "Izuna!" he shouts into the darkness of the night, and another man extremely similar to him immediately appears. In his arms, he carries the sleeping child, who embraces a bouquet of flowers and a small bag of candy.

"Ah... so she finally woke up. Does this mean our fun evenings are over?" the boy presumably named Izuna asks the sleeping toddler tenderly, as if she would answer. He gives the girl to the mysterious man, and carries her to (Y/N).

Hugging her daughter for the first time in what felt like years, she can't help the tears, kissing her head and remembering those events which brought them here. They both could have died in the middle of that battlefield, but life decided to give them more time.

Well, maybe not life, but that man.

"My name is Madara, and this is my younger brother Izuna... If I hadn't been there to deflect his attack, both of you would be charred right now." The younger man scratches the back of his neck guiltily, and sharing a glance with his older brother, leaves the room, disappearing back into the night.

"Of course, it was not purposeful... the colors you were wearing were easy to mistake for those of the enemy. My apology on behalf of us both." Madara analyses her from his position, arms crossed over his chest and a comprehending look. (Y/N) carefully deposits the small child on the bed, and cuddles her between covers for a peaceful sleep. She tries to get up, but her legs quickly give way under her, too weak to support her weight.

Before hitting the ground, Madara holds her, keeping her against his chest. He carries the woman to where he sat a few seconds ago, and takes a spot next to her. The night is beautiful, and a warm breeze is blowing in the garden, signaling wonderful weather. "Would you mind telling me your name?"

"(Y/N) ... I am (Y/N)." The place is exquisite, and the beautiful room she woke up in is nothing compared to her current view. All the clan's territory can be seen from her position, a million houses lit by fire.

"How long was I asleep...?"(Y/N) asks uncertainly. "About a week. We had to resort to the family healers for keeping you healthy. According to their professional prognosis, I was a bit aggressive with the Genjutsu I used on you."

"Gen...justu?" trying to understand the words and the situation, (Y/N) asks almost to herself, "I confirm you are not familiar with warfare in this territory...I assume you must have traveled from afar. What brought you here?"

"The legend about a wonderful clan and the promise of a good life..." There are tears in her eyes still, mentally going over all the troubles and the terrible experiences lived.

"Hm... that must be regarding Hashirama... Well, (Y/N), we may not be the Senjus, but life here is delightful and comfortable. You are invited to stay as long as you wish... Personally, I recommend not leaving anytime soon, Izuna is too fond of that child to allow it."

Madara stands and smiles at her, before disappearing into the darkness of the night like his younger brother.

........

It's been months since their accidental arrival at the Uchiha compound, but as Madara commented on their first night, life here is nice and beautiful.

(Y/N) found a stable place to live, friends to share with, and a promising future for her little girl. The child begged her mother to allow Izuna to train her, and she started developing in the ninja arts.

She learned a lot about the clan and the family, about their standards and ways of living. Madara did not disclose being the leader of it until a few weeks after she awoke, trying to help her adapt as best as possible and not intimidate her with his position. She understood the importance of the Uchiha family and the power Madara carries within, profoundly respecting him.

The two became extremely close, almost to an intimate point.

The Uchiha adores her little girl, and (Y/N) admits embracing him as a father figure every time she witnesses how the young child fills his hair with flowers or paints his lips bright red. Who would have thought one of the strongest men in the world could have such a soft and tender side for them both?

Seeing the leader of the family stroll around the compound decorated by her daughter was definitely a wonderful scene, especially as no one dared to comment on it, except Izuna. His younger brother was dedicated to teasing him from the first time it happened, until he fell victim to those little hands himself, and had to walk around full of flowers and paint in front of everyone.

Madara was right... they might not be the Senjus, but they were even better.

[natureboy96]

Tamlin and the Hybern Deal: Fumbling or Preplanned?

Preface:

a lot of criticism for the series can be directed at the quality of the writing or narrative. ultimately, I don't believe the series is interested in a more nuanced approach when it comes to a relationship coming apart or having the characters understanding each others' motivations in favor of promoting an escapist fantasy for overcoming a traumatic event. That being said, I am going to approach this event aiming to be more objective than the narrative, because that's generally how I look back on most books, even the ones I am really invest in personally. I understand why people may choose to simply accept the narrative as is for catharsis or vicarious comeuppance, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.

I've had a number of thoughts about this part of the story since I read ACOWAR, as I'm sure a number of people have. After a lengthy discussion on a different post with two very passionate and respectable fans of the series, however, I found myself thinking about and discussing points about the deal I hadn't thought about before, and I feel a proper assessment of the event is worth doing. I've come to my own conclusions on this based on what I have read/remember, but I imagine there are other conclusions people can draw as well.

Tamlin's motivation pt 1 - Feyre

The first knowledge we have of Tamlin's deal with Hybern is when he shows up there, and he and the King tells us he's made the deal to rescue Feyre from Rhysand. Getting Feyre back is the only motive he clearly states in ACOMAF, though in ACOWAR we get more reason to believe there could be more to it.

I still hold that it feels very disingenuous to say his motivation was solely to control her or treat her like a pet. We do know that, at least at the start of ACOMAF, he's very much blind to what Feyre's going through, a combination of their two traumas making actual, honest communication between them impossible. We also know that Tamlin's motives for his actions at the beginning of the book, as stated by him, are to protect her from every threat he couldn't before. He cares for her as the person he'd fallen in love with, and did not know the person she became after UtM.

After Feyre leaves, there is no credible reason for Tamlin to believe that she wants to stay away and wasn't taken by the "evil high lord who could control people's minds and who had sexually assaulted her for months in front of him", whom she had said she didn't want to be with. Tamlin was not informed by Lucien or his staff that Feyre was rescued willingly by Mor, including hiding the melted ring. A short letter written in her own hand could easily be coerced, not even with mind control. When Lucien went to find her and bring her back, she tells him that, "When you're trapped in the darkness long enough, the darkness stares back", and then produces massive bat wings. I can't see that as anything but confirming that she was corrupted by darkness, whether it was her decision or otherwise. That doesn't seem like the sort of message that means you don't need rescuing.

Lastly, we get to Hybern itself, when Feyre tells Tamlin directly that she does not want to go with him, and Tamlin learns they are mated. I'd point to the whole, 'evil mind controlling HL' again for why she might say it, but the mating bond would have made it even worse; we know for a fact mating bonds doesn't mean true love, and a lot of bonds end up terrible - imagine the woman you love mated to a monster she wanted to escape from? Either way, this part happens after the deal is made, and as Lucien mentions, the deal couldn't be reneged on without costing his life, even if he did believe her. And no, I don't consider a high lord including his inner circle in an alliance as wrong, for reasons I will elaborate on in the next section.

Tamlin's motivation pt 2 - Hybern's inevitability

at the beginning of ACOMAF, we know that Tamlin and Lucien are off on their territory's borders, supposedly hunting down Amarantha's threats and doing other war things. It isn't until later in the book that Rhysand tells us that Hybern is preparing for war, and that the Spring Court would be the first target, as Hybern wants to destroy the wall and reenslave the human population. We also learn that Tamlin and Lucien's trips to the border and war camps were also in anticipation to Hybern's plans.

The question, then, is why would Tamlin make a deal to let the invading kingdom into his lands, when his court would be the first on the chopping block, and when he's explicitly stated he hates slavery? Some point to this as being a poor decision/oversight on his part, sacrificing everything to get Feyre back.

We learn, early on in ACOWAR, that Tamlin’s deal for Feyre wasn’t just to get her back, but also to leave the people of the Spring Court undisturbed and untouched:

I would also call to Tamlin's evidence during the HL meeting (another topic worth a deeper look) as proof that Tamlin had plans for more than just rescuing Feyre with this deal. We know that Feyre has been at Spring for a few weeks at the start of ACOWAR and doesn't stay for much longer, past the Summer Solstice and a bit longer at that, but not much. An indeterminate amount of time passes after, without any notable events/holidays to track it (worth clarifying if people know otherwise) And yet, Tamlin has months worth of records on Hybern's movements and plans when he's at the High Lord meeting. It's possible he started gathering this information after Feyre left, but I find it harder to believe he wouldn't have started this planning from the beginning - it's clear when Feyre is there that he isn't just looking to play along with Feyre, and tries to tell her there is more going on than just a betrayal. Lucien actually confirms it himself when the two of them are fleeing from Spring and through Autumn - he confirms Tamlin was already playing the double agent when he made the deal, to use Hybern for their own ends and hope to rally support later:

Ianthe (who Hybern calls one of his own) states that Hybern is inevitable, and Rhysand and the IC plan and prepare through the two books along the same lines. It seems foolish for Tamlin to assume otherwise, especially with Ianthe's manipulation so close. And it's already been confirmed that Spring would be the first court to be invaded, for its proximity to the wall and human lands. That leaves Tamlin with a choice: Should he risk open warfare against Hybern, devastate his forces without guarantee the other lords will come to help? And even if he could manage to hold off Hybern (we learn well that even all the courts together couldn't do it together without Amren) what would the devastation be?

This is where I draw a parallel between Rhysand's choice with Amarantha and Tamlin's choice with Hybern. When Rhysand knew Amarantha would be inevitable, he decided to play a double agent in order to better protect people he could. The choice to work with Hybern, once it was clear they were inevitable, would be the best out of terrible choices. pretending to be on Hybern's side offers Tamlin the highest level of control he can manage in the face of an all out invasion. We see that this was part of Tamlin's planning; his bargain guarantees the safety of his people, and he's able to evacuate people to the east to protect them. It mitigates damage in a way he can protect more people than not.

Was Tamlin's planning, then, effective at all, especially seeing as Hybern's twins were daemati, and Feyre has to protect his and Lucien's minds because they couldn't guard their minds themselves? I would posit that, as far as the story goes, we only know of 5 daemati in the entire series; Rhys, Feyre (from Rhys' powers), the twins, and the unnamed daemati Rhys claims was the one to actually kill the kids (sloppy retcon, thin lie or legit story, impossible to tell). Rhjys mentions that daemati are super rare and highly prized, but no other court seems to have one in their arsenal, a skill that could be very useful in the middle of a war. We certainly know the Spring Court hasn't one, none they know about.

As for protecting oneself against a daemati's attack, we only have a single example of training one's mind, that being Rhys training Feyre. We haven't any confirmation that non daemati can even guard their minds from mental attacks, and even if they could, we've only seen it be done by another daemati, and Tamlin neither is nor has a daemati.

Furthermore, we have no confirmation that Tamlin or the Spring Court knew Hybern had powerful daemati on their side, or that the twins were themselves. Even if it could be assumed they were, there's no indication that the twins are daemati or that they would be the ones sent to Spring as emissaries. There are a lot of things you can't plan for when it comes to things you don't know, and something as rare as a mind controller seems hard to plan for.

