#they might not even clock the outright abuse

[3amferaltrashdemon]

I see this and I raise you:

YES Alfred would absolutely be an enabler in such a situation with no excuse for why he didn't step in, but how you portray him depends on the narrative voice.

An outsider would see Alfred as a bad person but it's important to understand that not all victims hate their abuser and that's what often traps them in the toxic cycle for so long. In situations where Bruce is portrayed as an abuser, the batfam may initially or continually try to rationalise his bad behaviour, leading to an unreliable narrator where the kids don't identify that what is happening is abuse.

It is also important to acknowledge that victims often don't see enablers as people who did anything wrong and may bond with them on a familial level, often seeing them as a source of comfort- someone who brought them tea and an ice pack and soothing platitudes after something goes wrong. In this situation Alfred could be portrayed as a 'good guy' even if the audience can acknowledge that he was not a responsible adult. You can be part of a dysfunctional family unit and be beloved simply because you are the lesser of two evils.

In other situations, it could be written as 'Alfred is oblivious (sometimes willfully, sometimes not) and therefore can not be held responsible for Bruce's actions' which would still put him firmly on the side of should not be taking care of children, but would definitely mean that the kids are less likely to hate him.

The third (and arguably the worst) depiction of Good!Alfred Bad!Bruce is that the kids see that Alfred considers Bruce a son and also consider Alfred stepping in as making him chose between his son and his grandchildren. This is my least favorite justification because it involves the kids

A: acknowledging the abuse

B: acknowledging that Alfred is in a position to step in. And

C: Being okay with Alfred choosing neutral ground/Bruce over stepping in for his grandchildren.

Which would logically and emotionally be the least likely and would spark the most hatred/discontent from the kids.

I think the best way writers who don't want to write Bad!Alfred deal with it is just to very sparingly portray him and let readers draw their own conclusions.

Pssst...hey... Alfred can't be "good" if Bruce is "bad"

If Bruce is written as abusive and obsessed with "the mission," then logistically, ya gotta write Alfred as an enabler/accessory to the abuse.

It is impossible for Alfred to be there throughout all Robins, be first witness for multiple years with multiple children "suffering" and still have the kids be like: "Oh well, Alfred is still an angel, though." They would've known he hadn't helped them.

Imagine a building is on fire, and someone just stands there and watches it. They didn't start it, but they also don't try to put it out. They don't help anyone get out. They don't even bother calling for help. Yet, they still get a medal for their bravery??

There would only be 2 ways that Alfred could be seen as a "loving grandfather" if he

1. Outright stops Bruce by confronting him directly or getting the kids out from the first sign of abuse.

2. If Bruce is at least a somewhat decent father. Sure, he can make mistakes, and he can fumble sometimes. But Bruce can not be actively harmful to the kids for years without Alfred being aware and choosing to leave the kids to fend for themselves.

Alfred would have to be written as a non questions asked, 100% dedicated to only a "True Wanye" kind of butler. He would have to see the kids as not real Wayne's to allow an abusive Bruce to continuously harm them. The kids would know this and hate BOTH of them.

[sunshine-zenith]

A thought — Ballister and Ambrosius’s relationship probably wasn’t public in the movie until the end. They probably weren’t secretive about it, given how Todd (someone neither of them like or would confide in) was clearly antagonistic to Ambrosius after Ballister’s jailbreak, but even then that just might be because their connection was well known — they liked each other more than any of the knights liked them, most being neutral overall to Ambrosius and outright bullies to Ballister. No one in the public seems to know about them

Media perception is a reoccurring factor in the movie, with the opening scene giving exposition in the form of a news cast. During it, Ballister is shown to be controversial, with a there being a few comments questioning the Queen’s choices related to him. Ambrosius is also brought up as someone everyone’s looking forward to seeing officially knighted, with no one questioning his relationship with Ballister or even bringing it up

While everyone is fearing and hating Ballister after the Queen dies, Ambrosius is still popular among the masses — people stop him in the streets to get his autograph. Nimona, who admittedly probably didn’t do much digging into Ballister beyond the initial news reports on the Queen’s deaths, seemed surprised that Ballister and Ambrosius had a connection. She even had an “ohhhhhh” moment after picking up on their vibe the first time they saw each other post-arm chop (and yeah she initially calls Ambrosius Ballister’s nemesis, but she clearly clocks that something romantic was going on given the “arm chopping is not a love language!” comment). She also asks if he wants to die in a (literal) closet, which like. Y’all.

Before the Queen’s death, all their PDA is in private (on the catwalk) or subtly around other knights (helping each other put on their armor with lots of heart eyes and lingering hands). Otherwise, their interactions are those of Two People Who Are Close but aren’t necessarily explicitly romantic (Ambrosius wanting to throw hands on Ballister’s behalf, teasing each other, Ambrosius cheering with the crowd). Granted, there wasn’t a lot of screen time for them to just be happy before Everything Went Wrong.

We can’t really judge whether they were private from their interactions after the Queen’s death, since most are focused on a “so this traumatic thing happened and I don’t know where we stands right now” vibe or have them just fighting. The three times Ambrosius says he loves Ballister, one was just the two of them on the catwalk, one was in a mental rant and not actually out loud, and one was while they were trying to hide their identities. Ballister continues to defend Ambrosius, saying he’d believe them if they could just talk and that the arm thing is just “complicated,” “part of their training, up until Ambrosius outright tries to arrest them (which might as well be a breakup without saying “we’re breaking up”).

In the comic, the Director says she knew about their relationship and that she disapproved. Given how much she manipulates things, it wouldn’t surprise me if she knew in the movie, and encouraged them to downplay things at least — “you should keep your private lives private so you don’t taint your public images/yes we support you, obviously, but you’re here to protect the people, not show off to them/you don’t want to overshadow things with more controversy, wait a few years until after you’re knighted/what if this is just a phase, it would be a mess to clean up if you go public now/people will talk if they hear Gloreth’s only current descendant, a promising young man, is being courted by someone they aren’t certain about who comes from nothing and can’t pass your genes on/you have each other, shouldn’t that be enough?/etc.”

We don’t see them be in a relationship publicly until after the wall — the symbol of fear of the unknown, systematic abuse and oppression, refusal to learn and grow, and let’s be real homophobia/transphobia — comes down and the Director — the one going to murderous extremes out of fear of change — is dead

I dunno. This movie is a large celebration of being queer, but it’s also about how queer people are demonized by society to the point of everyone suffering. Ambrosius is the model minority everyone loves but no one knows because all eyes are on him; Ballister is both tokenized and targeted from the moment the public meets him, having to prove himself over and over until the public unquestionably turns on him entirely; and Nimona is called a monster for just being herself. All three already had to hide who they really were. I’m not 100% sure if Ballister and Ambrosius were out or not about being together, but it’s not a stretch to see, and it fits in with the themes/arcs of this movie

[cerastes]

I'd like a little more insight into your opinions about that post you reblogged, which stated that "families are the biggest danger to children".

That post did not include a proposed solution, and I would like to know if you have a solution in mind.

I don't see how it doesn't involve giving the police greater leeway to invade the privacy of homes. Or otherwise putting childcare in the hands of government workers who don't live with the children. Government workers who either never had children and have no idea what it is like, or who do have children and should be spending that time minding their own.

You’re kind of self-reporting when your first and seeming only thought on the matter is “This necessarily means giving police or government more power” and not “the dynamics of power between adults and children are so immensely messed up and the concept of protecting children has been warped into a puritan shield towards any cause except actually protecting children”. That post you’re referring to is not in the slightest a hard read, anon. I’d say it’s pretty darn explicit and clear in its intent, in fact.

If you look up kidnappings, the majority happen between family members. If you ask any child therapist worth their moral salt what it’s like practicing their craft, they’ll tell you that the vast majority of the time it’s mainly grounding work with the child and actual psychological work with their parents, who are the actual reason behind the issues with the kid most of the time.

Most if not all cultures are just not at all kind with children. The most immediate people to a child — often their family — are either their greatest protectors or their biggest threat. Sometimes, it’s both simultaneously, and this isn’t some fake deep philosophical nonsense, either; a lot of times, a parent or the parents might genuinely wish the best for the kid, and yet, they are horribly abusive in ways they don’t even clock as abuse or as treating the child as mere property that they get to order around. Even when that is “for their own good”.

Forgive me if I sound outright insulting here, but if you didn’t even grasp this before wanting to have this conversation, are you at all equipped to have this conversation? This is not even getting to the puritan shield part, just the part where family as both a boon and a threat is concerned.

I’ll also have you know that conversation around and about a problem can exist without offering solutions and merely acknowledging it as a problem. This is known as a “conversation”. Demanding solutions in your conversations necessarily is how you get bad ideas and fringe, often extremist answers.

[torchwood-99]

Modern AU Headcanon

(This basically turned into a soap opera)

Faramir is low contact with Denethor. Denethor isn't outright abusive (not like in the films) but they have a strained relationship. In some ways they're very similar, and in others ways very different. They both have very firm senses of right and wrong, and struggle to meet in the middle. In particular, Denethor believes very much in filial obedience, but feels like Faramir is judging him, which Faramir probably is at least some of the time, and this creates antipathy between the two.

It wasn't too bad during Faramir's childhood (except that Denethor's work and mental health meant he wasn't always present, but Imrahil and his family made sure Faramir and Boromir had a supportive family unit), but when Boromir died their mutual grief and the lack of Boromir as a buffer meant that things got very bad with them.

Before they could still be prickly and disagree over stuff, but they could also spend pleasant time together, discuss mutual academic interests, etc... But after losing Boromir the strain between them grows worse, and in the end they have to step away from each other.

So they're still in each other's lives, but their communication is limited, and has a degree of formality. Even after the worst of the antipathy has passed, there's a mutual discomfort between the two, to avoid arguments they maintain a certain coolness, which they're both a bit sad about.

Eowyn is no contact with her family, and it happened quite drastically from their perspective, but for Eowyn it was building up for a while.

Eowyn pretty much ran away from home.

Theoden had an ongoing condition that lasted several years, which left him with limited mobility and on a fair bit of medication, meaning he required near constant care. And through a mix of being the youngest and a girl, the weight of his care fell onto Eowyn's shoulders.

Their family horse farm, Edoras, is in quite an isolated area, which is also fairly conservative in terms of gender roles and has a stigma around mental health and disabilities.

Theodred and Eomer did everything they could to keep their farm (horse breeding/training?) going, and the work certainly had a toll on them, Eomer perhaps giving up on his career in the army. However the work was work they both genuinely cared about, and found fulfilment in. They also had clocking off time, to go down to the pub and hang out with friends, and their work did give them the chance to travel and meet with other people.

Eowyn was stuck in the house, tending to Theoden 24/7. She had no clock off time, except for when one of the boys offered to watch Theoden so she could have a couple of hours to go for a ride or go to the cinema. Because this wasn't "their job", they saw this as them being very generous to Eowyn, and naturally during that time laundry wasn't done and dinner wasn't prepped or anything like that.