As for the rest of Tamlin's plans... We can't know for sure what he might have planned to manage Hybern, because Feyre's manipulations affected anything he might have had planned. Whether you think it justified or not, Feyre's actions were calculated with the intent of driving a wedge between Tamlin and his people, using her Fae Sainthood to do so. Tamlin was put into more and more situations between her manipulation and Ianthe's, and because of the deal (and his attempt to remain looking as a good ally to Hybern) his hands were forced to make terrible decisions. If Tamlin had sided with a sentry over Ianthe, a Hybern agent and not just priestess, he would have risked the double agent position he was holding, and Feyre made sure he would be punished for these choices. Feyre is, as she was in ACOMAF, Tamlin's blindspot. His love had blinded himself to what she could do or needed, to her detriment in ACOMAF, and then his own and Spring Court in ACOWAR. Perhaps Tamlin had plans to protect his people and his lands better than he managed... We can never know, though, because Feyre chooses to act and the narrative hasn't been interested in explaining more. We also know, from Feyre's own words, that she was aware her plans would hurt more than just Tamlin and was willing to let Spring fall to better unite the rest of the courts to work together.

Conclusions

Based on the evidence in the text, we can come to the conclusion that Tamlin had used his deal with Hybern to try and better protect his Court, a plan that Lucien seems to confirm was in their thinking to begin with, and Tamlin confirms in the High Lord Meeting with follow through. We cannot know the full effect of his planning, whether it would have worked or not, due to Feyre's actions in Spring. Saying Tamlin's only motive for Hybern was to get Feyre back and he hadn't thought through/planned for Hybern seems to be proven false from Lucien's words.

[itzgruvia]

Gruvia fanfiction: hurt/comfort, sad and a little bit of fluff by the end.

Warning: mention of self-harm, depression, anxiety, bullying, and blood.

Original posted in AO3

____________________________________________

Juvia was never one to indulge herself into someone's personal business, unless she was asked for.

She was private herself, and she never wanted to ask for help or advice concerning her anxiety disorder, even if she deeply wanted to seek their comfort, but this isn't about Juvia.

it was about her only lover, her sweet man, and compassionate boyfriend.

Through out their intimacy and romantic relationship-which was still developing- they always tried to share their problems, their insecurities, it has been difficult for both, especially for a person like Gray, always wearing a ghost-like shield to separate his friends from his life.

Juvia could say the same thing about herself, mostly because she doesn't want to bother people.

But they went through this, they discussed about it and how they'll try to lean on each other when it gets too hard, and so far they have been showing a little bit of vulnerability.

At least that's what Juvia thought.

It was a late afternoon, Juvia was finally done with her classes and ready to join her friends in the FT salon room, and end the evening with a nap, she can feel a headache coming to upturn her night.

She wanted to take the stairs rather than the elevator, to get her legs pumping after sitting in the hard wooden chairs in her class, it makes her legs numb and uncomfortable, And once she was about to take the next stairs, she heard murmuring, two people were conversing in hushed tones. it didn't take her too long to realize who thery were.

Gray and Erza, of course no one can miss her orotund voice.

Juvia knows they were having a private conversation, something she shouldn't be listening to, but she couldn't budge from her crouching position ( how did she get to crouch in the first place?).

She wasn't jealous, she is very much confident about that, because she knows better than be jealous of Erza, and despite her overriding imagination and her traumatic past that deprived her from having any trust towards her new friends, she believed that Erza is better than a cheating friend. moreover, she wouldn't do this to Jellal, or Gray or to her.

But Juvia had a feeling that this might be something she had to hear, even if she'll feel guilty after it.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Erza asked, rarely does Juvia get to hear worry laced in her voice.

"Yeah" Gray replied, although it took him a brief moment to do so. Matter of fact, she noticed how tired he got in the last few days, but she didn't worry too much about it, she assumed it might be university loads of assignments.

"You know you can talk to me about anything" she assured the boy, a weird sense of worrisome began to crawl over Juvia; why is she pushing him to speak up? must there be some history that Gray didn't bother to mention to her?

"I am alright Erza... trust me" he responded.

there was quietness for a moment, Juvia urged to take a little peak from where she is hiding but she doesn't want to risk being founded, it will cause problems and Gray might even be disgusted and break up with her and all her friends will find her weird and leave her alone like before-

her exaggerated overthinking stopped abruptly when she heard the rustling of fabrics.

she carefully leaned to see that Erza was rubbing his arm in comfort. It was all peculiar to her.... well maybe not new but unusual, especially to Gray, she isn't that affectionate compared to Natsu and Lucy.

Well, if Juvia were to be general, the Red haired woman was never this gentle with anyone but she has her motherly moments.

so this was very surprising for Juvia, and it made the worrying pit in her stomach stronger.

"If ... you have the idea of doin-"

" I am not going to do it" he retorted, in a rather sharp manner, he sighed after a moment.

"I swear it's nothing like that... I'm just tired" he added, less bothered than before.

"Alright... let me know when you need me, okay?" gripping his shoulder gently, Juvia could see the nod of her boyfriend; he agreed.

once they started to move, Juvia panicked for a second, if they do find her here she'll throw a bunch of stuttering words thus making her look like an idiot and ending her perfect romance.

but instead, they both agreed to take the elevator down to the common room ( which made her remember to go there as soon as she undress from her outfit), fortunately for her, she doesn't have to stand in an awkward anxiety inducing situation.

Once she heard their voices disappearing and the sound of the elevator, she slowly left her hiding place and ran upstairs to her dorm floor, all while her brain is racking through what she had heard.

Gray is hiding something from her and he doesn't want to tell her. That's one thing she is confident about.

But what she doesn't know is the content, what he is going through, is it bigger problem than she can imagine? She has never seen Erza that worried and particulary towards Gray.

it says a lot.

the loud chattering of her friends didn't distract her from her circling thoughts about Gray, he was sitting next her, their knees touching while arguing with Lucy about whatever topic that Juvia didn't bother to listen to.

She doesn't know if she should ask him about it, she feels like she might be pushing him into a corner and making him pour out his stress out and that's not something Gray is found of, she knew that by experience and she doesn't want to make the same mistake.

However, she is scared, what if ... it's a huge thing that concerns his life? She knows that Gray tasted that empty sense of life once when he was young, he told her that and Juvia cried by the end which made Gray nervous.

And what if Gray isn't happy? what if he doesn't want to ... go on anymore? she can't always trust his pretty smile, she can't be reassured by that even if she knows him by the back of her hand.

"Juvia?" her beloved's sexy! voice called out to her, while nudging her knee with his slightly. She snapped out of her haze, and looked at him.

he didn't look all worried but the usual frown on his face slightly changed, something that meant that he was observing her silent demeanor.

once she immediately set her eyes on his beautiful handsome face, she fought against the overthinking of hers. Gray would do that no more, not after what he told her; the fact that she was here with him and breathing with him was enough for him to continue living (his words not hers).

so maybe Juvia is overthinking it.

"what are you thinking about?" , he asked.

she blinked, feeling nervous after she got caught dazing in front of her friends, although she couldn't see Lucy in her spot anymore.

"it's nothing, just some assignments to do" she chuckled to hide the nervousness from her voice, but she knows that she failed just by forcing that small laugh from her lips.

Gray kept looking at her, an invitation to vent about whatever is eating her up, but Juvia doesn't know how she can bring forth a subject that concerns him, plus how can she tell him that she was eavesdropping into a private conversation?

.... it's not like she followed them, it was a coincidence.

However, if she stores this worry to herself, it will haunt her tonight, and she has an assignment test tomorrow, she can't afford to go without sleep in her system (not like she never done that before).

Maybe stating it at first won't make it a problem.

"well... I heard something today" she began, fiddling with her fingers in her lap.

Gray leaned on his arms, his elbows on top of his knees, she felt a little bit comfortable talking with the fond gaze that he is wearing in his face.

"I accidentally heard you and Erza talk about something today, in the staircase.." she told him, not daring to look at his eyes.

"Juvia didn't mean to first of all, but based on the conversation, Juvia is feeling a little bit worried about you..."

she finally glanced at him and she felt the anxiety pile up in her stomach.

Gray's face was... conflicting, like he was scared but he is masking it with anger.

" you were eavesdropping? what the hell Juvia-"

"Juvia wasn't! I was taking the stairs!"

"you never take the stairs!"

"i do when I want to walk!" Juvia never wanted to raise her voice at her beloved, but the way he is taking the conversation was ... nerving, as if he is accusing her of discovering a secret door that holds his deepest scars.

he got up from the coach, ready to leave the conversation, running away from it.

"My love, Juvia was just asking!" Juvia tried to follow after him.

"don't ask questions I won't answer Juvia!" he looked back, harsh expression covering the fear in his eyes.

Juvia gathered a moment to breath in, she doesn't want her anger to control her emotion, but it made her feel so unfair, it was so unfair that she got to share her deepest scars, her trauma, her fear, her joy, her sadness.

and he offered her everything, so why is he pushing her away?

" what is it that you are hiding from me?" she asked quietly.

" I don't need to tell you"

"that's so unfair!" she yelled, her fists clenched from her sides, and she finally blurted it out, in she failed on keep her emotions controlled.

she can see her friends coming through the entrance door, concerned over the raised voices. It is actually way more concerning when it's the rarest couples who fight.

Gray looked taken back by Juvia's tone. She rarely does that to anyone, but if she did it towards him, it indicates that there's something bigger.

"i always reach out to you, even when I am afraid" she continued, she felt her face heat up like a furnace.

" so what are you afraid of?"

the question triggered something in Gray. She can see his usual frown vanish from his face, and for a moment she saw him scared, as if she caught a glimpse over his past self.

but Gray clenched his jaw and turned around to leave, Cana and Lucy didn't try to reach out to him, they just let him leave with their mouth agape from what they've witnessed.

Juvia felt the frustration hitting her at once, clenching her hair tightly, she can sense the painful clutch.

she fell back into the couch, huffing in disappointment.

It turns out asking him was a problem.

Gray is hating himself, no matter how much he blasts the music into his ears, it couldn't block the loud noises in his head.

he admits that this was the worst fight he ever had with Juvia, everything was sudden to him, like a slap to his face, Juvia never yelled at him with anger, actually, she never yelled at anyone before.

but it's his fault anyways, he was defensive because he was a coward, who didn't want to show his scars to her. how could he? Juvia was a gentle soul although she always tries to deny it with her past "Shameful acts" of whatever, but everyone has their own piece of tainted wrongdoings.

Gray doesn't care if she killed someone before, she is still that blinding sunlight that engulfs his cold chest with warmth.

and he is afraid that if he pulls up his sweater and shows what he did to his wrists will make her see him in a different way, whether with disgust, fear, or pity.

he had seen those people before. he met them, and he was friends with them before they stripped him from his secret self-harming and pulled down their masks to reveal their true colors.

pity, disgust, fear...

if only Erza hadn't stopped him in the staircase, if only she wasn't so frightened-

Gray sighed, he pulled his headphones away from his ears.

no he thought, here's no one else to blame but me.

come to think of it, Erza had the right to ask him about his wellbeing, he kind of found it hard to keep on the same damned routine of university, and on top of that the unnecessary load of assignments he has to do, it makes him anxious just the thought of them.

but it doesn't matter now, he had another problem to fix...

Gray was never a fan of communication, and after today? he can sure label himself as the worst at communication, he shouldn't have yelled at her, he shouldn't have looked at her that way, she deserves better.

maybe if he could just end it.

"when you face a problem with someone you love, you harvest your self-hater and think that people deserve much better than you do, and then you end everything."

she heard him coming closer to her place, where she is swinging her legs from the rooftop. She would have been terrified if there wasn't another rooftop built right under it, so the fear of breaking a leg or two from a fall is impossible to happen.

she felt a heavy weight over her body, warmth embraced her as she slowly tugged the coat with her fingers, although she wasn't feeling the cold.

she saw from the corner of her eye,Gray shifting his position over the railing of the roof, leaving his legs dangling similarly as hers. she didn't have the courage to look at his face again, which made her frustrated to death, because the silence hanging between them was driving her mad.

should she say something? should she start by apologizing? she could if the heavy lump didn't pressure her from forming words.

"I'm sorry", she heard him say, oh so softly that made her heart hammer with speed.

why should he apologize when she started this whole mess? she opened her lips to argue against who's fault it was, but he beat her into it, " I didn't mean to yell at you"

Juvia finally turned her head to look at him, he was avoiding her eyes and instead looking blowing them, his black messy hair was moved by the wind of the season, and it made him look so ethereal.

she shook her head instead and looked below them as well. She noticed a small creature-probably a squirell- settling himself in one of the tree branches, enjoying his treat.

"Juvia is the one who is sorry, I shouldn't have listened to your conversation.."

" I could have just explained what you heard instead", this time their eyes locked at each other, she feels the heavy awkward air began to shift away alongside the wind.

she would be lying if she said that she wasn't curious about their conversation because she knows that if they don't discuss it right now she will be left with a sleepless night, yet she doesn't want to push him into pouring down his scars if he doesn't want to.

"Juvia doesn't want to pressure you-"

"I want to."

he interrupted her, and Juvia doesn't have a choice but to listen and give in into her curiosity impulse.

Gray took a breath, and Juvia felt the nervousness seeping from him, so she hesitantly offered her hand towards him, she doesn't know if he is comfortable about it or not, so an offering is better than a bold move, like she usually does.

He looked surprisingly at her hand and smiled slightly, grabbing her hand while interlocking their fingers together, "you usually just hold it, why are you being polite?" he said, pointing out the fact that she is impolite when it comes to showing her affection towards him.

Juvia snort:" for now I'll be polite "

she grasped his hand for reassurance, and smiled at him.

"well.." he began, "since you know that I didn't enjoy my life in Korea, and that I had to work a lot and study everyday like some slave, and why my mental health was dropping all the way down" , he stopped for a moment, breathing in through his nose, and exhaling; and Juvia waited patiently, she could even wait for ages she won't mind.

"I used something so I won't try and kill myself"

Juvia's worrying pit started expanding, making her whole body tense with the thoughts running over her head about her beloved hurting himself.

" I used to self-harm."

the blue-haired girl remembers the feeling of being absorbed by fear, how her whole body freezes whenever she encounters a crowd, how the fright will make her shiver non-stop and her mind draws blank. She is familiar with this.

but she never felt fear choking her being like right now.

self-harm.

just the thought of seeing her lover sinking those sharp razors to his wrist so he wouldn't try suicide as an option, she felt like crying.

Gray broke the eye contact between each other, realizing how much of a shock that might have been to her, she can sense how tightly he is holding her hand right now, as if she would run away from him any moment.

"i am sorry" he apologized, he looked dejected, and Juvia could maybe see a glimpse of his old self.

but why is he apologizing? does he think that she'll run away out of disgust from what he suffered? does he think that Juvia would leave him because he had other means to keep himself from dying?

"Do you think that Juvia will leave you?" Gray didn't glance at her, so she grabbed his chin with her hand, turning his head to look at his grey eyes, they were red, ready to brim with tears. "This isn't your fault, and ju via wouldn't even think of leaving your side after opening up to me."

she can feel the tone of her voice quiver, but she held it because her sweet lover man is the one who has the right to tear about it, not her, no matter how much she wants to.

"you are very brave my love." she said softly, cradling his cheek, which were cold under her hand. she knows that he won't believe it, not now at least, it might need time for him to realize how courageous and strong he is, she is aware that he went through this all alone.

"i am not going to leave you alone, Juvia promises on her life."

the lid broke and everything in it scattered out.

Gray cried silently, and Juvia brought his head into her chest, to cradle him from all the pain and the danger of the world, she can sense her own tears ready to fall like a rain shower.

they held each other tightly under the glimmer of the stars and the dark sky, while the whistles of the wind gave them a bittersweet shiver, but all they could feel was each other's warmth.

Gray wants to not give in into his self-blame tendency, and while it's hard, opening up to Juvia made him feel that something clicked, like a puzzle joining to fill a whole picture.

Juvia completes him.

and so they cried, their fingers still locked together and the time passed not knowing for how long they were in each other's embrace. and nobody broke their heartfelt moment.

[ceo-of-stealing-ur-fucking-teeth]

Content Warning: Religious Trauma, Religious, Emotional, Physical, Sexual, and Child Abuse

As a Catholic Kid, I was taught three things very early on;

1. Gods love was unconditional

2. Until there were conditions he, or the adults in my life didn’t like

3. And then his anger was terrible.

Many people who have dealt with toxic families, either by being in one, or by being a social worker, therapist, teacher, or any other aid of that nature, might recognize a lot of these. I’m of the first category.

My Catholic upbringing groomed me for abuse from an early age.

God loved gays. Until said gays wanted to do things like have relationships, or exist more loudly in the world, or deviate in any way from what my Catholic family found appropriate. Like having the audacity to want to be married. “I’ll love you, and whoever you choose to love.” My divorced Catholic mother told me, one day when I’m confronting her. “But we will not recognize a marriage.” “Why can’t one of my children be straight!” She laments, when another kid comes out. She doesn’t remember the pictures she’d allow to be painted of loneliness and damnation for her young queer child, the noises of judgment and the hushed whispers of relatives that brought shame to the family. The tone of Justice when something bad would happen to a gay person, like somehow they’d earned their fate with AIDS, or at the hands some some drunk redneck.

God loves Children. That’s why he hates abortion. Nevermind that there’s descriptions of how to provide them in the bible. He wants you to yell at women going into clinics, even the young teenage girls who said no, who couldn’t say no, who said yes but had no resources to know about safe sex, or even the ones who just wanted to have fun. They don’t get a childhood, it’s been taken, they don’t deserve it. They don’t own their bodies, and never will. Despite God getting a young woman pregnant out of wedlock. At least he asked for consent. He loves all the starving children, the LGBTQ+ children kicked out of their homes by his adherents, the ones in Warzones, the ones being killed. Suffering, while he watches. Sometimes blamed, because they didn’t believe in him the way we did. He even loves the victims of his church as they shuffle another priest off to another parish, leaving another group of children broken and traumatized.

God loves women. If they followed his ideal of womanhood. Don’t have sex except to have kids. But you’re faulty if you can’t and you shouldn’t try anything to fix it despite the judgement others feel for you and your defective body. And no abortion for you, even if the ultrasound tells you your baby, that you’ve carried for months, has no heartbeat, or half a brain, or is conjoined to their twin in a way that will insure they have no quality of life. Sacrifice everything for your husband and children. Be modest, be subservient. Never blame men, even when they grab you and grope you and tell you it’s fine, because you were probably leading them on. Don’t get divorced, even if you don’t love him anymore, even if he hurts you with words or fists, even if he’s useless around the home because the home is your job, no matter how much there is to shoulder. He works so hard as the head of the house, while he ignores his children and eats the food you make and can’t even figure out how to wash his laundry and he’ll just mess it up anyways, so why don’t you do it for him?

You don’t ask questions. You don’t. You obey mom and dad, even when they isolate you, and abuse you. You’re not mentally ill and young, you’re evil. You’re not chafing under their control and telling them that they’re hurting you, you’re venomous. You’re going to confession because you’re not honouring your parents. Nevermind that honour is nothing in that home. Hypocrisy is all you see from an early age, mother and father telling you one thing and doing another. You family lives a lie, and the other adults around you watch it and do nothing. Your priest, their friends in the church, good people of the Faith, see and hear things and let it happen because it’s none of their business. As a homeschooled child, you have no exposure to mandatory reporters, and they instilled a fear of the government in you that insures after a while you stop talking about it. If you go to foster care you’ll never see any of your siblings again, even though there were other family members who would have found out. Eventually so many things are internalized, the blame, the shame, the ahistorical understanding of the world, the fact that people deserve to suffer because that means they’re evil or faulty somehow. But god loves them! The sexism, the homophobia, xenophobia. A moment of I love you followed by days of screaming, blame, hitting. “Why are you cringing, you act like we beat you.” Then ten minutes later they walk up behind you, slap your skull to get your attention and demand to know why the cupboard was left open. On, and on.

Pain and suffering are Gods will. Fetishized, with bloody crucifixes and stories of martyrs. Especially yours, and people like you. It’s in the books you read and on the lips of adults who you trust. It’s used to justify hurting others because they’re different or making mistakes. Love and pain and cruelty become tangled in each other.

You think about hell, and you’re very small, and you start crying because you already know that you’re making God angry and sad because that’s how your parents talk to you. And you don’t know it yet but it’s going to get worse. You’re going to grow up preconditioned for people to hurt you.

But God loves you unconditionally.

[decepti-thots]

If it's not too much trouble, could you explain in simple terms what makes Spotlight: Arcee transmisogynistic? I feel like I must be missing something.

I get that it probably has to do with her being crazy violent and out for revenge because of a forced sex (and gender???) change and that she didn't ask for or agree with, but is that all there is to it?

This is an honest question and I am not trying to troll btw.

I'm happy to share my thoughts with you on it (below a cut, because the subject matter is less fun than I usually tackle on this blog), but with a couple caveats.

First off, I wouldn't answer this if I felt completely ill-equipped to give an answer, naturally. But I do want to stress that this is an answer, one particular perspective from one particular person, and not a claim to any kind of authority; for context, while this opinion is heavily informed by the opinions of trans women I have spoken to and read the thoughts of regarding this comic over the years, I'm not one myself. And more broadly, nobody's opinion is ever going to cover every possible angle on a serious topic, and I can only speak for my own opinion on the matter, informed by the opinion of a few more who I respect. I'm just some rando. You should only ascribe the below as much respect as you think Some Rando Online TM deserves; probably not all that much, hah. ;)

Now that context has been established, what I actually think is below the cut.

I think it can help to put the stuff you bring up in this ask into a broader perspective to explain why these elements are transmisogynistic, which is something we can look at on a couple of levels. One of these is in the sense of how these elements interact with a broader history of similar tropes in pop culture, and another is a discussion of the surrounding context of Arcee having this kind of story told about her given the history of her representations in prior incarnations of TF comics. So let's tackle the former first.