Eowyn's academics struggled because of this, and because her family's work was either the farm or the military, academics wasn't particularly prized and it was just accepted that Eowyn had no future in it. Eowyn might not have considered herself the academic type, but the lack of degrees severely limited opportunities for work and experiences elsewhere, no university, less chance of a career. Her life would be wedded to the farm, but as doing the housework and support stuff so Eomer and Theodred could focus on the farm and the horses. She also only got housekeeping money and the odd the bit of pocket money, but as the profits from the farm are handled by Theodred and Eomer, she had to depend on them for cash. She didn't get a regular wage or anything like that, nor was she getting a profit from the farm.

During this time, she was also groomed by Grima, a family friend of Theoden who helped with money and the farm and visited regularly to keep Theoden company, something Theoden depended on as he was isolated. Grima started off trying to offer Eowyn a shoulder to cry on, commiserating with her on her lack of opportunities, trying to drive a wedge between her and her brother and cousin, offering her presents and trying to make her feel dependant on him. Eowyn disliked Grima so she always held him at arm's length, but she didn't speak up about his creepiness because she thought her uncle needed his company.

Eomer eventually saw Grima crossing a line with Eowyn, touching her hair perhaps, and he didn't care for him either but stuck up with him for Theoden's sake, but after seeing that he made it clear he was to stay away.

Theoden did eventually recover, but Eowyn's position in the family remained unchanged. Theoden was anxious to be in his old position as one of the guys, so he threw himself back into the farm work, and all the domestic work stayed on Eowyn's shoulders. It was also left to Eowyn to ensure Theoden continued with his treatment, taking his medication, going to appointments, which Theoden, in his discomfort at being seen as sick or frail, spun as Eowyn being a typical fusspot, and treated his accepting treatment as him humouring her. He joined the guys down at the pub, while Eowyn was left alone at the house.

Eowyn finally called it quits after hearing Theoden having a heart to heart with Eomer about how he loved him as much as a son, thanking him for all the work he did keeping the farm going while he was sick, and declaring him and Theodred his legacy, assuring him he trusted them with looking after the farm after he was gone.

By this point Eowyn did have access to some of the family cash, mostly so she could do the shopping and see to other domestic costs, and she took out a decent portion, what she saw as her due for years of being an unpaid housekeeper/carer, and then got a train to Minas Tirith, (the big fancy city filled with opportunities).

There she meets Merry, an PHD candidate/lecturer on herblore, who lives above a pub with his boyfriend Pippin. Pippin owns the pub, but lives off his trust fund. Their roommate, Frodo, recently moved in with his boyfriend Sam, and Sam's girlfriend Rosie, and Eowyn meets them while looking for a cheap place to live. She ends up working the pub, getting double pay as bartender/bouncer, because she knows a lot about self defence.

Eowyn struggles a bit adapting to her new freedom and independence, and apart from work mostly hides in her room, overwhelmed by the culture change. Merry and Pippin (especially Merry) encourage her to be more social and take advantage of all the opportunities the city has to offer.

Of course the Fellowship, Sam, Frodo, Pippin, Merry, Aragorn, Gandalf and Gimli are still just as much of a gang as in the books, as was Boromir before he died, and Pippin's pub is their regular meeting place. The Fellowship "adopted" Faramir after Boromir died, and through them Eowyn and Faramir meet.

Faramir is going through a career change, deciding to do a PHD in History, which he wanted to do all along, but he gave up in favour of working for the family business. Eowyn is looking for a purpose after leaving home, and she and Faramir get chatting about university courses (the universities in Minas Tirith don't charge fees). Eowyn wants to retake her school exams (GCSEs equivalent) and Faramir offers to tutor her.

After passing her school exams, Eowyn is still by nature very outdoorsy, and wants to do a degree that gets her outside as much as possible. She ends up pursuing a career in conservation, actually following in Aragorn and Arwen's footsteps, who do conservation work and start Eowyn up with trying a bit of volunteering, then helping her to get onto an apprenticeship scheme.

Back at the farm, Eowyn's family is blind sighted by her disappearance, especially Eomer who is panic stricken in case something happened to her. (He actually tracks down Grima and threatens him in case Grima did anything to her.) Because Eowyn never said anything they had no idea she was so unhappy, although as the housework starts piling up they do start to get an idea of just how much work Eowyn did, and how little free time she had.

Eomer becomes obsessed with finding Eowyn, not entirely convinced she wasn't kidnapped, and manages to track her down to Minas Tirith. Eomer knows Aragorn through his army days and through Boromir, but because Eowyn switched her last name after moving to the city and is cagey about her past, Aragorn doesn't know she is Eomer's sister, and when Eomer comes to the city and looks him up, Aragorn offers to help him find her. He brings Eomer to the pub, where Eowyn sees him and panics, and gets Faramir to help smuggle her out.

She and Faramir open up about their past together. Faramir doesn't push Eowyn to respond to Eomer's arrival in a certain way (even though his grief over losing his own brother makes it tempting for him to do so), but his understanding of the situation encourages her to give it a go.

Eowyn and Eomer's reunion is difficult. With a lot of anger and blame on both sides.

Eomer is angry at Eowyn for making him and the family worry so much, and for leaving without a word. Eowyn is filled with residual fury for how she was treated over the years. Eomer accuses Eowyn of not being loyal to the family, which infuriates Eowyn as she gave up her identity for the family.

Eowyn asking Eomer when they first noticed she was gone, when breakfast wasn't made or when they saw that last night's washing up hadn't been done, and that hits a little close to home.

When Eowyn does open up about she felt all those years, and how it felt hearing Theoden call Eomer and Theodred his legacy, all the while treating her like a crutch it embarrassed him to use, Eomer initially responds with explanations and excuses and an insistence that they "all had to do their bit" and that "Theoden didn't mean it like that" or Eowyn was "taking it the wrong way". He also thinks Grima the root of most of Eowyn's problems, and while Grima made things a lot worse, Eowyn is frustrated that Eomer can't see she was unhappy without him.

Eomer eventually asks Eowyn why she didn't just say anything. Eowyn struggles to explain, and Eomer struggles to understand, the pressure Eowyn felt to do as was asked of her, how Eowyn never felt like she had a choice and how she was just expected to do the "women's work", and how that choice was made for her, especially in light of her youth and her dependence on the family, the suffering of her schoolwork which was dismissed as her being "not book smart" and only good for working on the family farm, and any attempts of hers to speak up being waved away as young adult's grumbling and moaning, making her feel guilty for not being happy with her lot.

All of this is a massive blow, as he and Eowyn were very close as children, and he always saw the two of them as a team, and always expected that Eowyn would just come to him if she had a problem.

There's a lot of shouting, a lot of tears. This all takes place in the flat, and the Fellowship (Faramir included, honourary member) are downstairs, trying to eavesdrop on it all. Some (Aragorn, Faramir, Arwen, Frodo and Sam) are trying to act like that they're just there in case Eowyn or Eomer need them afterwards, and insist they're not listening in. Merry, Pippin, Gimli, Legolas and Rosie are shameless about trying to here everything that's being said, and at one point for a human pyramid on the bar table so that Pippin can be lifted up high enough to put his ear against the ceiling.

Eomer is devastated after the meeting, and is left reeling that his sister, who he thought himself very close to and always on the same side as him, had been unhappy for years, and nurtured resentment towards him and the family he adored, and the farm he made his life's work. Aragorn and Arwen take him home to cool down, and let him stay with them while he and Eowyn try to figure things out.

Eowyn does eventually begin to reconcile with her family, but stays in Minas Tirith, while Eomer goes back to their farm.

Eomer and Theodred occasionally come up to meet her, but Theoden isn't up to travelling. Eowyn's relationship with Theoden is very slow to heal in particular, due to Theoden's own lingering demons regarding his years being dependant on Eowyn, and Eowyn struggling to disconnect her (understandable but unfair) resentment of Theoden being sick and needing to be taken care of, and her (very fair) resentment of how he treated her following his recovery.

Faramir and Denethor's relationship still has underlying strain, but Eowyn and Faramir's growing closeness improves it a bit, as she and Denethor actually manage to establish a bit of a rapport, both being spiky tongued, (Eowyn all the while having Faramir's back), and Eowyn also acts as a buffer between them, as Boromir did. Denethor and Faramir's relationship has to be managed carefully, but they see more time with each other, and the time they share is spent more comfortably. Denethor is very happy (in his way) when Eowyn and Faramir become official.

Eowyn doesn't go back to Edoras for several years. When she does go, Faramir goes with her. Partially as emotional support, but also to introduce him to Theoden as her fiance.

[general--winter]

Could we please get general relationship headcanons for Haru from Persona 5?

author's note: HARU!!!!!!! omgomg I love her so much and I know I'm going to say that about almost every single Persona woman but can you blame me??? Hashino might be a steaming, heaping piece of shit but somehow he wrote some pretty kickass women. I guess a broken clock is right twice a day. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoy! :)

rating: teen

fandom: persona 5

pairing: haru okumura x gn!reader

word count: 1068

warnings: canon-typical content

summary: What would it be like to be in a relationship with Haru?

While Haru is a very soft-spoken woman, her convictions are rock-solid. She wants to be at the forefront of her late father’s company, and she has no issues asserting herself to do this. However, this doesn’t mean that Haru didn’t go through a lot to get to this point, especially as a woman who sought to take over a familial position of power at a company in Japan. Because of her abusive ex-fiance, I imagine that Haru would be weary of opening up to someone romantically ever again. Not that she ever “opened up” to that douche canoe, but an experience like that can really mess with your perception of what romance and love actually is. You would have to work hard to gain her trust and be someone incredibly dependable. Of course, Haru is a bit of an eccentric, so sharing these interests would make her happy, but I think for her sake and comfort, someone stable who she can come to rely on and open up to would be perfect.

As for how Haru is when actually beginning a relationship, I think she would be very traditional and would expect those types of things from you, whether she’s aware of it or not. Things like expecting you to open the car door for her, push her chair in, pay for the meal, take her coat off, etc. That’s the kind of society she grew up around, so that’s the type of courting she’s been socialized to expect. To be eased into the idea, if you will, even if she already really likes you. And she does. If you go this route, she would be incredibly flattered that you considered her expectations on how to ask her out. If you outright asked her to be your partner, however, it might fluster her a lot. Weren’t there steps to this process? She would think it strange that you’re acting purely off of emotions, but in a way, refreshing and indicative of the new life she’s decided to live. There wouldn’t be anything wrong with either approach for her.

For a first date, I actually think she would want to go to a garden. It sounds pretty obvious for Haru, I know, but sometimes the most obvious answer is the best one! We all know that she adores gardening and everything to do with the cultivation of flowers and crops. If you didn’t know Haru very well before dating her, this may very well be the first time you hear her raise her voice beyond her normal tone, explaining facts to you about every flower and plant within the garden. She’s like an encyclopedia on this type of stuff, and to you it’s incredibly endearing. The whole time, she holds your hand and swings it up and down as she points out all of her favorite flowers. Remember these.