So there's the trope of a forced "sex change" invoked as horror you highlight in this ask, which works to present the concept of "changing sex" in a shocking, traumatic and frequently graphic light; this is something found in all manner of schlocky horror media, hence why I refer to it here as an established and recognizable trope. Spotlight: Arcee did not invent it; the comic is riffing on a stock concept it understands an audience will recognize. (For a recent and particularly blatant example, google the 2016 film 'The Assignment'.)

While an argument can be put forth (and often is) that this only presents involuntary "sex changes" as scary things, distinct from the concept of someone undergoing a voluntary gender transition, that... well let's put it this way: involuntary forced gender surgeries are not a real problem. But they are often invoked as though they are a real problem to cast doubt on the ethics of all transition in real-world transphobic rhetoric, and so the use of them as a horror trope is far from neutral. Simply by suggesting such a thing really is something to be feared, you're implicitly acknowledging the existence of, basically, a transphobic conspiracy theory.

(A similar argument is often had in relation to the famous 'is Silence Of The Lambs really transphobic if it has a passage about how the serial killer isn't a REAL trans woman', regarding the fact that positing that there might be violent men pretending to be trans women to do terrible things is in itself simply an invitation to scrutinize trans women for signs of that supposed dangerous "fakery".)

Spotlight: Arcee on a conceptual level relies upon the idea its audience can accept this invocation of the concept and revel in the horror it inspires in them. Some things in fiction we accept despite them being clearly bullshit, obviously, but we are motivated to suspend our disbelief, and that motivation is often telling. Zombies aren't real, but we pretend they are because of what they do for a zombie story. (Or, if the zombie story sucks, we don't, and we laugh at its failure to convince us.) In Spotlight: Arcee, the motivation to accept the deeply unrealistic concept underpinning it is one that is motivated primarily by a misogyny it assumes is present in the opinions of its audience. Put a pin in that; we'll come back to my arguing that case later when we discuss Furman's prior work. The main takeaway here is that the comic invokes a common transphobic trope that exists to associate transition with violation and threat.

There is also, as you mention, the fact that the comic makes Arcee a woman (by its own internal logic, where surgically altering someone's body non-consensually does that by default) and then has that as the direct cause of her going into a violent frenzy. Needless to say, 'once she was given some indefinable Woman-ness, she lost her shit and became unreasonable' is uh. Well nobody ever accused Furman of being good at writing women of any description, did they.

This isn't specifically a transmisogynistic issue as much as it is just. A generically misogynist one. The transmisogyny comes in basically because it exists in the same story as the above, and so can't be separated from the whole 'forced sex change' trope.

It's especially worth mentioning Arcee is given some innate, obvious "woman-ness" attribute in-text, like it's something that emanates out from her in a way other characters cannot help but notice despite not knowing what a woman is. Arcee is like 'you can't HELP calling me 'she', you just KNOW that something about me is NOT LIKE YOU' so the metaphor is uh. Not subtle. Women have a Thing and the Thing is Woman-ness and also if you have it you go nuts. (Sidenote: as well as being offensive, this comic is just... REALLY badly written. This part makes no fucking sense.)

So those are the two main reasons it gets called transmisogynistic. Not only because of the things that happen in the comic, but because of how they interact with pre-existing stereotypes in broader pop culture and media.

But there's another reason Transformers fans specifically will point to this comic as an issue, and it's that this whole thing is Furman doing a meta-commentary on why he thinks "woman in Transformers comic bad". Furman has made it clear many times since his original run with Marvel that he thinks Transformers "having gender" is stupid- specifically, he thinks Transformers being women is stupid, because only women have gender and the default is implicitly masculine to him. (Optimus Prime being a masculine looking guy embodying stereotypically masculine traits voiced by a man who is called 'he' is fine, but Arcee is a no-no.)

He wrote a comic for Marvel about how Arcee was created to appease angry stupid human feminists, like this is in-universe why Marvel Arcee is a girl there- it reads completely as some sort of commentary on what he sees as 'political correctness' being forced onto the franchise.

And he kept doing this. His never-realised plans for the female characters in Dreamwave included all the women being revealed as Quintesson sleeper agents. Then, Spotlight: Arcee, where her existence as a woman is an artificial, deeply wrong imposition into a universe that has no need of her or anyone like her, a corruption of what these characters are "supposed" to be.

That it leans specifically on transmisogynistic tropes is less because it's deliberately going for that I think, and more because pop culture often pulls out transmisogyny to communicate a lot of the ideas here about womanhood as artificial or bad or corrupted or whatever. So when you reach for tropes to communicate these concepts, the overlap with media more specifically evoking transmisogyny is pretty much inevitable past a certain point. I don't think Furman wrote Arcee in this comic intending her to be a trans woman, even a horrible stereotype of one. I think he wrote her to be a metaphor for how "forcing" women into things where they "aren't needed" is unnatural and bad, and the easiest tropes that communicated that idea were ones about trans women, and what this says about society's broader transphobia is telling.

This was a lot of words to say about a short, bad comic that almost nobody has read by a guy whose career mostly consists, these days, of comics almost nobody reads. I probably wouldn't have wasted so many words on this comic except that I think it is a useful case study in how to recognise these sorts of things in works that sometimes evade notice because they profess not to technically "be about" trans folks. The key is not in what the "identities" of the characters are (they're fictional; they don't "have identities") as some defenders of S:A have insisted, but in what the tropes they use communicate and reinforce in a broader context. S:A is a shite comic. Don't read it. But if you read it, that's probably the most valuable thing you'll get out of it.

[professionalakazasimp]

Douma x Reader

Part 6

-Interactive game-

[AFAB reader]

Choice made:

"Agree but insist on knowing what he needs you for"

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, brief mention on corpses, messed up thoughts in general lmao

"I'd like to come with you, but I really need to know where we're going first." Your voice had a hint doubt and suspicion.

"Ah, this is a stubborn one." He thought to himself. He couldn't say he felt upset about it. Heck, he couldn't feel anything about it. Though he was a little amused to see you act all careful while already being his prisoner, his slave.

Though he couldn't just straight up tell you the truth to where he was taking you or what he was going to do to you, that would really make you fussy for sure.

"Aw, dear, but that'll ruin the surprise, will it not?

It really saddens me that even though I've done so much for you, you still don't trust me even a little."

You were dumbstruck, him saying this, it leaves you no choice. If you apologize and still wish to know more, it'd put a bad impression on him and he might even kick you out sooner, but if you do go—

You shake your head, repeating to yourself in your mind that if Douma had any bad intentions, he would've already done them, since you were just a defenseless, injured person at an unknown location.

"Ah sorry, I have trust issues because of past incidents. You don't need to tell me where we're going. I'll come along." You finally respond.

The fly really flew right into the web, huh?

"That's great! And it's okay, I wasn't upset anyway." He replied in a cheerful manner.

"I'll send you some nice clothes to wear soon. Be ready by 9, alright?"

He asked, but left before even hearing your answer. That's okay, you wouldn't have been able to answer him anyway. You were too busy processing what just happened.

~•◇•~

The sun went down, as did Douma down the staircase. He is a demon, and he has his own set of "responsibilities", but he doesn't really care. He wanted to have fun with you instead.

His plan for you was to take you to that one part in the forest he threw all the remains of his meals. It was quite a beautiful spot if you ignored the rows and piles of ribs, skulls and other bones.

He couldn't wait to see your reaction. It'll be so funny and cute, at least for him. It wasn't his fault he found it amusing to do this.

He wondered if you'd be terrified, traumatized, angry or all three.

Well, doesn't matter, all of them are entertaining reactions.

He'd decide whether to eat you, let you live or do something else to you after that and he had quite a few ideas.

~•◇•~

Some time passed and you finally got those clothes he was talking about.

A woman wearing a plain white kimono, with her hair tied into a bun brought it for you. She was weirdly quiet like the rest of the people here, and by "rest", you mean that one man you saw talking to Douna a while ago. There weren't many people here were there? Or maybe there were but you never got to speak to them.

Even after you thanked the woman in a cheerful voice, she simply nodded with her head facing facing downward and left. How strange.

"Woah..." you mumbled while inspecting the clothes sent to you. This was expensive stuff.

It was a red kimono with blue and purple lotus patterns in what seemed like water at the bottom. There was a blue sash with it too. It was really sweet to the eyes.

You wondered again why Douma was doing this for you. Could it be that...he likes you romantically? You really don't have many complaints if that's the case. You're willing to give it a shot.

You look at the clock on the wall, its 8:36 pm. You rush to get ready with what time you had.

~•◇•~

Finally out of the unguarded confines of your room, you walk around the mansion. It was kind of eerie despite being so clean and well kept. It had a few bright lights on the ceiling right above the hall accessible through the double staircase. Other than that, there were a few dim lanterns here and there.

Even though it wasn't wrong for you to be here, you felt like a princess trying to escape her prison in an unknown territory like in the books you often read. Maybe it was like that. You knew absolutely nothing right now. Not even knowing where to go from here or where Douma was.

[naluwalker]

Rinbachi, Rinbachi, Rinbachi

I have a lot of love for Rinbachi, so I suffer a lot from it being a somewhat strange couple within the fandom. This love comes in part from Rin and especially Bachira being my two favorite characters, so I like to constantly visit this couple's tag on Ao3.

My taste for crossover stories also makes me regret that there really aren't any good crossover stories about this couple, or at least I haven't been lucky enough to find any, so I'll start throwing out ideas here, to at least expel the insects that eat away at my brain.

Let's start:

Some time ago I found a Rinbachi fic in which after his fight with Sae, Rin simply sends everything to hell and leaves football to start dedicating himself to art, which surprised me quite a bit because considering that Rin is a person who literally He eats and breathes football one would think he would never give it up and continue like in the manga, using his anger as a shield and moving forward with determination and spite, but on the other hand, Sae also hurt him a lot and a normal person could also just let it all go and distance yourself from the sport simply so as not to be hurt again. If he doesn't have to play then he wouldn't have to see Sae again, right?

Knowing Blue Lock's Rin, he would never do it, but a Rin from a different universe could make this decision, and that's how this starts.

Attention to the crossover with Welcome to the Ballroom.

After the admittedly traumatic fight with Sae, Rin simply sinks into depression and abandons football completely. Just seeing a ball is painful, being on the field causes him a panic attack and he has a complete collapse. In another universe, the Itoshi couple does not pay much attention to how the relationship between both brothers deteriorates and the damage this causes in the future, in this Mayuri Itoshi, totally concerned about her son's mental health, but without knowing how to help she talks to her husband Jun to do something before Rin gets worse than he is and they both feel that staying in the house causes more damage than Rin can bear at the moment, so they send him to Rei Itoshi's house, the Jun's recently widowed mother, thinking it might be good for both of them in the long run.

In this way, Rin Itoshi ends up moving to her grandmother's very large mansion in Chiba.

Rei Itoshi is a woman of regal bearing, strict and cold like her name, without his grandfather by her side to soften her thornier side, Rin does not know how to interact with his grandmother and cannot even say that he knows much about her.

Despite this, Rin spends the first week of his new life peacefully, until Meguru Bachira arrives knocking on the door and making a fuss, disrupting his life again.

In another universe, Meguru Bachira and Rin Itoshi would meet years later in the middle of a survival of the fittest project created to test their desire for victory and, above all, their egos, in the Japanese soccer world. In this universe, Meguru Bachira was born with the opposite gender.

Having been born a woman, in a country like Japan and involved in a sport like soccer, no matter how much drive, talent or love for the sport she had, things were not on Meguru Bachira's side and unfortunately she was crushed by people's expectations around her, and the ensuing bullying caused her to leave the field halfway through her second year of middle school, even though she never put the ball down.

In the midst of the biggest downturn of his life, while dribbling around town, Meguru found himself helping a grumpy old woman find her lost purse. Having spent the next few hours helping said old woman find her lost bag, Meguru found herself approached by the old woman, who, having noticed her depressed state, sat her down next to her so she could tell him her worries and in that way, Meguru found herself minutes then crying profusely and spilling her guts in front of a total stranger.

The old woman patiently listened to the girl talk and vent for the next hour, about her situation, her desires, her dreams, and the damage that other people's expectations were doing to her, and that sometimes she felt like she was simply sinking, unable to handle her own feelings emotions and sometimes not even her mother's support could get her out of the spiral of anger, pain and sadness in which she was drowning.

By the time she finished, the night was closing in on them and Meguru's throat hurt, the old woman stared at her with her eyes the color of the frozen sea and she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. When she finally spoke, the old woman told her to see her the next day and gave her the direction of her house before simply getting up and leaving Meguru sitting on a small bench.

Meguru found herself the next morning standing in front of a mansion that was probably worth several times her own house and was beginning to feel nervous. When the old woman opened the door, Meguru was beginning to wonder if they were going to sell her organs somewhere before the grumpy old woman led her into the house and guided her towards a specific room, and when she entered, her mouth dropped open. what could only be a large ballroom.

The old woman introduced herself as Rei Itoshi, declared that Meguru would become a competitive ballroom dancer and that she was not allowed to refuse.

Even though any complaints she might have had crashed into the stone wall that was Rei Itoshi, Meguru decided to listen to the old woman and dove hard into ballroom dancing, and before she knew it, she was totally in love. It wasn't football and it would never be the same, but suddenly, Meguru didn't feel so alone or so pressured by others, and even if they still saw her strangely, Meguru found solace in the intensive training and muscle soreness that came with each day of training as she moved tirelessly around the room..

She learned a lot about dancing, and found herself becoming close with the woman who had forcibly brought her to the ballroom. She discovered that despite her strict and perfectionist character, Rei Itoshi was a bleeding heart and could not help others when she had the means to do so; that she had recently lost her beloved husband and was too stubborn to follow him so quickly, but the loneliness of his departure still haunted her strongly; that she loved her family, but without Kiyohiko there to soften her strong character she didn't know how to connect with them without being scorching and prickly; that she was worried about her eldest grandson, who was pursuing his dream abroad and barely communicated with his family; and mainly that Rei had been a competitive ballroom dance teacher for over fifteen years and had a gold medal at the World Games. She swears her jaw dropped when she heard that last bit.

As Meguru moved forward with competitive dancing, she ran into the annoying wall of her peers not lasting long. Either they couldn't keep up with her or they found her strange or creepy, and while the latter hurt her, the former were her main source of irritation. In soccer she could do things alone without them being a total impediment, here the partner was essential and she would throw a giant tantrum at Rei-baachan if she couldn't support her next partner for the time necessary to participate in competitions.

Then, while she was complaining about her situation she was informed that Rei's youngest grandson was moving into her house indefinitely and that she needed the boy to settle in and relax, so she had a week off and used it to find a competent companion or she wouldn't be allowed to train until she got one, much less participate in a competition. Meguru sometimes thought that Rei-baachan was a first-rate tyrant.

After a week of going around and asking every male acquaintance she had, Meguru finally returned with her tail between her legs to report her failure in her quest and face Grandma Rei's judgment, until she was met with the most turquoise eyes and the most toned legs she had ever seen.

Meguru Bachira only needed one look to decide that Rin Itoshi was the man she needed and she was determined to make her teacher's grandson her definitive companion.

On the other hand, Rin doesn't know how to get rid of this crazy girl who watched him for two seconds before jumping on him and asking, begging and crying for him to become her dance partner. His grandmother on the other hand doesn't even try to help him and she simply compliments the girl on her excellent eye for finding good men, Rin doesn't really want to know what that means. Thus, Rin Itoshi, like Meguru Bachira years before, finds himself thrust suddenly into a dance hall.

[echoghost1]

DannyMay Day 01 - Fantasy AU

Title: Things You Find In The Forest

Summary: Jazz's little brother was missing, but she was determined to find him. Even if no one else would help her. even if they all thought it pointless. She wasn't going to let superstitions hurt her brother.

No matter what, she'd find him.

Word Count: 1,357

Note: This is a sequel to Lost and Found!

Feel free to read on AO3 or down below the cut

Jazz was running out of options.

When she first noticed her brother wasn’t home, she asked her parents.

They hadn’t seen him. They thought he went out with his friends.

She asked his friends.

They said he had wanted to hang out but they had both been busy. They hadn’t seen him since school let out for the day hours earlier.

She asked around her friend and study groups if they had seen him.

They hadn’t.

She asked the local shopkeepers and restaurant owners if they had seen him.

They hadn’t.

She started asking people she didn’t know well if they had seen her brother.

They hadn’t.

She asked people she didn’t know at all. She asked people that might not even be locals if they knew anything.

They didn’t.

It was getting late, way past dinner time. Way past any time he had ever been late and he was still nowhere to be found.

Her parents stopped looking and started messing with their stupid anti-fairy traps.

She yelled at them for giving up so easily.

She stormed out of the house.

She went door to door.

She asked everyone.

No one knew anything.

She couldn’t believe that he could just disappear like that. Someone had to have seen him.

There was one last house she hadn’t gone to yet. It was the closest to the forest and the little old lady who lived inside wasn’t known for being very hospitable.

Jazz didn’t care about that right now. She had a brother to find.

She knocked on the cottage door.

The door opened to reveal an elderly woman, her body hunched and gnarled with age. “This better be important,” she snapped.

Jazz cut to the chase, “My brother is missing. Have you seen him?”

“Depends. What’s he look like.”

“He’s got dark hair, about this tall,” she held her hand up to give a visual approximation of how short he was.

Is.

“Does he have a red jacket?”

“Yes! Did you see him?”

“Yeah, I was tending to my garden when I saw a boy in a red jacket yesterday afternoon. He even stopped and helped me.” the old woman looked away and added softly, “No one ever helps me.”

Jazz smiled fondly at the thought of her brother’s generosity. It only made her want to find him more.

“Where did he go after he helped you?”

The old woman just looked at the forest. “I never did see him come out.”

“Oh thank you.” Jazz said. Her search was far from over, but at least now she had some direction.

“Why are you thanking me? I just gave you terrible news.”

“What are you talking about? You’re the first person who’s given me any clue at all of where to look.”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t look for him. He’s gone.”

“No. He’s just lost. He probably just got turned around in the dark. Or maybe he’s hurt. I can’t just leave him in there all alone.”

“Don’t they teach you children anything anymore? Have you all lost your sense of history?”

Jazz rolled her eyes with a huff, “I know the stories.”

“Then why aren’t you heeding them?”

“Because they’re just stories!” Jazz shouted back.

She normally didn’t argue with people about their beliefs but was just so frustrated. She was tired and angry.

Her little brother was missing and maybe hurt and this stupid old lady was implying he wasn’t worth finding.

The old lady, and even her own parents, weren’t looking for him because of some stupid myth about being in the forest after dark.

People probably didn’t come back from the forest at night because they got lost. They didn’t come back because no one in this stupid town would go look for them.

If they found their way back of course they were different. They got lost in the woods and were possibly traumatized. It didn’t help that they would be ostracized afterward.

“I’m going to find him.”

“Please don’t go. Your parents have already lost their son. Do they really need to lose their daughter too?”

“Stop talking about him like he’s dead! You don’t know!”

“If he isn’t dead. He’s one of them.”

Jazz turned away and marched into the forest.

She was going to find her brother.

She had to.

Even if it was the last thing she ever did.

===============================================

The forest was dark at night.

This was obvious and she knew it would be.

Knowing did not prepare her for just how dark it was.

She should have gone home to get supplies. She should have gotten someone to come with her.

She should have told someone she had a lead.

It was too late to go back now.

She nearly walked right into a fallen tree but was able to navigate around it.

She had to feel her way as she ducked under the branch.

She took a step and suddenly the forest was different.

It wasn’t nearly as dark. All the trees were in new locations and some were just completely new types of trees.

She was utterly lost and yet knew exactly where she was.

Her parents had told her all about it.

She put her head in her hands and dropped to her knees.

Why did they have to be right?

She tried to remember the things her parents told her. All the tips and tricks to get back if she ever found herself here.

But if she was here, maybe Danny was too.

She couldn’t leave until she found him.

She’d find him and then they’d go home.

Together.

There was a noise and Jazz jerked her attention back to her surroundings. She didn’t know if it was just the wind or if something was out there.

She heard the noise again. Something scraping against tree bark.

She looked up.

There was a boy in the tree. Sitting there, watching her.

How had she missed that?

He hopped down and walked over to her.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he approached.

She stood up and dusted off the dirt and grass from her pants. “I’m okay.”

Now that he was closer, she got a better look at him.

He reminded her of her brother, but then again, most boys his age did—especially ones with dark hair and kind eyes.

Although there was something different about this boy, he wasn’t like the others.

His hair was dark, but the longer she looked at it the more she realized it wasn’t just a dark pigment, but seemed to lack any color at all. It was like looking into pure darkness, so dark that the air around him glowed.

Or maybe it was just a trick of the light due to how fair his skin was. So delicate and pale, like moonlight on water.

The thing that drew her in the most was his eyes. Those big baby blues that were so impossibly blue. So deep and somehow endless, it was like looking up into the sky while in the middle of the ocean.

The moonlight skin, the pitch-black hair, and his endless blue eyes reminded her so much of the sky she felt like she was walking on air.

“Careful.”

“What?”

“If you keep your head in the clouds too long, you’ll float away.”

“I don’t want to float away.” Why was everything swaying?

“Then you need to keep your feet on the ground.”

But her feet were on the ground.

Weren’t they?

She looked and saw the toes of her shoes on the grass. She took a breath and firmly planted her heels on the ground.

She wasn’t sure why or when she started standing on her toes, but perhaps that’s why she had felt so off balance.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yeah, sorry. I must have gotten a little lightheaded. I’ve been walking for a while.”

“Oh! You’re hungry? Dinner’s just about ready, there’s plenty if you’d like some.”