Haru’s love language would be quality time. I’m not completely sure what happened to her mom in canon, but I think it can be safely assumed that she was not around for one reason or another as she is never mentioned. Her father was busy with the company as well, leaving her alone from a young age, presumably with teachers at school who were already spread thin among the classroom, or with nannies at home who were only with Haru because they were paid to be with her. They may have come to care about her, but their primary obligation was their job, and while child Haru may not have understood that explicitly, the impact follows her. No one spent much time with her because they wanted to, and Haru craves that. Even if you’re doing work or reading a book or something, do it in the same room as her. Maybe not explicitly cuddling though, not at first. It takes a bit for her to work up beyond holding hands. After you’ve been together for a while, though, you won’t be able to peel her off of you. She rests her head on your shoulder and lays in your lap often, begging for you to pet her hair with no shame. It means the world to her that you would choose to spend time in her presence, and even more when you actively do activities with her. This is because if you choose to do so, the conclusion she would draw is that you definitely aren’t with her just for her money, you’re with her for her. I like to think she would love doing jigsaw puzzles or just taking walks around the neighborhood she lives in. I was considering giving her gift giving as her love language actually, but I figured that as a child of a rich CEO, Haru probably had her “love” bought all the time by her father and later, her ex-fiance. If you give her gifts, make sure it’s something incredibly thoughtful, like her favorite flowers/something you made yourself, or something she’s morbidly curious about, like a true crime book or real animal bones.

Seeing as the Phantom Thieves are the only people Haru is close to after her father’s death, she would definitely introduce you to them. She’s not above radiating a threatening aura to them to behave around you, so you definitely don’t have to deal with the antics of Ryuji and Ann at first. She does really care about getting their approval on whether they like you or not, since she does highly respect their opinions and them as people. However, in the end Haru has learned through her life not to rely on the decisions of others in her own life, so she wouldn’t make any decisions about you based on what her friends say.

Overall, look forward to a mostly calm and very wholesome relationship with Haru. Due to the path she has taken in her life, it will be necessary to ensure that you can support her through her unique hardships as a majority shareholder in a major company. Whatever you give into the relationship, though, Haru gives back ten thousand-fold, ensuring that you never feel alone and that you are just as taken care of as she feels with you. You will have your own responsibilities as the partner of an Okumura, but there are a lot of adventures ahead of you two and that fills both you and Haru with precious optimism for the future.

[virtue-and-beneviolence]

The ghost in my home is you.

You and Shuji remember your relationship differently as you learn to live without each other.

An angsty Tumblr draft; no idea of word count and here's a content warning for blood.

It was his house. He'd bought it outright years ago - a cash offer with the spoils of his first big deal as a part of Toman. It was a modest detached house he'd found with Kisaki's help. And while his unofficial roommate may have had ulterior motives for evacuating Shuji from his home, the taller man was appreciative of the help nonetheless.

He didn't think he'd ever have a place of his own. He was free of the scrap and strife and violence he left behind years before in his family home. If you could call that abusive mess a family.

He had a house, sure, but it was an oddly hollow dwelling. Sparsely furnished though not for a lack of money so much as a lack of understanding of how he was supposed to know what to put in a whole house. It was Shuji, take out, and balled up suits destined for the dry cleaner against the world.

For a chaotic man full of life, his living arrangements were bizarrely sterile when you met him. It started innocently with you bringing plants every time you came to visit your new friend. Your plan to bring life into his home worked, even if he killed most of the plants because his sheepish smile when one died was to die for.

You breathed life into that place. You made it a home, warmed it like his personal hearth. And for the first time, he had someone to cook with. Even better- he had someone to eat with. Someone who he could talk about everything and anything with without having to hide half his life from.

All of a sudden he had someone to protect and love. He had a reason to make it back to that home of his.

The relationship was a whirlwind and all too soon he was facing the aftermath.

You were gone.

So why did he taste you on the rim of his orange juice jug?

Why'd he feel a pinch on his side and a shiver down his spine when he guiltily left his suits scattered on the floor at night?

Why did the warmth of the aircon on his neck feel so convincingly reminiscent of your breath in the twilight between wake and sleep?

Why did he feel like at any moment he'd wake to find you watching him sleep with that dopey little look in your face that he loves so much?

Why'd he swear he heard the door to the onsuite bathroom click shut at 5:55 am? Why'd he hear running water as if you were going about your morning routine?

Why'd he wake to tears dampening the bedspread you picked out and left behind to find his right side too warm and his arm asleep as if you'd been there just seconds before laying on him all night?

That was it. Enough was enough.

He was calling in a favor with his realtor in the morning.

There was a ghost in his home and she looked just like you.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It was a place of your own, somewhere he'd never touched.

It was homey. Decorated in your favorite style. Full of pictures of people you love rather than someone you loved once.

You could finally leave behind some of your sillier things and lean into adulthood. You were mature alone, without him, and it was a point of pride. The chorus of family telling you two to grow up had long faded in the distance now that you were alone. All it took to grow up was leaving him.

You could walk to your bed without stepping on a discarded cuff link or tripping on designer slacks.

You could cook the meals you wanted how you wanted and when you wanted, without being beholden to your partner's unreasonable and unpredictable work hours and unsophisticated palette.

You could journal nightly and listen to your podcasts and do chores for one instead of two.

You could finally breathe without being plagued by the clock; uncertain when, or if he'd come home. You didn't have the crippling weight of fear that if he did make it home, he might be on death's doorstep. There was no need to have a sewing kit labeled first aid at your front door. Finally you had no fear of calling a doctor rather than playing one while dread filled your throat with bile because what if you were hurting him worse?

Gone were the days of coming home to the door ajar. Of hearing the distinct tacky sound of tread in coagulating blood as you walked in your shared home. Of not knowing if Shuji made it back but just barely, or if a rival had broken in and was waiting to take or kill you. Of finding him in the tub bleeding terribly, and beaten so he was hardly recognizable. Of having to reach out through the stiffness of psychosomatic rigor mortis of your own to see if his skin was still warm. Of having to know this meant his adversary, or the corpse of one, must be somewhere in your home.

You could live in peace now.

You could live safely.

And yet, without him, you couldn't laugh. There was no silly joyful banter, no warming each other through the night, or someone's antics to keep you on the edge of your seat.

Safety at the cost of all that was joy and novel and thrilling, that was what this home represented.

It was a place he'd never touched.

You supposed that's why it always felt so cold.

Ye so here it is @gennabi @wildartist @l-tora-l 🤙🤙🤙

[richardsphere]

RWBY Catchup Slogblog: V8E6 ~ The one in which Cinder gets to finally have a backstory.

Even Arthur Watts got a backstory before this woman, and he’s only been in the story since V4. Hell Mercury got a backstory with the abusive dad half a season ago. Orphanage/Farm full of bullies. followed by a hotel of some sort? (what hotel would decorate its entrance hall with statues of Grimm?) Oh they are just doing the “cinderella, is a slave” thing. I was hoping something less generic. Like it could be a sympathetic backstory, And a generic shockcollar. And there are the words again. Well at least that confirms 100% that Cinder is planning to betray Salem eventually. Lets hope it works out for her. Oh she has a fatherfigure? And he noticed the slavery?  Fatherfigure is right that if she runs she’s got no place to go. He’s wrong to suggest that a life of monsterfighting is the only way out. He’s also wrong to suggest murdering slavers is wrong. I hate him already. Oh right, usual age for Huntsman Exam is 17. Is Fatherfigure really saying “stay in this slavery for seven additional years so i can save you seven years from now” Congrats you might be the worst parent in the show. JUST TAKE THE SHOCKCOLLAR AS EVIDENCE AND BRING HER TO THE AUTHORITIES YOU DIPSHIT. Weiss already demonstrated hunters have the legal authority to arrest people with her DAD. Congrats, the episode has made me care for Genshin-girl, if only by making me rage at the greatest buffoon to have ever become a huntsman (and that includes Dee & Dum from the train). I hope she kills everyone in the hotel. Statue of the LightDragon on the hotel mantle beneath the clock. Oh and now douchebag jones realises he has the authority to arrest criminals? When she rightfully defends herself from the slavers? Is that scar meant to explain why Cinder is constantly wearing long neck-pieces now? Im fairly certain that wouldnt add up with earlier seasons (i think i remember a neck-less dress at the ball but its been a while) ----- Mercury is here, and he’s trying to be the parental figure Emerald needs again, Em still isnt getting it. “something big is about to happen”. oh so are we introducing yet another thread to this already overcomplicated plot? Please learn to resolve a thread or two before spinning a new tapestry. ---- Ozpin and Oscar are talking, laying more groundwork for the story to have some of the “lesser” henchmen turn tail towards the good guys.  Hazel is right once again, I get trying to make our antagonists “reasonable” but can we stop making them outright right. And there’s the Ex-wife. ------ Watts has called in on the phone. The dog is here,  Cinder gets tortured and is starting to realise that maybe, just maybe she shouldnt have accepted the Shock-Collar Prosthesic arm. Oscar blurts out Salems true goal (I dont think Scorpio is going to care, but the rest might) ------ More of the AceOps, Also more earthquakes. (presumably yet another Kaiju-sized grimm?) Im sorry, is the grimm-goop moving inteligent and capable of movign against gravity now? Maybe the sentient grimm-river could use a little more explaining for such a plot vital ability for Salem to posess. I give this plottwist a 2/10. Visually interesting and creative use of borrowing-creatures, but comes out of nowhere and seemingly violates everything we know about the liquid-like nature of the grimm-goop as a substance.  Looks good but seems like it was pulled right out of a writers ass. Nonetheless, the episode managed to make me care for the OG Main villain as a character, which though late 8 seasons in, is a good thing overall. Overall i give the episode a 7/10.