She didn’t want to stop looking, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a little break, right? She’d be no good to him if she starved before she found him.

“Dinner sounds nice. Thank you.”

[proceduralpassion]

More Than A Woman | Chapter 01

A/N: Chapter one, here we go! Lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist...

WC: 1.5K

“Hi, Mr. Reyes. We spoke on the phone.” Her statement came out more like a question because Desi wasn’t so sure he’d even remember. He sounded like a ghost when they’d first talked and even as he walked into her office, his mind seemed elsewhere. His handshake was robotic and his eyes were vacant.

They both sat down across from each other.

Desi looked at him for a moment, taking in the anguish and darkness that emanated from him. 

“So how’s this go?”, he gestured between himself and the school’s psychologist, “He ain’t in trouble, is he?”

Desi shook her head immediately, “Oh, no no. This is more so a check-in, if anything. I was alerted of recent circumstances, Santi’s mother passing away… That’s a tough thing for anyone to go through, much less a six year old.” 

To acknowledge her comment, he absentmindedly nodded his head. Tough thing to go through. That was the fucking understatement of the year, he thought to himself. A moment passed and Angel realized he should speak.

“Yeah, we split, but kinda got good with the co-parenting thing. He mostly lived with her, though. I’m sure it’s been a lot for him.”

And because he hasn’t really been the most observant father, Angel kept his mouth shut about whether he saw any signs to worry about when it came to his son. That was okay, though, because Desi Maduro, Ed.S. had been attentive enough for the both of them. She had already had several conversations with the young boy and found he was surprisingly talkative for a kid who mostly stuck to himself in the classroom and playground.

“Yeah, he mentioned he would spend his weekends with you,” Desi spoke with a comforting smile. She let a pause hit the air before continuing, “Mr. Reyes, you have a resilient, intelligent, and sweet young boy. And like I said, while I’m not necessarily worried for him, I’d really like to encourage you to engage yourself more with him. Maybe start an open dialogue at home, so that he feels comfortable whenever he wants to share something-”

“My son is fine,” he interrupted sharply. His face was a mix of confusion and defensiveness as he looked at her.

Not wanting this conversation derailed sideways, she immediately conceded, “Of course! I have no doubt. I just figured I could give you a few things to look out for in the case should they arise. Grief is not as linear as one might think it is, so even if Santi seems fine, we still want to keep a close eye on him-”

“Explain that.” He interrupted again. At the look of uncertainty on her face, he prompted, “What you said before, that shit about an open dialogue and shit.. What did you mean?”

His tone was less aggressive this time and he even seemed a bit embarrassed, shy. The outburst was probably a reactionary thing, more than likely something culminating from his own grief from losing his child’s mother. But now, he seemed actually intent on listening and comprehending the foreign concept.

Desi smiled again, hoping she conveyed softness and understanding. “This is a whirlwind of a time for a young child. Kids thrive on stability and structure. A big part of that is gone now that Stephanie is no longer here. Even though he may still be too young to grasp the concept of death, it can still be traumatizing for a child to have someone in their life for as long as they can remember and then one day that person is no longer there. And you’d be surprised at the way kids can act out, even at his age. Now, again, Santiago hasn’t gotten into any trouble or displayed any behavior of concern, but we want to be proactive. He needs people that he can express his emotions to. Emotions that can be super big for such a small body. Being that you’re now his primary caretaker, it makes sense that that person should be you. Along with making sure you’re establishing a routine for him, you should also talk with him, be affectionate with him… I know you’re probably dealing with this loss yourself. It’s okay for him to know that you’re sad, too.”

Angel scoffed to himself. He focused hard to take in every word that she said and he couldn’t help but get more and more overwhelmed as she continued to go on. He didn’t know anything about putting together a daily routine; school was Santi’s fill of that while everyday at home could be unpredictable based on what the MC demanded of Angel at the moment. And affectionate? He shook his head to himself knowing he hadn’t been much of that lately. Disappointment filled his veins. If anything, Santi needed more affection now than ever, but Angel hadn’t been paying close enough attention to that. 

Desi watched the various emotions flash over his face and felt for him. He didn’t seem to be the kind who purposefully distanced himself from his son. He’d probably been wrapped up in his own grief while also carrying on with life. Of course, his child should come first, but she could see the remorse on his face as he came to some realizations.

After a moment, she allayed, “You don’t have to have all the answers. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is just listen.”

Angel nodded again, this time trying to put forth more effort into actually listening.

“What does he say? You’ve talked to him, right? So, what does he say? What does he talk about?” Angel inquired curiously. He winced as he prepared to hear her reply, not ready to know of some of the pain his son’s been feeling. 

“Well, it was obviously a very shocking thing to him, at first. He talked about how scary the funeral was,” Angel shook his head in suffering, knowing that he hadn’t even picked up on Santi’s fear. He wouldn’t have ever forced him to go if he knew the whole thing scared him. He harshly cursed himself, knowing that he potentially traumatized his son even further. Desi continued, politely ignoring his agony, “I think he’s only just now coming to terms that his mom is gone for good. Of course, I can see he still has moments where a particular emotion may spring up, but he’s not more or less withdrawn in class according to his teacher.” 

Again, Angel took the time to try and absorb the counselor’s words and what this all meant. He was, for sure, out of his depth and didn’t know where to start in attempting to be a more active parent. 

“I know that this is hard for both of you, but I think that establishing a routine and adding some structure to Santi’s will be beneficial for the both of you. Soon enough, you’re gonna have to learn how to help Santi have a life without his mother. Not so that he forgets her, but so that he knows how to move on and keep the memory of his mom alive.” 

But how? Angel thought to himself. 

And then he vocalized it.

“How do I do that?”

“Try. Obviously, it’s more to it than that, but don’t stop making an effort no matter how hard it is. Santi might not feel 100% comfortable sharing his feelings with you all the time, but the best thing you can do is to never stop trying. Mr. Reyes, this isn’t going to be a cake walk. But he’s young and I see a loving father sitting in front of me. That’s the most important thing.”

Angel smiled a little at that.

“And you’re sure he’s doing fine considering?”

“Yes. There may be little outbursts or behavioral changes as time passes, but there’s nothing that’s cause for concern right now,” she comforted. And then she added, “Try to put together a daily schedule for him to follow. Something fun to do when he gets home. And then homework time. Dinner and a bath. Simple things just to give him a little more normalcy.”

“Thank you,” He stood from his seat and nodded appreciatively at her. Turning towards the door, he adjusted his kutte and stretched out his long legs. Before he turned completely away, she handed him a post-it with her contact information on it and gestured to walk him out the door.

“You’re welcome. I really appreciate you taking the time to talk with me, Mr. Reyes. Please, I’d really love for us to keep in contact so we can manage Santi’s progress together.”

Angel nodded again, completely serious about trying to maintain contact with her. 

He wouldn’t keep this up anymore, it was time for him to step up and be the parent that Santi needed.

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Reyes. Have a good day!”

Angel took a final glance back at her as he walked out the school’s main exit. Her braids were wrapped up into a messy bun and a few of them fell around the frame of her face. She bid him off with a final, friendly smile and turned back towards her office. 

Tagging: @drabbles-mc @mijagif

[bubble-dream-inc]

Call me, little sunshine.

She moved like a desert creature: skittish and wary. As the years went by, she'd discover not even the sweating on her palms caused by the listering heat would wash away the blood on her hands; but even the most hostile wasteland could have a few minutes of pleasant weather and warm sunshine.

warnings: angst, mentions of death, grief, antimilitarism, slightly implied simon 'ghost' riley x oc

a/n: i wasn't going to post this because idk but the girls over the uselss server convinced me to <3 anyways this is one of my cod oc's (2,3) angsty backstory that i wrote for funsies and thought maybe someone here would enjoy reading or whatever!!!!

Some might say the environment you are in, shapes you, be it for better or for worse. Although the desert can be hostile, cruel, and unforgiving, Charlotte liked to think she had inherited its warmth. 

She used to take great comfort in the outback’s scorching heat. In the desert, not so much.

Most days she felt she could blend in with the scenery, like a lizard would, all warm colors and quietness. Tan skin, blonde hair, warm eyes. However, as she trailed the sand on an otherwise uneventful evening, fresh out of a long train ride, her body had never felt more exposed; ashamed, even. The sun burned the back of her neck - the long ponytail not working as well as she wished in cooling her down - and the pamphlet on her right hand might as well deteriorate with the amount of force her trembling grip had on it. The backpack on her shoulder felt like pure lead - much like the rest of her. 

A familiar beige house came into view. What would Mr. Harvey say of her decision? An optimistic part of her mind liked to think he’d approve. Of course, he had passed a long time ago, but his legacy lived with her for as long as she would get up early in the morning to punch dried out trees until her knuckles bled, his tutoring voice always in the back of her head, praising her whenever she felt her kicks rattle the bark with more force than intended. It was not like there was much else to do around these parts, but if it meant she would have the strength - and the muscles - of a grown ass bodybuilder being only an 18 year old woman - hey, she would take it. 

She doesn’t remember getting home, but reality seemed to kick in upon meeting her mother’s gentle gaze from across the garage. The once comforting gray, cold walls suddenly felt constricting, and she had to tear away from her blissfully unaware gaze, choosing to acknowledge her father’s legs from where he laid below his truck, the only part of him that was visible as he tinkered away. Charlie briefly wondered how her mechanic skills suit her on the path she chose a few days earlier. But again, her mother always scolded her for being too impulsive. 

“I’m leavin’.”

Heart beating crazed on her chest, she found solace in staring at the barren wasteland from beyond the garage door, a pregnant silence stilling the air until it was broken by her father’s awry chuckle.

“And where are you going, Charlie?”

In hindsight, she couldn’t tell if they at first thought it was a joke or if it was just denial, but the condescending tone made her shame burn even worse in her veins. As an only child, she knew it was selfish, and yet, she had no counter arguments that didn’t make her look even worse as a person. 

“I’m joining the army.” 

She was sure her mother went through the five stages of grief in front of her very own eyes in a matter of a minute. Screaming ensued, or not, her memory’s fuzzy on the details of this altercation - the brain tends to do that when it’s confronted by a traumatic event. Charlie just remembers her parent’s teary gazes and hoarse voices begging, pleading for her not to be stupid and throw herself out there in amidst of a brewing war; but Charlie liked the thrill, and she wanted more than the dusty landscape of the outback she called a home. With the propaganda pamphlet still clutch tight against her - uncreatively similar to the American’s one, with the Aussie version of Uncle Sam at the front -, she remembers packing her things and leaving. She always hated how cold the nights in the desert were, and a bittersweet taste took over her taste buds as she stared out the train window, the place she once called home fading into nothingness. 

——————————

Her back hurt. 

Scratch that, her whole body hurt, and the noon sun above her glistening skin wasn’t doing her any favors. Still, she took a moment to regain her breathing before getting up, eyes fiery with determination as she took yet again a fighting stance. Despite standing at 1,75 meters tall - above average for women - and made out of pure muscle ever since she was 15, her opponent managed to be even bigger than her, sneering down at Charlie as if she were a bug under her sole. Still, a hint of pride could be seen in her eyes.

“Not good enough, Morricone. Again.”

Grace Morgan, Corporal. She stood tall, menacing, and intimidating, and was as stern as they came, with arms the size of a small child, but, even if a rebellious part of her wanted to, Charlie couldn’t feel anything other than respect for her superior. Clearly not expecting hand to hand combat expertise from a recruit, the older woman had underestimated Charlie’s strength in training, and after the first victory, she was out to get her, putting her in her place as a rookie over and over again as the other recruits watched, with wide eyes, two behemoths of women fight over no prize in particular except an inflated ego. Not one for being prideful, Charlotte could appreciate the snide remarks on her stance and the flaws on her kicks, improving where she could whenever she’d strike next. A strand of long, dirty blonde hair fell on her eyes, the tight bun it was originally in already giving up after being thrown around so much and with so much violence, and it seemed Corporal Morgan had the same train of thought as she did. Grabbing her hair forcefully, she had Charlie on the ground in a second, tired, spent, and slightly humiliated, and as she felt the coarse training grounds scratch her face, she could hear a last remark from her superior.

“You’re pretty, I'll give you that, but long hair is a liability. If one of the bad guys grab you, they won’t be as merciful as I am.”

With that, she observed Charlie’s silent form under her for a moment before getting up and leaving under the hushed whispers of the recruits. As she sat up, she could hear a few remarks about how pissed Morgan was for having a recruit beat her up, and amongst that, a few snickers directed at her battered body, but she paid no mind to either of them, silently watching the woman’s figure retreat with great class, and deciding that, if she were to be like anyone else in base, it would be like her. 

A few hours later, she stood by the communal bathroom’s mirror, looking at herself for a good few minutes, a scissor laid forgotten on the sink. People would often comment on her eyes when she was a kid - a brown so light it looked ethereal, and always so bright and full of life - and she vowed to never let her lifestyle harden her gaze; it was the only thing she had left from her mother, after all. Her hair was a gift from her father, and she’d wonder how was she going to do this without majorly fucking up. Gears were her expertise, hair, not so much. 

Most women in the barracks were at the mess hall at that hour, so she’d taken solace in the fact that there was no one else around to see her in her predicament, but that hope was cut short when she heard the door opening, head snapping to it immediately only to be greeted by the sight of her bunkmate. Charlie gave her a small smile and a wave before returning to her staring contest with herself, paying no mind to the other woman’s quizzical gaze.

“You took Morgan’s advice to heart, eh?” She chuckled, getting close enough to see the scissors by Charlie’s hands. “I could do it for you.”

The blonde eyed her. Avery Zhao was a tiny thing, with a Chinese background and kind eyes, and they had both clicked the instant they were assigned the same bunk in the barracks. Charlie found it endearing how the top of her head barely reached her chin, and, oddly enough, her cheery demeanor awoke a primal instinct of protectiveness over her. Analyzing her black pixie cut, she hummed, having seen the other woman cutting her own hair a few times in the same bathroom they stood in, in the end deciding it couldn’t end up worse than if she did it on her own. After agreeing, the grin on Avery’s face made her feel both giddy and fearful. 

A little over 40 minutes later, Charlie stared at herself in the mirror again, now with a heap of blond locks lying on the floor, and tried to wrap her head around the neck length hair framing her face. She was pretty sure it didn’t get too along with the hair rules, but seemed practical enough. Reaching up with the elastic on her wrist, she pulled the top into a half ponytail, content with the way it felt. Looking back at Avery, she found her friend already grinning at her, and was unable to stop herself from smiling too. 

——————————

Sitting in a lone crate in the already busy base - despite it being 5 am - , Charlotte wished she still had the propaganda pamphlet so she could set fire to it. They’d sworn she’d be a hero, but, a few days after coming back from her first deployment, she certainly didn’t feel like one while she woke up in cold sweat, plagued by nightmares of her blood stained hands every night. With trembling hands, she lit a cigarette, a terrible habit she didn’t have before joining the army, and sighed, letting the nicotine smoke fill her lungs in hope it would kill her sooner; that is, if a bullet didn’t first. Lost in thought, she missed the figure that sat down besides her.

“Rough night?” 

Charlie scoffed, not turning to look at her friend.

“You know it, you were just on top of me.” 

Avery laughed, even if a bit strained.

“That sounds wrong, mate.” 

Charlie huffed something akin to a chuckle, and they stood in silence, content in just basking in each other’s presence and watching the fellow soldiers and base staff running around, glad they didn’t have anywhere to be for at least a few hours. Once again, after a few minutes, it was Avery who broke the silence.

“Do you miss home?” 

Charlie hummed, thinking about the last time she’d seen her parents, surprising herself with the apathy she felt over the memory. 

“Not really. Do you?”

“Nah.” 

She didn’t pry, but from tidbits of conversations here and there, Charlie had realized Avery didn’t have a family anymore, and occasionally she would wonder how that felt, as opposed to having a family but knowing you can’t go back to them. Her dark eyes turned to Charlie again.

“I’ve never been to the outback. What do you guys have that’s interesting out there?”

“Nothing. Just dust.” 

Avery chuckled, and Charlie couldn’t stop her own smile from forming upon seeing her friend in such high spirits. She didn’t expect to care for the fellow soldier as much as she did when she first enlisted, but it was well known by now that their life in the military was anything but predictable. 

“Well, there was you, too. Unless you are also, just dust?” 

“Might as well be at this point. Feel like it.” 

Getting up and fixing her pants, Avery held a hand out, grinning mischievously.

“Well then, Miss Dust, let’s stop wallowing in our sadness and run some laps, yeah?” 

Charlie accepted her hand, but not without shooting her a displeased look under an arched eyebrow as they left in the direction of the training grounds, footsteps easily falling into rhythm together.

“Miss Dust? Seriously?”

“Don’t fight it, darl’, you’ll make it worse.” 

——————————

It was hot. 

She was no stranger to the desert, but experiencing the summer Egypt sun while in tactical gear was certainly something new. For the first time in forever, she was actually glad for the deployment; it meant something to get her mind off things since going to the gym or running around the base until her feet bled wasn’t doing it anymore. 

Avery’s dog tags were heavy on her right pocket, a grim reminder of the life she chose seven years before, taunting her with the thin metal of their nature that might as well weigh a million kilos. Leaning against the tank she was currently close to, she sighed, fishing her breast pocket for a cigarette, when her fingers brushed against a piece of paper. Gingerly taking it out, she stared at the picture for a few moments, expressionless. It was another recruit that had taken it during basic training, a very tired, yet starry eyed Charlotte stood beaming next to an equally giddy Avery, everything in their appearances being complete opposites, and yet, they looked like they were friends their whole life. She wondered how much more dull her eyes must have been as opposed to the picture, deciding she wouldn’t like the answer. Charlie missed her long hair sometimes. She couldn’t cut it as well as Zhao did. 

“Corporal.” 

She heard the authoritative voice of Morgan call her, instantly stiffening up to greet her superior - now a Sergeant, but her hand stopped her in a motion to relax as she leaned against the tank beside her. Eyeing the picture still clutch tight on her subordinate’s hand, the Sergeant hummed.

“You looked good here. Happier, too.”

Charlie scoffed, refusing to even pretend to smile for once.

“I guess war tends to do that to people, eh?”

The Sergeant, for once, stood quietly by Charlie, content with just watching the movement around them before speaking again.

“There’s no time to regret your actions in this line of work. Regret leads to overthinking, and overthinking gets you killed.” She hummed wistfully, and Charlie could appreciate her odd way of trying to comfort her. “Being bitter and feeling guilty won’t change shit. If you want to honor her, deal with it the way she would have asked you to; with the same annoying cheeriness you both shared first thing in the morning everyday.”

She mulled over her superior’s harsh words, hating how right she was. Of course, she could argue that maybe if she was there, Avery wouldn’t have stepped on that mine. Maybe it was supposed to be her instead. Or if she’d convinced her friend to leave the army altogether like she wanted to, they wouldn’t be having that conversation. But she’d never know. Staring at the picture, she remembered Mr. Harvey, who so kindly dedicated so much of his time to teaching her how to fight when he could have been enjoying his old age peacefully. How many more dead people could she carry on her back? Even so, who would carry her on their back when she was gone too? Not that it mattered. Avery used to always say how much she liked Dust’s ‘sunshine behavior’, as she called it, so if that’s what it took to make her friend immortalized, then so be it. Pocketing the polaroid once again, she managed to give Sergeant Morgan a forced smile, to which she hummed in response, satisfied. 

Gazing into the Egypt sunset, sky colored by orange hues that reminded her of the warm desert back home, she decided it was time to bury Charlotte Morricone in the sand, leaving only sunshine Corporal Dust. 

——————————

Dust remembers as clear as day the day she met Lieutenant Ghost. 

She had heard of the 141 before, the taskforce famous for being made out of only the pure elite, however, the rumors didn’t do it justice as she got out of the heli in an unfamiliar base to greet Captain Price. Being overly cautious as ever, she quickly glanced around everywhere to take in the sights of the base, the other people, the 141 members present, and, most importantly, the absolutely gigantic skull-masked man silently watching her every movement. She’d heard many things about him, but nothing prepared her for the fascination she felt being in front of legend himself. His mask instantly caught her attention - and she remembered her odd collection of animal skulls she encountered randomly back in the Australian desert. That seemed like ages ago.

He reminded her of a Desert Death Adder, with their thick bodies, intense eyes, and sharp fangs full of venom. Most people who’d have the misfortune of encountering one would quake in fear, but Dust was always fascinated by snakes, especially the venomous ones, since they weren’t that different from the harmless ones, to an extent - neither of them chose to be more or less lethal. And, they wouldn’t attack you unless provoked. She knew better than to provoke the Lieutenant, but a part of her wanted to know if his venom was as strong as they said his bite was. She had been bitten by a Desert Death Adder as a child, but the only thing she remembers from that day wasn’t the frantic trip to the nearest hospital - still too far away -, but the regret she felt of not having seen the snake in better detail. Her mother would always say her curiosity would be the death of her one day, as had the other soldiers in her old base warned her to steer clear of the British man when they’d heard her services as military hire were being needed in the taskforce, but she was willing to take her risks. Alas, she’d always been attracted to danger.

His eyes were on her, dark and wary, unwavering even once she bravely retributed the eye contact - she was never one to back down from a challenge, even if it came from a superior - and a part of her found it endearing how expressive he could be, considering his hues, covered in black paint, were the only visible part of his face. Clear as day, he was her complete opposite: dark, and all cool tones and sharp edges. Her mother would have giggled and told her about how ‘opposites attract’, ever the hopeless romantic. No, thinking better on it, she wouldn’t; she would be horrified to see how intrigued her daughter was with such a scary, colossal killing machine of a man.