[conkniving]

it was not entirely out of the realm that fallon was veteran — the omnipresent eye on the back of her cranium. though not outright confirmed prior to july, it was rumoured the biker belonged to the gang of which territorially lurked through anchorage. it was enough to magnetize the spare conspiratorial look. they were best ignored. now, the masses seemed to spectate each individual gesture the mugshot made with the nettled breath. for the alluring promise that she might let slip her true identity, the course of action that allegedly lead her to play a hand in an innocent's murder. at the very least, they were frightened enough to steer clear, and that suited her just fine. it was very rare that anyone felt courageous enough to confront, high on a social sense of justice. and that was just amusing. the rest of the time, fallon was a lone wolf. a practice that had come from years younger and ousted by prepubescent peers that moulded fallon into the sort of person who cherished their singularity.

it only devolved into a problem when the recesses of her tainted mind deemed it appropriate to antagonize its predecessor. it had become less frequent ( 'shockingly' — as though drug abuse catalyzes rather than combats ), the episodes she labeled them, when the world felt insurmountably claustrophobic and there were simply too many people teeming in the periphery that at any moment's notice she could truly lash out with instinctual defense. but those episodes persevered, and would creep up her back like a swarm of spiders, colluding that she was in danger, that they would get her, that nowhere was safe. god, she felt so fucking vulnerable in those states, she hated it. despised it. chewed the insides of her cheeks until the copper taste distracted her even marginally. the blithe affect of the bastard would dissipate like the mirage that it was, and each little pinprick would sting deeper than the surface if luck turned its back on her and she was pitted in a situation she couldn't run away.

so, like a sixth sense, fallon felt the telltales of such an encounter as she slowed in her stride from sleepy cat books. the sun was setting, though it did not beg for the shades she still pulled from her collar and slipped over eyes narrowing in their toss over her shoulder. the din of anxiety whispered to peer back into the bookstore, that someone was following her. there hadn't been many others she hadn't clocked upon arriving an hour before, and as the thai strolled stiffly along the sidewalk, it wasn't until she very nearly collided with a halted figure that she turned her attention forward. a jolt passed through fallon, taken aback that someone wholly unfamiliar would dare stand stalwart before her, and then it dawned that this was what forebode her. not followed, but walking carelessly right into the maw.

and then. the blonde seethed. a torrent of palpable anguish like that of a fury. a gaze so piercing that it shattered the lens that failed valiantly to hide eyes widening with vexation. vexation, and gradually, hurt. this woman, identified swiftly as someone related to the murdered, began with a flavour that tasted bitterly of that therapist, jo. who had also similarly stopped fallon wherever they collided to batter with accusations. except, jo was a demon she could handle. a woman so undone and unhinged, it was almost pitying. this woman, unnamed, was a devil. one who inexplicably knew the exact spots most tender to dig a talon within and tear fallon open.

muscle worked to close the jaw that gaped slightly in the aftermath of the finale of venom. the bastard wasn't even aware of the visible reaction this woman had evoked: brow furrowed, nails sunk into the hardcover of the couple books in one arm against her chest, breath choked. and pathetically, fallon leaned imperceptibly away. on the back foot. at a disadvantage. who the fuck did this person think they were? with all the might of every fibre, the darker of the pair forced herself to close in, to steel her voice, to will her visage into one only of threat: "you don't know a fucking thing about me."

it couldn't be left there. she couldn't leave well enough alone. another stream of reality, fallon would have turned heel and stormed away. this was not that one. occupied hand lowering to join the other at her side, body rigid, a foot scuffing forward to minimize the gap of their vitriolic exchange, she addendum, "if you have any sensibility, you will stop. right. there. because if you truly believe that i am capable of 'ripping someone away from this world', despite the fact they would never release an actual murderer, then you're fuckin' stupid coming for me." finally, though quivering it may be, fallon smiled a ruthless, toothy spread. "i won't rot in a cell for willow. but i might be pushed to rot for someone else — if you're so willing."

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍’𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐏𝐀𝐘

                                     ( 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 @conkniving )

( 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄, 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 )

An onslaught of paranoia had plagued the young woman ever since Willow’s fate unraveled. A prickle of infection spread from her core as grief grew numb and fear took over. Holding it together was harder than it seemed. She had trouble sleeping without her daughter snuggled close in her arms, pulling the sleeping child closer as the night passed them by; another sleepless night for her after another. Wasn’t it embarrassing for other five year olds to know that their peers still slept in their mother’s bed? Would they understand it was for protection? Was there any more empathy for what had happened to her small family? Could children be as cruel as the ones who’d taken Willow’s life? Were they bred into their own tiny fates or did they have the world to blame for when they grow cold?

No. Systems fail all the time, and bad things happen all the time, but it doesn’t excuse cruelty. It could never excuse the act of taking another’s life.

She didn’t know how to explain to Goldie that boogeymen weren’t hiding under their beds, nor closets, nor their walk-in pantry, but instead real monsters are the ones who hide in plain sight. When her daughter was smart enough to suggest that Mommy should face her own boogeyman and be brave, well… Rhodes could only offer a hushed sob as she held her daughter in her arms. kids say the darnedest things

Which brings us to our point to the present day.

“How could you do it?” The barked question remained open-ended, a whisk of breath stolen from her breathing. Pain, torturous pain- in her chest swells knowing that the subject of her cousin’s murder was free to walk around and was now staring her in the face. She remembers that day, now emblazoned within her mind branded and charred: released on bail on july 10th. “And exactly how much was your freedom worth and why do you get to live your life freely?” Her breathing hitches. How could authorities have let the Iverson family down like this? How could they let the main suspect get away with murder, how could a judge not place an insurmountable price upon a murderer's head. In most cases with damning evidence, bail can be posted to almost 1 million dollars!!! How was it fathombable that they walk freely? Evidence was substantial, wasn’t it? The same drawing on the other’s body matched the drawing on the body her and her family had to identify…

“What could she have possibly known that would resort in her death?! What are you hiding? What are you not saying?! What are you protecting?"

Bravery aside, involuntary reactions left her breathless, gasping for air. Her posture stiffened, every muscle in her body coiling with a restrained tension. The air grew dense around her, as if an invisible force pressed upon her shoulders, threatening to suffocate. Her gaze, sharp and unyielding, bore into Fallon, seeking answers buried beneath layers of suspicion. The lines etched on her face, usually soft with maternal tenderness, now hardened into a mask of resolve, etched with the weight of unresolved grief. Her lip trembles, breaking that anger as she stands face to face with what she assumes is death.

“Tell me.” She hiccups. "How could you rip someone away from this world? What darkness have you seen and why do you think it’s an excuse for your fucked up behavior? What on earth would possess you to take her life away from her? What right do you have?”

None. That was the answer she wanted to hear. Fallon had no fucking rights to her cousin. “She had a long life ahead of her. She had a family. She had people who miss her and love her. You caused so much pain." Finally a hand raises to wipe the sniveling tears from her face.

“Or did it not occur to you to think that she’d have a family that loved her? Was she nothing but collateral damage? And why would she have to pay with her life?!”

In that charged moment, her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms, anger surging. It was a bitter concoction of loss and a fervent desire for justice. Her muscles work tirelessly to suppress the torrent of emotions threatening to spill forth. She doesn’t like insults, but even now a couple brew in the pit of her stomach.

“Were you selfish enough to think that she’d be someone like you? Lost. Alone. Unlovable. And Unwanted.”

a seething sharp exhale burns in her lungs. "You'll rot in a cell for what you did."

[allmightluver]

**bnha spoilers** I'm just sat here with renewed realisation of what All Might is going through. 40 years. /40 years/ he held and refined that power and dedicated his every waking (and sleeping if Vigilantes is anything to go by) moment towards the goal of defeating AfO and creating a society in which people could feel happy and safe. And now as it turns out AfO is still alive, society is broken and he has given a literal piece of his soul to this young boy leaving himself with only phantoms

Yes. I don’t think people quite grasp what all he’s going through.

It’s been shown recently to us that some, if not most, heroes have underlying ambitions in becoming a hero. Whether for money, glory, fame, popularity, doesn’t matter. They’re ultimately in it for themselves. Toshinori’s intentions from the beginning have been the most pure- he wanted to be a symbol that people can look to and know things will be ok. A symbol of hope. This boy was only around 14 years old when he decided this. What kind of 14 year old sees the world that clearly? Sees that people have no hope, that a veil of darkness covers them. The only thing I can think of is- Toshinori did not have a good childhood. Something had to have happened to a boy that young to stop seeing the joy in life so early, and see the world’s flaws. Truthfully, I believe he was an outcast- due to his quirklessness. Most likely an orphan, perhaps abandoned by his parents, as we’ve never seen him have any family. I do truly believe Toshinori has been alone all his life. I don’t doubt more could have happened to him as a child before he met Nana. 

Some may argue that Izuku is the same age, and therefore it shouldn’t be that hard to see why Toshinori wanted to be a hero at such a young age. BUT, Izuku had someone to look up to, ever since he was a child of four years old, to inspire him to be a hero his whole life *cough cough* All Might. Izuku also was quirkless, much like Toshinori, and an outcast because of it (hence where I assume Toshinori was much the same). But ultimately, Izuku wanted to save people because he saw his hero do it. It really wasn’t until Izuku was a bit older, has been in UA, has been on rescue missions, has seen what the heroes see, that I think he’s truly realized how dark the world really is. Toshinori didn’t have that. He didn’t have someone to inspire him as a child, someone to look up to, a hero to inspire him to help others. At that time, heroes hadn’t become as popular as they are in present times. Toshinori saw the world for what it was, on his own, at a tender age. I think that day Nana ran into this blonde hair kid, she eyed him up, noticed his scraggly form, looked into those captivating blue eyes, and saw a man who’s lived through the world’s horrors- experienced the worst it has to offer-, and wants to save everyone he can from the same fate, all in a 14 year old boy. 

Then after only a few short years with the woman he saw as his mother, she’s killed in front of him because of his own weakness- he wasn’t strong enough yet to protect her. The only other person his life, Gran Torino, literally abused him. He beat him to a pulp, taking his own emotions out on a teenager, and I doubt Toshinori said anything of it. He probably thought he deserved it. He’s still afraid of Gran Torino to this day, remembering the beatings and expecting more for his failures- even if he doesn’t know what they are surely he’s at fault for something, but he’s the only person who’s stood by his side for this long. Even while at a distance, and spouting nothing but criticisms along the way. But Toshinori had to put aside his own emotions to be that hope for everyone. He left everything he knew to go to a new country on his own, to learn how to be a hero, to be that hope for someone.

Vigilantes showed us just how hard he worked. Toshinori literally stayed awake with no sleep for days on end- 3 in the chapter I’m referencing- because people needed help, people needed saving, and no one else stepped up. He fought villains, rescued civilians, repaired damage, cleared rubble, (even accept and eat food that was against his dietary restrictions after his injury) whatever the public needed, all while draining himself further. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion because he had no help, once literally falling asleep while mid-leap across the city because he simply could go no further. 

^^These happen in succession of each other^^

No one stepped up to say “Hey, Mr. Number 1, you’ve been working hard lately. Let me help you!” No one tried to take over his position. Even the Number 2 hero, Endeavor, never tried to take some of his burden. His only goal was to try to be better than All Might in terms of power- he was never trying to be the hero that the people relied on All Might for. Everyone relied on him when things looked grim. He was the back up plan. And all of this happened before Toshinori’s injury. 

The only thing he ever wanted to do- help people- he can’t do (at least the way he’s always known how to). The ability to save people has been taken from him in the most gruesome way. He was finally able to fight the man that killed Nana, and in a rage that I’m sure echoed with all of the emotions of the previous users, he smashed that man’s head like a grape. But not without consequence. Several organs are gone. The pain is excruciating. He wears that man’s mark on his body for the rest of his life, never truly able to rid himself of the filth.

Then we have Nighteye’s betrayal. The man that helped him as a sidekick, the man that grew to be his only friend. Now some people may ask why Toshinori flipped like he did to Nighteye looking into his future when he was concerned about him making it through his injury. What I believe is Toshinori didn’t want to know when he would die (and really, who does). Now he knows he’s on a time limit, knows the clock is ticking. Time is running out to keep the world at peace, and with him as he is now, how long can this go on? 

I think the betrayal, doing something that Toshinori specifically asked him not to do, is what hurt the most. How can he trust Nighteye anymore? He already can only count on one hand the people he can trust, let alone befriend.

He’s wasted away into a skeleton, a shell of the man he used to be. He can’t over exert himself without his only lung bleeding in protest. It’s canon in the side books that he really doesn’t eat much, which isn’t good for his diet without a stomach now (he’s supposed to have several small meals a day). He is quite literally punishing himself by starving. (Granted, he doesn’t feel hunger anymore.) He’s a sick man, beyond medical help at this point. They can only stabilize him and hope for the best. For five years now he’s in constant pain, every day. He loses blood like sweat. Surely his veins are bruised and collapsed with how many times he would have needed to be hospitalized. Whether from losing too much blood, being too dehydrated or starved from “forgetting” to eat, or an organ failing as body continues to fall apart. “...even as my body rots and grows frail...” - Toshinori People are bound to stare at him as he walks down the street. A tall, willowy, skeleton with a grimace on his face and blood stains on his clothes as he coughs up more into his own hands. There would be the ones who outright ignore him when they walk by, the people who offer pitying smiles and sympathetic glances or just outright stare, and then ones who are afraid of his appearance- children screaming at the mere sight of him and running to their parents to hide from the monster. Each one is another knife in Toshinori’s side, an ache in his chest. If only they knew who I really am.

Losing Nighteye took a toll on his hero work as well. Mirai was a huge help in the past, and took care of all Toshinori’s paperwork, while also reminding him to take care of himself. Without him, Toshinori was even more buried beneath his responsibilities. Plus, now he was on a time limit. He even snapped briefly in his first meeting with Tsukauchi, accidentally revealing himself as All Might because he was under too much pressure, and telling the detective he literally couldn’t handle doing everything by himself (who graciously took over the paperwork side of things for him). 

He was living a double life now, having to lie to people left and right about who he was while in his small form, about how he became so sickly, why he was here in the first place who the heck is this skinny old guy. Surely he had multiple visits to the doctor while continuing to repair the damage done by AFO (there’s a limit to how much the body can handle at once. And things I’m sure continued to fail as time went on). Then he would be bedridden for as long as the doctors could keep him strapped to a bed, until he couldn’t take the people’s cries for help any longer, and would jump into action. (It’s also revealed he has something of a super hearing- able to hear danger- which may have been a form of danger sense of OFA that was never fully unlocked?. Either way, he surly could sense disasters happening while he could only lay and heal from his latest surgery. Those poor doctors must have had to re-stitch him several times). People blame him for not preparing society for his retirement, that he failed in passing on the torch so to speak, but in reality he did everything possible to keep society from falling for 40 years, doing all within his power just to keep things afloat. He is only one person. One human being, he can’t do everything despite trying to. Society failed All Might.

People blame him for not being a good teacher. He didn’t exactly have the greatest teacher himself to learn from. He’s never had to teach anyone anything, he just punches! He’s learning. And for his own credit, he’s an incredibly wise man, he has years of experience under his belt, and an intelligence score of 6/6, scoring up there with Nezu! He may not always have the right way to bring something up, but he’s doing his best. Yet even he blames himself for Izuku not being able to control his quirk better. Every time the boy hurts himself, it’s just another tally on the chalkboard of Toshinori’s failures. He himself knows the boy deserves better, better than him. Useless. Pathetic.

Then his friend from America, Dave, essentially became a villain trying to preserve Toshinori’s legacy after Toshinori told him about his injury. Dave went behind his back, threatened people, injured people (pretty sure people died), all for Toshinori’s sake. Something he didn’t want to begin with. Having to put your only other friend in jail for trying to help you surely couldn’t have been easy.

Oh, by the way? All For One isn’t dead. All Might will fight him again, publicly, have his weakened form exposed to the world, and have his own emotions toyed with as he finds out about his master’s grandson in the villain’s hands. Would Nana hate him for leaving her son alone like she’d asked, and dooming her grandchild to be raised by the greatest villain? Could he have done anything to save him? But Toshinori isn’t allowed to feel, he has to smile and push his own feelings aside once again, because there’s a villain to be fought, and only he can fight him. Despite coming out on top, he’ll have suffered severe head trauma, broken left arm, destroyed right arm, and several cuts and bruises that are sure to scar. And then, his quirk, the only thing that’s been allowing him to help people, the gift given to him that he carefully held for 40 years and molded into his own until his very consciousness was permanently carved into it, blows out like a match in the wind. And he’s done. Used up. Empty. Broken. Hollow. Alone, again.

He overhears his student, Bakugo, admit that he blames himself for All Might’s retirement. If he hadn’t been captured, All Might wouldn’t have had to save him, and he wouldn’t have had to fight AFO. Of course Toshinori knows that’s not true, his time was about to run out anyway. It would have happened one way or another. But how can he explain to this child that he wasn’t the cause of his hero, the world’s greatest hero, fighting for his sake, bleeding for his sake, being forced into retirement to keep him safe. Every time Bakugo sees the bandages covering Toshinori’s body is another reminder of the pain and sacrifice Toshinori willingly gave to keep him safe. Toshinori wasn’t held when his mentor died. He wasn’t told it was ok to be sad, that grief and mourning was a natural process, that it takes time to heal. He wasn’t told it was ok to cry. Instead his feelings were beaten out of him as he wondered if Gran Torino blamed him for Nana’s death. He already blamed himself How then, does he comfort a child mourning for him? For what he lost.

And then he gets the call to come to the hospital. Mirai, Nighteye, his old sidekick friend, has been gravely injured, much like he himself was only a few years ago, and most likely won’t survive the night. And to his horror, Nighteye is happy to see him, smiles at him, says he doesn’t hate him for what happened, only wants Toshinori to be happy. He can’t accept that, at least let him apologize, reconcile his sins before it’s too late! But it is. Another fractured piece of his heart gone.

Of course, seeing your students beat up and their arms completely destroyed must have hurt. Instead of being able to save these kids, they’re the ones that hurt themselves to save everyone else. And if Bakugo had kept OFA, things could have been very different (especially with what we know now of OFA and people with quirks). Toshinori wasn’t mad at Izuku for transferring it away, he’d never regret choosing Izuku, and I believe he still would have stayed by Izuku and Bakugo’s side should it have stayed in Bakugo, doing whatever he could to help.

As he tells Aizawa, “I’ve decided to live,” -that statement seems so melancholy, besides obvious reasons. It sounds more like another task he has to accomplish. He didn’t die he was supposed to die with the AFO fight, and now the whole life he lived is over. The world has no use for him anymore. If not for Izuku, he’d have nothing left keeping him here. But because his boy made him promise to live, he’ll do so. Though it almost seems like he says those words with regret. “I’ve decided to live.” Not, “I’m going to live!” “Nothing can kill me!” “I won’t go down without a fight!” No. “I’ll live if I have to, only because you asked me to.” The man is obviously and outwardly depressed. He has so many things against him. No doubt has severe PTSD, anxiety, among others. Not to mention his own physical health. Every day hurts. It’s painful to be alive. Why would he torture himself if he doesn’t have to? For you, my boy. You’re the only thing keeping me here. The only light in my dark world.

He tries to help Izuku find out the previous holder’s quirks, to help his boy in any way he can now that he’s worthless, and goes days on end without sleep, running his body into the ground. He even forgets Christmas. Only to find that by giving the boy the same gift he had received, he may have just doomed him to an early death, among psychological torture (danger detection). (Granted, he really doesn’t know how everything works, and he’s afraid to talk to anyone about it). His boy could live only half a life.

It’s only been a few months since he retired, and society has fallen into shambles. People are blaming him. People are dying. He watches helplessly as his colleague fight his fight for him, and end up battered, bruised, crippled, dead. He students, his boy, battle the monster he should have killed. Children are bleeding. This shouldn’t happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Is everything he worked for, everything he fought to protect, to build up, to inspire, is all for naught?! Did he live a foolish dream and doom the world? Was all the the friends he lost, tears he shed, the organs he destroyed, the pain he endures on a daily basis from the hole in his side, and the blood he continues to bleed every day, for nothing? The public, the ones he protected for so long, mourn his absence, but surely there are those among them who also blame him. The statue from his last fight in Kamino one that he never asked for was decimated in a mock of his catch phrase- the one that was supposed to give hope.

Now he can feel his own vestige speaking with Izuku in the OFA realm, even with out OFA in his own body anymore. His clock as nearly reached it’s limit, Nighteye’s prediction is due any day now. The only thing he wants is to see his boy smile at him, to give him some shred of hope. Yet the child remains unconscious, and Toshinori can’t even hold his hand from the bandages covering his arms. Will he still be able to fight? Is there any coming back from this now? Did I break him?

With all Toshinori has been through, I’m honestly surprised we haven’t seen him just outright break down. Anyone, anyone, else should have crumbled under the pressure of holding up the world for 40 years alone. And instead of being able to pass it on to someone when he can no longer bear its weight, it simply falls to into the abyss. People don’t credit All Might enough for everything he’s done. Most don’t realize the sacrifices he’s made. His character is so unbelievably profound and deep, it’s more than just the “I am here!” people focus on. He’s a deeply troubled, layered, complex character. And I can’t find fault within him.

[sinkix]

Haikyuu!!│Obsessive/Yandere HC’s │

Warning - Contains dark themes, mentions of emotional and physical abuse & sexually suggestive/explicit (18+) content, reader’s discretion is advised.

Characters - Hinata, Kuroo, Daichi, Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, Oikawa, Bokuto, Tendou & Kageyama.

Important Note: This is in no way romanticising or normalising toxic/abusive behaviour, you should not do as such as this is incredibly dangerous and unhealthy. If you identify any of these in your own relationships please seek help from a member of authority, counsellor or someone who can remove you from and aid in your recovery from the situation. This is a great contrast from all my other work on here so please read with caution. Stay safe <3

Hinata - The Hell-bent Visionary

Danger level: 6.5/10

So you’ve caught the eye of Karasuno’s ray of sunshine?

Bask in it’s warmth while you can, for the sun sets and leaves a chilling dark in it’s wake.

When he becomes focused on something, it’s hard to break the dedication he has. It’s unyielding, firm and persistent. Once you light a fire in him, it’s near impossible to put out.

And you didn’t just spark a flame, you formed a whole inferno.

Blowing up your phone with texts, calls and the tapping of rocks against your bedroom’s glass from late night visits to your doorstep. Greeted with the sickening scent of blood-red roses filling your nose at a reminder of how firmly he has you in his hold that will never falter. The lingering scratch marks adorning the window panes that you could have sworn were not there the night before.

 He can’t get enough of you, and the more time he spends with you, the more addictive your presence becomes.

He’s hooked, reaching the point of rivalling his sporting passion.

He learns to balance the two equally, and any second that isn’t spent practising, he is by your side or doing everything in his power to be.

It’s tunnel vision. All he sees is you, and the ball, nothing else matters. Relentlessly chasing for both long after his lungs tire and legs give out.

 He is a dark, unwavering force of nature, itching to monopolise you and eradicate any threat on what belongs to him. Yet around everyone else, he's a bundle of lovable sunshine who wouldn't dare hurt a fly, and while he doesn't show an outright aggressive nature, you know there's something sinister lurking underneath that might one day snap. 

It’s his stare that haunts you the most.

That ominous, chilling stare which pierces through your heart and impales it on a stick, out on display for him to marvel at in all it’s vulnerable beauty. The level of intensity and sheer devotion glinting in his eyes is nothing short of haunting.