A friendly smile was plastered on her face - as usual - and she quickly fell into witty banter with Sergeant Soap - what kinda name even was that? -  while they headed to the debriefing room, the looming presence of the Lieutenant right behind them. In the distance, she could see a few other women, in particular a tall-ish redhead - who was wearing what looked to be a pilot uniform - and a short Asian girl who looked a lot like Avery catching her eye. They both looked at her direction, feeling her gaze; The redhead gave her a sweet smile, waving, and the short one gave her a nod in acknowledgement, the feminine presence of them easing Dust’s nerves considerably. She’d have to find the two of them later. 

As she made her way around base, she was hit with a dejá-vu, as if she had walked the light concrete of the unfamiliar base floor before, and an odd feeling filled her chest, something deep in her gut telling her she would be making a home out of those gray, cold walls and the small task force surrounding her.

[staytilspringday]

Thoughts on Saintmaker (2023)

A haunted convent. Statues that move on their own. A buried past. Welcome to Saint Idelora’s convent, where becoming a saint comes with a price.

Yangyang did it again!  I was very excited to play their latest game and I’ve been meaning to sit down and talk about it, so this might be a lengthy post. Also, haven’t 100% completed so I might miss some things! WARNING: Spoilers

1. Themes There’s an emphasis on family, religion and being as close to saintly as you can (omg she said it har har). I think that one of the strengths of Yangyang’s visual novels, is the relationship between the characters, and this is no exception. Holly does have to go through a lot (and by that, i have no idea how long the recollection in game is supposed to be but it can’t be a month so its a lot over a few days) but it’s clear that her relationship with her family has shaped her into being a peace keeping doormat, as much as she hates it. 2. Choices, Choices On my second playthrough, I played with a friend who was frustrated that Holly wouldn’t follow through with the choices she choose but it makes perfect sense. Holly spent years as the peace keeper to not rock the boat, a random voice in her head isn’t going to make her suddenly snap and yell at other people. You influence her actions, but you don’t get to choose if that makes sense. In this regard, it reminds me of Cupid, in that you tell the protagonist this or that, which can affect their actions but they can rebel against you. There are brief segments where you get to play Adira, the presiding nun for the recollection, as she fixes and repaints the statues in the convent. It was only until near the end, when she asks for any message from her former sisters, the choices are in red and horror-esque text and both are to urge her to continue the abusive treatment the Sisters of St. Idelora subjects their girls under. My first thought was that it was Idelora herself, the woman who founded the Order and the person every nun wanted to emulate. She certainly had no problems justifying her choices--which proved to be fatal for one character and gravely traumatizing for another--while maintaining a calm and maternal approach to all everyone. But as the story went on, I was wondering if it was the land itself or whatever was causing the convent to act up.

3. The Story

Despite being a shorter read, Saintmaker has a very moving story. The relationships between characters was my favorite parts of the Letter, and I’m so happy to see this return stronger than ever in Saintmaker. The cast is much smaller but this decision has given us a more in depth look in their relationships and the characters themselves—from Holly and Gabbie’s strained relationship to becoming friends, how Adira still has a sense of humor even when she’s a stern old lady, Holly’s constant remembering of her sister Liana.

It’s a tale of tragedy, of relationships and their loss, of fighting against what is the norm for you. It was gut wrenching to realize Holly reimagined her memories with Liana to keep herself from remembering how it really was or how Adira forced herself to forget Cordelia, no matter how attached she was. Holly did so because her parents decided not to bring her up anymore and basically erased her while Adira had to forget because she believed her sisters were doing the right thing, even if she disagreed with her.

(Sidenote: all of the VAs, you truly made these characters come to life. I would not be as devastated if it weren’t for your talents, love yall for that you have a nice day now 💗)

BONUS THINGS I WANTED TO SAY:

1. Holly praying when she got scared reminded me of Isabella’s Quick Time event in the letter. I was on edge for jumpscares in the game, but most of the creepiness was from the brilliant atmosphere that was set up.

2. There’s also the persistent ghost in both games. Takako, who’s a malevolent spirit after death and then there’s Cordelia. Takako actively pursues the protagonists while Cordelia is just stuck and tried to find a way to break the routine in the convent. She was terrifying at first (Cordelia’s faceless because everything about her was erased and forgotten—nameless, faceless, brilliant btw) but I did get used to her and just felt so awful for her.

Yup. Saintmaker drew me in with the premise of religious horror (and I was like ‘from a Filipino team?? Understandable’) and trauma and I had to go and give my own sister a hug afterwards. It’s eerie, it has its moments of lightheartedness that keeps you attached to the characters, and it’s story is goddamned good. This whole thing’s a mess but I just had to let it out. That’s all but I’d love to hear your thoughts on the game!

[csa-survivor-confessions]

(?) First off, thank you admins for taking the time to run this blog- the resources and comfort y’all provide means so much. I’m on mobile so sorry for writing a poorly formatted novel length ask lol

I have unique trauma, and I never see it discussed anywhere else so in the interest of possibly helping someone who hasn’t put the pieces together yet I wanted to talk about it.

When I was around 3, I got a UTI (im a cis woman). My doctor wanted to make sure I didn’t have kidney reflux, so they ordered a test called a VCUG. In short, what they do is put a catheter in you with no sedative/topical anesthetic, pump your bladder full of radiocontrast fluid until it literally backs up to your kidney (incredibly painful), and then you’re supposed to piss it out on the table or into a towel. I read a study (Goodman et al 1990, can send a link if y’all are interested) researching the validity of children’s testimony in court about CSA trauma (like how accurately they could remember the incident), and the “test” they used is the VCUG because it has every characteristic of a rape, but it’s a medical procedure (direct, painful genital contact and penetration with a foreign object by a stranger while a parent watches). I had it done twice in 6 month, and when my doctor ordered a third test “just to see” my mom put her foot down and said no.

It was my first memory, but for 23 years of my life I believed it was an exaggerated or false memory because it seemed cartoonishly traumatic and I didn’t believe it was a real medical procedure. I thought that it was just an ultrasound and because I was so young and scared I constructed that memory. But it WAS real. I found my medical record and put the pieces together myself as an adult. my first memory is of strangers undressing me, touching me, my mother helping the nurses restrain me, them “taking photos” of me with ultrasound and X-ray equipment, being denied autonomy over my own body and being treated like a science experiment. My entire life, I’ve been so confused, not knowing why I can’t set boundaries or have normal relationships, or why I gravitate towards people who have severe trauma, and why I understood how they felt. I always felt guilty because I didn’t have a “story” like they did. I believed I was just Incredibly Fucked Up For No Reason because I grew up in a stable home (for the most part), and I felt like I didn’t “deserve” to have those feelings because I didn’t think anything happened to me. But it did, and it /severely/ traumatized me. Because it’s my first memory, it’s a cornerstone of my personality, for better or for worse.

So my question is- now that I know what happened, how do I cope with feeling like a victim if there is no true perpetrator? There is no face attached to my trauma, nobody to blame. I was a toddler, the doctors and nurses were just doing their job, and if my mom didn’t follow their advice she’d be accused of medically neglecting her child. I guess I can be mad at the for profit medical system and the fact that doctors are financially incentivized to order those tests, but I feel like I can’t get complete closure from that. I want to tell some of my friends who have opened up to me about their own csa trauma, but I feel inadequate. Like on one hand, I didn’t get raped. It wasn’t like a family member I trusted was coming into my room every night. But on the other hand, it’s more extreme in a way? Like a medical bdsm gang rape while my mom watched. It’s dehumanizing in a different way because I wasn’t even seen as an object of attraction, I was like a lab rat. I have all of the same problems, the disassociation, the identity issues, the sexual problems, addiction, and self harm in the form of an eating disorder. I know that its not fair or healthy to compare my trauma to anyone else’s, but I’m just anxious about the reaction I might get from my friends whose experiences were more “textbook” abuse. So I’m kinda testing the waters here, if y’all have any advice for me I’d appreciate it.

This is more of a confession than a question, but I also have a memory gap from ages 7-9, and my therapist thinks something else was happening because losing two entire years like that is Not Normal. I can’t even recognize myself in photos from that time period. It’s a pretty disturbing feeling. I was already showing hypersexual behavior around 6- is it bad to hope that I do find out someone hurt me, so I can have a face to my trauma? So that I can find someone to blame other than myself and externalize the pain?

thank you again for reading my novel again I’m so sorry for the formatting 💕

Hello,

I think it could be good to understand it as a medical trauma along with sexual aspects. It sounds like you had a doctor who didn't know what he was doing or had incentives to put you through unnecessary testing which could count as medical malpractice.

Medical trauma rather from necessary procedures or unnecessary is something that feels like a violation of bodily integrity. Because you are having things in your body that are not a part of you. It's not gang rape, but it is a group of people treating you not like a person and putting your body through extreme physical and emotional stress. That is extremely traumatic and will have huge effects on anyone, especially children.

I personally have gone through a lot of medical trauma along with my CSA and psychological abuse. I have nightmares, body memories and flashbacks to medical events.

You are not alone in having gone through rare medical procedures and experiencing medical trauma from them. It might feel like you have extremely unique trauma, but other people have experienced rare medical procedures that caused trauma reactions or feel like sexual assault. Many tests and medical equipment go into the body (all kinds of feeding tubes, ostomy bags, catheters, tracheal tubes etc) and can feel like our bodily integrity has been broken.

Even if there isn't one huge perpetrator because the people were doing their job, that doesn't make you to blame for what you are going through. You can blame the doctor I suppose for ordering a test you didn't need, but you can also blame no one. No one had to be "evil" for the trauma to be real. Medica trauma is extremely real and no one is always in the wrong, it's just extreme stress on the brain so you experience trauma being held in the body.

I think when you get thoughts about your trauma not being valid because there is not one perpetrator, try and counter that thought. Maybe something like medical trauma is real, and so are my feelings. You can also practice journaling or making art about your trauma as this will help externalize your story and organize thoughts and emotions.

Many coping skills and trauma processing therapies (examples: somatic experiencing or EMDR) that work for CSA will also work for you. There are nuances to every trauma type but many skills overlap. [Resources-Info & Coping Skills]

Your trauma is valid, important and discerning to be heard and respected. Because you were put through something that hurt you and that's important. You are important and so is your story.

I wouldn't tell your friends your trauma is worse, as I don't think it is going to go over well with them I would also say knowing your abuser found you sexy isn't a protective factor against becoming traumatized.

I think telling your friends could be good, maybe don't frame it as "I experienced the same thing you did" or "I went through some more unique so it's worse" but instead frame it closer to "I experienced extreme medical trauma that had similar effects to sexual trauma. I could use some support in dealing with it." I think that framing will get you the best outcomes. Because you deserve to have the way it affected your sexuality respected, but framing your abuse in competition with there's might cause bad results.

Wanting our abuse to look like what trauma is generally shaped as, looking for a perpetrator or wanting the trauma to be "worse" is all totally normal. You are not a bad person. Also please be careful with recovering memories trying to force it can hurt.

I hope some of this helps,

-Admin 1