Luckily for you, Hinata will not cause physical harm, but it’s his presence and ‘Jekyll & Hyde’ nature which will slowly but surely chip away at you until your sanity is reduced to dust. The worst part? Since he is loved by everyone, no one sees the twisted side you do, and as a result left permanently in a state of self-doubt and second guessing. Your mind will eventually spiral into a descent to madness until your right where he wants you.

Be careful, for even the sun’s light burns out eventually. And when it does, you’ll be swallowed by the darkness.

Kuroo - The Devil’s Reciprocal

Danger level: 9/10

Ahhh, the bad boy who smells of cigarettes and sex, the one who lurks in bars long after midnight eyeing up his prey. This man gives Satan a run for his money. I hope you’re prepared. What did you do to catch his eye, anyway? 

Whatever it was, it’s doomed you to an eternity in hell on earth.

Or heaven, if you’re a glass half full kind of person.

Kuroo drew you in like a moth to a flame, you knew he had no glinting halo, but that was his appeal.

 He was the incarnation of everything your parents warned you about, and you couldn’t get enough of it. 

Hell, you still can’t. But that doesn’t minimise the damage done to you every second he turns the light on, reeling you in once again, further and further until there’s no escape, utterly blinded by his deceiving tactics.

He has many admirers, you know. So in his eyes he feels you should be privileged to be given so much of his attention, that once received would leave any sane person running.

Unfortunately, you don’t seem to be sane enough, and he recognises this. He knows he’s got you hooked on his every word, dragging out the syllables like a lullaby that leave you entranced and begging for more.

 What can I say? The man has a way with words, and you’re totally enthralled by every sentence. 

Kuroo recklessly waves his charm like a gun, never a moment of hesitation to utilise it in order to get what he wants. 

And he always gets what he wants. 

It’s so dangerous it will leave you down on your knees in an act of submission and prepared to do anything to please him. The tip of the pistol aimed at your temple as if daring your defiance.

He revels in seeing that doe-eyed expression, fully aware of how much control he holds over every cell in your body. All of them scream out for him, for Kuroo. To kiss you, touch you and whisper sweet-nothings into your ear that linger with his hot breath scathing your neck, burning his scent into your memory until it’s one you’ll never forget. 

With all that temptation comes  consequence though, because once you give in, you’ll face the sadists horns that lurk underneath. 

Intertwining your bodies and tracing a switchblade across your jugular, he’ll stretch his lips into a wide, cunning grin, slamming into you and rutting his hips until they connect with yours. Throwing your head back in ecstasy, your whine will be stifled and cut short by the piercing slit of a blade shallowly opening the skin of your throat, the sharp sting lingering as his tongue deepens the incision with delight.

He is incredibly possessive, so anyone he deems a threat will be mercilessly eradicated, soon to be forgotten though. He will never allow your thoughts to be consumed by anything but him. 

Grinding his body against yours, the husky murmuring of pillow talk he is all too skilled at will leaves your knees trembling and buckling before him, with the one question he will only ever accept one answer to.

“Tell me sweetheart, who do you belong to...?”

Shuffling the cards and dragging cigar smoke across his lips, he’ll sip that glass of gin snidely and lock you in place with his smouldering gaze. Forever a reminder there’s no escape from his enslaving curse.

Daichi - The Despotic Protector

Danger level: 6/10

Karasuno’s father figure and reliable captain rolled into one. I hope you’re prepared for a lifetime of suffocation, because he’s never letting you go.

He takes on an almost a parental role in the relationship, and a toxic one.

Controlling, overbearing and monitoring your every move. He will never allow you to do anything without his permission out of fear for your safety.

I mean, what if something happens to you while you’re not within his peripherals? 

That’s a thought he simply couldn’t bear.

He’ll lock you in the confines of his home if he has to. But don’t get mad sweetheart, it’s because he cares for you.

Soon enough Daichi will have isolated you from the world, never seeing the shining of sunlight unless your arm is looped around his in a crushing hold. 

Friends? You can forget them, he made sure to steer you far, far away from those. He just can’t risk them laying a finger on you or putting you in harms way, he would never forgive them.

Daichi desperately tries to convince you he has your best interests at heart, and unluckily for you, you fall right into his trap.

Your whole life is consumed by him, and only him. Watching the clock tick by aimlessly until you hear his footsteps up the driveway, scurrying to the door to greet him like an obedient dog upon his arrival.

Pulling you into a loving hug that threatens to squeeze the life out of you, you can’t help but let your mind roam and ponder the question lurking at the back of your thoughts.

Has he ever killed with these hands?

They seem too crushing. Like a brute, inhuman force. You can picture his fingers wrapped around someone’s throat and draining them of oxygen almost too easily.

Little did you know, your hypothesis was painfully accurate. 

An old childhood friend of yours, currently 6 feet under in the yard. Your bare feet trampling over his grave and none the wiser every time he allows you to set foot in the garden.

You’ll never know, though. It’s not like you can check your phone without his permission anyway, he’s already blocked their contact.

Days, weeks, months pass by of his constant monitoring and controlling behaviour. The CCTV’s scattered in every corner of the house, the social deprivation and loneliness that creeps in every time he’s not there as you roam the barren household, the purple finger marks roping your wrists from when he kept you in a paralysing grip,daring your disobedience.

and you can’t help but wonder,

Maybe the person you needed protecting from was him.

Tsukishima - The Mendacious Manipulator

Danger level: 8.5/10

How unlucky you are to be paired with this mentally destroying sadist. 

At first Tsukishima’s wit, sarcasm and clever quips were what allured you, never did you think they would be used against you. Wielded like a weapon with a blade sharp enough to slice you in two.

And I’m warning you, every cut hurts.

There’s no escaping from it, a string of degrading remarks whispered cruelly in your ear while holding hands in public, appearing to be a cute and affectionate couple, but a sinister secret lurks underneath that only you know of.

He’ll treat you like a dog, expecting you to be at his every beck and call, serving on your knees with a painted smile that’s woefully forced on with every ounce of strength you have left.

You are his puppet, his useless little play thing that he makes painfully aware of how disposable they truly are.

And don’t take him for a fool, he will discard you if he sees fit.

Unmerciful, cruel, snide, are the some of many words that can describe Tsukishima, and as you’ll soon find out none of them are pleasant.

He will craftily make you open up to him. Revealing your deepest insecurities,traumas and troubles then sheath it like a sword to your neck, holding you hostage to your own weaknesses in order to gain that empowering sense of control he oh-so revels in. Endlessly striving to achieve his selfish, favourable outcome. 

This Yandere is one of most intelligent of the bunch, and unfortunately for you, does not use his intelligence for charitable or good-natured purposes.

He knows exactly what to say to leave you curled up in a ball, tears streaming and wracked in emotional agony as you plead for forgiveness on something that isn’t even your fault. He knows this, but finds it comical and all too amusing to see you so broken over something when you weren’t the one to blame. He gets off to your mental anguish.

You’ll be left stumbling the streets at 2 in the morning, contemplating your life and everything as you know it, he will warp your perception of the world until he is the only one you can crawl to. After all, it’s your fault, right? He’s the only one who could tolerate you, everyone else abandoned you because you were so insufferable.

...is what he’ll have you believe. In reality, Tsukishima was pulling strings behind the scenes to ensure you would distance yourself from friends and family, resulting in them doing the same. Wrapping you around his finger and twisting your behaviour into one that’s volatile and unapproachable, until you’re left totally alone.

You’ll never know though.

That mental fortitude will soon shatter, and when it does, he’ll cackle at it’s pathetic remains.

Yamaguchi  - The Diffident Vampire

Danger level: 5/10

I’m sad to say, but your tween Twilight fantasies will be crushed when you stumble upon this mess of a monster.

I don’t mean to say he’s a literal vampire, but you’ll understand the use of this metaphor once we delve into some of his tendencies.

He is incredibly insecure, the walking embodiment of the very word.

Now that isn’t the reason you should be warded off, everyone has self-esteem issues. However, this trait of his plays a huge part in siphoning the life out of you.

He captured your heart with his soft and sympathetic nature, easily startled and somewhat skittish.

You didn’t see what was below the iceberg however, and once you did, he sank his teeth in and began to suck before you could escape, draining you dry until you have no more left to give. Nothing to spare until he is licking his lips in satisfaction, swelled with the abundance at the emotional dependency he has built up on you.

He needs reassurance like a life line, and while some might find this endearing at first, it undoubtedly becomes highly toxic and emotionally exhausting.  

Yamaguchi is incredibly volatile with his sensitivity, you have to watch your words and be sure he doesn’t misinterpret them and become dejected. He will read into everything you say and question every little detail. 

This is one of those Yandere’s that wouldn't do it intentionally I don’t think, but by the time he catches himself it’s too late, he’s in far too deep to stop and I don’t think he ever will once he realises how addicted he is to you, your words boosting his sense of worth and being the only form of confidence he’s ever felt in his life.

It’s quite sad, really. 

Don’t pity him too much, though. That’s the trap. That’s how reels you in until the teeth marks adorning your neck are a harsh reminder that you are nothing more than food for his ego.

If you ever think about leaving, he will have no qualms grovelling at your knees, razor to his wrists and begging you to stay. A cruel memoire at what keeps you tied here in the first place.

Pity.

Care.

The mutual empathy you saw in him that drew you in was now broken and one-sided, his selfishness far outweighing this trait of his and becoming your death-sentence. 

The marks will never fade. One day you’ll collapse to your knees and cave, but he won’t stop until he has bled you bare.

Oikawa - The Venusian’s Nightmare.

Danger level: 8/10

Oh charming Oikawa. The pretty boy with enough carnal seduction to rival his greek goddess counterpart. Hair smooth as silk, eyes glinting with mischief and a smirk that could bow you down on all fours. He has everything, or so it seems.

Sanity isn’t one of them.

He is VERY demanding when he craves your attention, which let’s face it is pretty often. If he doesn’t get it? Definition of a nightmarish brat.

He will whine, complain, blow up your phone. Still not available?

He’ll simply disappear.

For how long? Who really knows. He likes the thought of you on edge and anticipating his return, thoughts of him plaguing your mind to the point you question if you’re the one who’s obsessed.

Don’t worry though, when he returns he has enough sensual suave to make you forgive him ten times over.

You may think his bratty and sulking nature is the worst of it.

Oh how wrong you are.

Push him to his limits or the closest thing to it and you’ll face a cut-throat, teasing sadist who will tie you to the bed with a sickening sparkle in his eyes, marvelling at your skin jaggedly sliced open like a sheet of paper, tracing the wounds with his tongue and lapping up the blood before pulling you into a heated kiss which seems almost loving, if it weren’t for the metallic taste intertwining your tongues as a harsh reminder that you’re not here by choice.

He is definitely the type to mock you and howl with laughter as your body spams and writhes in pain, degrading you with the most vile remarks till tears spill from your eyes.

“Awh poor (Y/N)-chan, crying like a baby. Can’t handle the pain? What a pathetic little whore. Maybe if you beg enough, I’ll ease up the pressure~”

Sometimes he’ll leave you there wrist-bound to the bed post for hours, coming back in occasionally until your level of pleading satisfies him. 

His change in treatment is paradoxical in the aftermath, he will release you from your restrains and rub your skin with such tender care, it’s agonisingly deceiving.

One of the most dangerous things about him is his intuition, it’s damn near supernatural and makes for a natural born lie detector. Oikawa will sense the slightest shift in your mood, tone and body language. He knows you like the back of his hand, making it all the more unnerving to be in his presence.

This can be a positive if he is looking to fill you with ecstasy, since he knows every sweet spot, curl of his fingers and words to whisper that leave you trembling in mind-numbing pleasure.

Though you know once coming down from your high, your moments of heaven will slip through your fingers before crashing back down to reality.

He can read you like a book that he wrote with his own hands and it’s horrifying, he can predict what you’re going to say or do before you’ve even made up your mind. Which as you can guess, makes escape or wheedling out of a threatening scenario a null alternative.

If you decide to make the suicidal mistake of lying, your body will never quite function the same once he’s through. not to mention the plethora of emotional scarring that comes along with it.

After catching you in your mendacity and deeming your punishment enough, he’ll decorate your body in cuts, bruises and hickeys that throb from the abuse of his teeth. Laying you down in bed and tucking you in gently, wrapping an arm around in an act of ‘protection’ that was formerly wrapped around your throat in an act of threatening asphyxiation.

Eyes fluttering closed hours after he drifted off beside you, your heart rate quells and the tears staining your cheeks dry, preparing for the repeated cycle when the sun rises. 

How foolish to be lured in by such a facade, even the most beautiful of creatures can be hideous. 

Bokuto -  The Volcanoes Slaughter

Danger level: 9.5/10

The ticking of a time bomb, the cracking of the ground beneath your feet.

Once you are swept up in this man’s wrath you know there will never be an escape.

and he’s fucking terrifying.

His energy and vigour were what charmed you, his upbeat enthusiasm that while volatile, was very contagious and encouraging. 

If only you had known what kind of disaster was laying low under the surface.

Akaashi had tried to warn you, but you simply never listened.

He pities you now, for you’re in the same boat as him.

Eternally putting up with his violent tempers and erratic nature, which you often get the brunt of behind closed doors, left to cover the scars with a scarf and cheap pot of concealer.

His moods switch as quick as the direction of the wind, a gust too strong that leaves you flying back like a ragdoll against the wall.

Or that may just be because he actually threw you in a fit of rage, itching to see your limp body crack against the drywall to soothe his rage. Drowning the voices in his head with the sound of your soothing whimpers filled with agony.

While he may beat you black and blue whenever the overflow of emotions take over, he still does ‘care’ for you in his own sickening way, and would never have any qualms snapping a neck or two if it prevented anyone else laying a finger on you.

Though to be honest it’s the furthest thing from care, it’s downright monopolisation of something he deems his object.

How dare they hurt his personal punching bag, don’t they know you’re his and his alone to mark up in any way he pleases?

To everyone else, he seems like a very loving and protective boyfriend who has the occasional mood swing. If only they could pick up on the flinching of your body when his voice raises even a decibel, or the way you retract in fear at the swatting of a hand too close to your face. 

The anxiety felt when in his presence is indescribable, your whole body will soon become accustomed to trembling in fear, your fight or flight kicking in at the mere mention of his name. His voice sends every hair standing on end, bracing for the impact that may or may never come from his grazed fists.

Treading on eggshells and analysing every word before you speak will become second nature, even the tone of your voice or the way you arrange a question will be heavily thought over before even daring to let it escape your mouth.

You just can’t risk it, even hearing a word he doesn’t like will result in the tectonic plates shifting, getting closer to his impending eruption.

Once you hear the rumbling, you’ll know it’s far too late to run. Burned by the raging lava and consumed whole in a flood of pain and misery, it will destroy everything in it’s wake, even you.

Tendou - The Jesters Despair

Danger level: 10/10

You really opened pandora’s box with this one.

And once you so much as cracked it for a peak, just that little inkling of curiosity, the lanky arm of a redhead yanked your wrist and dragged you in with him.

Tendou’s eccentric and offbeat disposition was something you had always admired, it was what made your heart flutter.

Now? That eccentricity is put to the most horrifying of uses.

Mind games, manipulation, and unpredictability beyond your worst nightmare.

Tendou is the type to sink a blade into your skin and cackle maniacally while you cry and plead for him to stop. Edging himself and eyeing you up greedily at the painful fear in your eyes, blood trickling down your skin with each incision.

He’ll pull your hair back and slide his tongue along the cuts, his lustful gaze boring into your own as the pooling saliva leaves a chilling feeling on your skin, nose wrinkled in disgust at the thought of his DNA entering your bloodstream.

He thrives on trickery and deception. He’s the type to say something incredibly warm and soft-centred, one that makes your pupils expand in newfound hope with the question of “...really?” rolling off your tongue. That inkling of hope sparking the thought that maybe, just maybe he’s changed. 

Only to burst into a fit of laughter at your naivety, teasing you relentlessly for how gullible and moronic he thinks you are. 

This yandere is incredibly incalculable. Here one minute, gone the next. Don’t even bother trying to figure out what he’s doing or where he is, you’ll never know. It keeps you on your toes in the most negative and unnerving sense of the expression, he gets a buzz off leaving you wondering, and takes great satisfaction in knowing you’re probably thinking about him.

 However, he expects you to be there whenever he needs you, regardless of circumstance. And if you’re not? You’ll have consequences to face.

I’m sorry to say, but there is no chance in hell you’re surviving this experience, there’s no doubt you’ll be murdered eventually. 

After all, he does get bored easily. Not so much as giving it a second thought on disposing of you once you are no longer a source of fresh entertainment for his sadistic desires.

With each passing day his treatment becomes increasingly brutal, searching for new ways to fulfil that empty feeling in his heart and cold, hollow look in his eyes. Don’t even bother trying to save him, not even he would know where to start.

Every night as you shut your eyes on the hardwood floor beside his bed, you can’t help but wonder if this is the last time you’ll ever close them.

And for your sake? You’d better hope it is.

Charming you with the humour of a Jester and putting on a show, he’ll make it certain every time you laugh, will be paid back with tears twofold. 

Kageyama - The Majesties Tyrant

Danger level: 7/10

Kneel before your highness or face his wrath. Kageyama Tobio is the most commanding of them all. Permanently trapped in his dictatorship with no hope of revolt. 

He doesn’t become set on things very often, but once he does it’s something he’ll never give up until he’s conquered it wholly.

Stubborn, moody, domineering and demanding. With just enough of a soft side he uses to persuade you back again. 

Fuelled by ego, pride, and a sense of superiority, he will never stop until he has your total obedience.

Being the dense man he is, this is usually achieved through simplistic means of intimidation and threats of aggression.

Kageyama will not hesitate to raise his fist and back you into a corner, cowering in recoil at his menacing aura that itches to do damage

You will do what he says, whenever he needs it, no if’s but’s or objections.

For such a hard headed ruler, he’s surprisingly childish and unsure about how to express anything other than abuse.

I think a part of him genuinely does like you, but it’s far too clouded by his toxic nature that it could never be seen as even slightly redeemable.

The most you’ll ever get out of Kageyama is the occasional hug, in which he squeezes you far to tight and resurfaces the pain of last nights bruises.

He doesn’t resort to physical violence often, as he is always reprimanded by the team to control his anger. If only they knew what he was like behind closed doors. I suppose you could credit it to Karasuno that he hasn’t accidentally killed you yet.

Yet.

When it comes to matters in the bedroom, he is focused solely on his own gratification, yours being a second thought he never so much as acknowledges.

Collared and threaded by  chain, you will crawl beside him and take it all until you’re gasping for air. The only thing he cares about is climaxing and leaving you with the cleanup.

He’s quite self conscious, so don’t expect much physical affection unless he’s chasing a particularly intense release.

Kageyama is highly jealous and frequently painted green with envy, so expect your social life to dwindle significantly once he has his hands on you, literally and metaphorically.

Thankfully, he won’t isolate you entirely, but it’s enough to leave you feeling segregated from the rest of the world. A lone member of his regime that you are forever trapped in with no chance of escape.

Bow down with a meek mutter of “Yes...master.” His crown will twinkle in the moonlight as a symbol of your everlasting enslavement.

The king of the court, and the ruler of your heart.

[fandomoverdrive]

Okay I just need to go on a rant about Whirl because I love him he might just be the most tragic character in the entirety of MTMTE and considering the candidates that’s a pretty hard position to cinch. Some of this is gonna have mentions re: self harm, suicidal tendencies/ideation, overall bad coping mechanisms etc so if that’s not your cuppa please scroll on. 

This gets long so here’s the obligatory read more. 

Let’s write “tragic” in flickering neon letters with the fact that Whirl’s first appearance in MTMTE, dropping the titular “how to say goodbye and mean it,” is a personal soliloquy delivered as he’s in the midst of constructing his own funeral pyre. Whirl is lost, directionless, trapped and unwilling to be such in a postwar environment. But how did we get here? 

Whirl is without a doubt a driven character. In the prewar functionist society, he had no qualms switching careers, risks be damned. Whether he’s always had a knack for disobeying authority or was simply driven by passion or both isn’t elaborated on, but he’s got a hell of a hardheaded streak that’s impossible to ignore. When destroying his business wasn’t enough to deter him from further rebellion, the Senate was happy to turn him into an empuratee and destroy not only the opportunity but the capability of continuing to rebel by pursuing his passion. This is what I’d personally consider the big ‘whump’ moment, less so the use and abuse as a pawn that followed but the point of trauma at which we begin to see Whirl’s psyche begin to twist.

From this point forward we see Whirl in and out of prison, let loose when he can be useful to someone else’s ploy and otherwise incarcerated for a buffet of offenses. No longer able to be constructive and having little if any control of his life, Whirl becomes aggressively destructive. In response to having everything he aspired toward ripped away from him, permanently, he builds a mental defense of bitterness and anger and paves over his black hole of self worth with a veneer of outright assholery. It’s here that he bares his metaphorical fangs and pushes - with gusto - anyone who might even suggest they’re trying to appeal to reason or get close to him as an individual. 

It’s hard to imagine, given even subtly different circumstances, that Whirl would not side with the decepticons for the war. While he’s single-handedly responsible for radicalizing Megatron towards violence, the ‘con intent at the start of revolution - that movement in society should be possible and a caste system based on alt mode is unethical - aligns quite nicely with what he’d already aspired to do with his life. His conscription to the side of the autobots is just another instance in which his autonomy is cast aside. 

Whirl is a tool. Whirl had a passion for watchmaking, but now he can’t, so his new passion is violence. Whirl is a gun and someone else has always told him where to point and all he’s ever been given for his cooperation is the blame of pulling the trigger. Whirl is an asshole, Whirl is unpredictable, Whirl isn’t a mech anybody would ever think twice about saving - the answer would always be no. Whirl wants to die. Whirl only wants to die on his own terms and he’ll be damned if he’s going to keel over under the orders of someone he doesn’t respect, for a cause he doesn’t believe in. 

A few years of this sort of treatment would be enough to drive anyone insane, let alone the millennia of warfare he suffered through. Worse yet is the one time he found a group, a team that was known for the unorthodox and taking on the big messy challenges, the Wreckers kicked him out. Whirl was too much for the mechs that were too much and there’s no way in hell that doesn’t still sting. 

That’s how we get here:

Whirl defends himself through isolation from others. He can’t be hurt by others if he never lets them close enough to be hurt by. In a hypersocial society, he has no close long-term friends, he is one of the few with no roommate aboard the Lost Light. He made himself as unpalatable as possible. He’s crass, he’s volatile, he makes it clear with every word and action that Whirl is first, you don’t mean anything, I’d leave you for dead in an instant..... But that’s not true, is it? 

Whirl is shown being completely, dramatically, self-destructively caring throughout the series. Between risking his life for the scraplet colony disguised as a protoform, participating in an untested spark jumpstart to save a life, coming up with a plan to rejuvenate Tailgate’s spark, and performing a spark transplant surgery on Megatron - without whom the world would never have been even a fraction as cruel to Whirl as it had been - Whirl is far from the most selfish character in the series. It’s in his nature, however, to deny such, to the point where he more than likely believes his own narrative that he’s irredeemable, self-absorbed, invincible, degenerate, and neither capable nor deserving of close interpersonal relationships. 

It’s also how we get here:

Whirl is one of the characters that we more frequently see in a state of disrepair. He fights passionately and recklessly, with no regard whatsoever to whether or not he makes it out of a scrum with all his limbs intact. Injuries like these, and those that he experiences elsewhere in the series, would put other mechs out of commission through pain alone, but as long as Whirl is conscious he doesn’t stop until the fight is over. 

As depressing as it is to think that Whirl is simply at this point accustomed to extraordinary pain, it’s even moreso to think about the more likely concept that he wants to be hurt. Whirl doesn’t have control of a lot that happens to him, but do you know what he does have control of? Who he chooses to shit-talk. More often than not we see Whirl being blatantly disrespectful of his superiors, and some of the more dangerous mechs aboard the LL. While obviously his intent when insulting Ultra Magnus isn’t to start a fight, harping on Drift (and subsequently getting cold clocked) or Cyclonus is a little more self-destructive in nature. 

While Whirl has been in therapy, we see during the encounter with Fort Max that he’d shared very little of what he actually considered traumatic with Rung. With no material to work with, Rung wouldn’t have been able to give Whirl instructions or advice as far as a healthy coping mechanism, and so I’m firmly of the belief that Whirl goes out of his way to get himself hurt as a way to have a vague sense of control. 

On his actions and guilt:

Whirl is immensely guilty. When he’s overcharged, he admits that everything feels like his fault - and unfortunately a lot is. Whirl believes he’s the bad guy, and he’s willing to take the fall for actions that others might find immoral. There’s a lot Whirl has done that he’ll likely never forgive himself for, even if he garnered the ability to start forgiving himself for the small things, but the character he’s created for himself has been part of him for so long that it’s near impossible to tell where to draw the line between caricature and his genuine self. 

At this point in time, Whirl is not capable of improving himself without external assistance. 

He has accepted (however wrongfully) that he is not cared about, trusted, wanted, or respected. 

His assumptions become self-fulfilling prophecy as he - consciously or not - works to perpetuate his image. Whirl is a dick, he’s unfazed by anything anyone says about him, if someone is insulting him they’re probably right, why bother arguing unless it’s with the intent to get in a fight? He doesn’t pay attention to others, he doesn’t pay attention to himself, nothing that anybody could say could possibly make a difference. 

Right? Right?

Wrong. Part of what makes Whirl so heart-wrenchingly tragic is that it is so incredibly clear that nobody has ever told him he mattered. Rodimus throws out what could be interpreted as a snide remark, “even the crazy bastard makes a difference,” and that aside sticks with him. Millions of years of warfare, of being a tool to use, an expendable soldier, a rabid dog to throw at their enemies, and not once did someone turn around and say he was anything good. He’s been thanked for saving lives, for contributions, for individual acts, but his reaction to Rodimus really cements in my mind that nobody has ever said that he, that Whirl, was important. 

Whirl is a broken character. He’s subsumed by his own self-hatred that he perpetuates and justifies with a mask of cruel indifference and aggressively abrasive snark. He’s alone, by what he thinks is his own choice but is really a horribly misguided attempt to keep himself safe. He’s got no potential for growth unless someone wants to force their way through his defenses in order to help him find the line between who he is and who he pretends to be in order to keep from being hurt. Whirl is terrified of abandonment, and guarantees that nobody will ever be able to leave him by never letting them come close to begin with. He’s not a good person, he’s violent and callous and has little regard for the consequences of his actions, but he is that way because of the life he was forced to lead. He falls into consistent patterns because he craves control, even if those patterns are self destructive. It’s proof of the little growth he was allowed during the course of MTMTE/LL that after their quest was over, he didn’t attempt suicide again but instead got into the revolving door of incarceration for petty offenses. 

All in all, Whirl is one of the saddest characters in any media I’ve consumed and please someone get this despicable bastard helicopter a new therapist and a stiff drink 

[worldcakecakecake]

On Deutschland and Italia, by Lovino Valenti

Lovino writes a series of blog entries on the relationship between Germany and Italy as he deals with a move to Hamburg, his brother’s wedding, and his budding romance (which he denies) to the infuriating Gilbert Beilschmidt.

                                                              Chapter 9

It was a Friday Lovino had taken to work from home, calmed with coffee, typing away in a serene air…one he had tried to get himself on, avoiding the notification for a reminder of an event he was invited to, the dinner were Feliciano said he was finally going to talk about what’s going on. It was supposed to be tomorrow and all he could feel was anguish and worry, expecting the worst words to come then. And when they say it…what could he do? What could he say? What could he convince them to do? His thoughts were interrupted by a call…Gilbert’s name in a splendid of color to him. Despite the bubbling pink feelings, he took the call quick and harsh, hiding whatever immense of feelings. “Pronto?”

 “So, Ludwig just admitted to me that he’s starting a new business.”

 “A whole new business!” Lovino practically shouted.

 “I couldn’t get anything else out of him. He told me he’ll say more at the dinner tomorrow.”

 Lovino groaned, “I don’t like this, I don’t like this at all.”

 “He mentioned that he’s worried about what we’re going to think.”

 “That’s because it surely has to be something horrible! Ugh, does my brother even understand what he’s getting himself into?” He started swinging a pen, ready to aim in his anger.

 “Well, what can we do about it? The wedding is in a month! No matter what they decided on, everything is well on its way and there’s nothing we can do to change that!”

 “Yes…yes! We have to!”

 “Lovino, I’m just as worried as you are, but we can’t make them realize-”

 “That’s what we’ll do! Make them realize!”

 “Realize what?”

 “How everything is a bad idea, how they should re-think this entire thing and deal with something safer…something that might get them to stay here even,” Lovino stood and paced trying to get his thoughts to kindle.

 “What can we possibly get short notice?”

 And Lovino stopped, Gilbert understanding with the silence that he didn’t have a single clue. It continued, Gilbert being able to hear the furious tap of the pen Lovino held.

 “What if we…what if we talk to our families today?” Gilbert suggested. “Let them know part of what’s going on. Maybe then, when Ludwig and Feliciano come, they’ll have ideas and we can be like this…team! With enough force, we can change their minds!” Gilbert alighted, with bright hope that already promised his little brother still in Germany.

 “That’s…that’s brilliant!”

  Gilbert startled…not expecting such a positive reaction from him. The energy he glowed with…oh…he was blushing, hand shaking, close to running to him and witnessing it all right before him. “You-you…you think so?” He tried to sound his usual dashing grin, yet it came out crocked and he was now beginning to sweat.

 You know what…maybe staying home was a better idea.

 “Yes! It’s perfect!” A quick glance to the clock, only three p.m., enough time, Lovino thought. “But we have to start now! I’ll talk to my grandfather and parents.” In his haste, not really being conscious of what he was doing, he threw a loving kiss that made Gilbert swear he was going to faint. “Good luck and see you tomorrow,” those last words were uttered in deep seduction and Gilbert couldn’t take it. Lovino hung up, not giving the chance for Gilbert to say a proper goodbye…not that he could at the moment. He fell straight to the couch, keeping his eyes wide to tell himself that this wasn’t a dream.

 Oh no…he had it bad, so bad…he could hear his brother laughing in some corner of his mind.

 He couldn’t stand up, he was stuck in his own bliss, with nothing on his mind but Lovino and wanting the next day to come. Oh there was that shirt he could wear! The one his mother always told him to, but he never did thinking it made him look as pompous as his cousin Roderich.  Oh wait, his mother! He had to start calling them.

  It was a splendid night, slightly cold, but still a perfect atmosphere that to Ludwig and Feliciano was even romantic. How they wished they could have saved it only for themselves, with the restaurant’s dim lighting, one of the private corners they knew Augusto can easily place for them. Instead, it was one of the big tables that was waiting for them, they were late, and from what they could see out the window, the ones missing.

 “I’m sure they’ll be happy,” Feliciano confided.

 Ludwig sighed though, still so anxious. He took Feliciano’s hand, a tight grasp, raising to kiss. “Have I told you that my biggest fear is losing you…and that I love you deeper than anything else I could,” he said like it was a goodbye.

 Feliciano giggled, “everything is going to be fine.” He raised a hand to caress dearly at the side of his face.

 A sudden outburst of Augusto flailing his arms upwards, shouting in demand brought Feliciano back to the sight of the restaurant. “I think we should be heading inside,” and he went forward.

 “Right behind you,” Ludwig let himself sway in the dumbfounded love, a hand on Feliciano’s back as support as he followed right behind him.

 “-my son is more than capable enough!” Reinhardt’s shout was their welcome.

 “Then he would have been given more! Not left stranded to his luck!” Augusto shouted back.

 “It was bankruptcy.” Aldrich joined.

 “And even so, Ludwig can put up a company in a matter of months, while Feliciano will most likely stay in his same position for years on end.”

 It hurt Feliciano to hear this from Reinhardt, a sudden scared grasp given to Ludwig.

 “I wouldn’t be surprised if this was all part of a scheme to get Ludwig to do everything, while Feliciano can just lay in the house without a worry to spare!” Monika gave in.

 “My son has honor! He wouldn’t submit to this!” Vincenzo defended.

 “He’s the one who’ll be paying for everything after all! From the looks of it, I guess it will be Ludwig staying at home expecting Feliciano to do absolutely everything!” Renata shouted the loudest, insulted.

 “Let him! Ludwig will in the end overwork himself more!” Reinhard continued.

 “My son will not be a servant!” Vincenzo proclaimed.

 Neither couldn’t take it, Feliciano coughing to bring their attention, so all could see they were there, holding to each other tightly, wide eyed at such accusations. “What…what is going on?” Feliciano managed to ask even with the tremble.

 “How long were you expecting to hide this from us?” Augusto demanded as he turned to them.

 No greetings, no peace, blazing anger that wanted words of explanation before anything else.

 “Sir, what do you mean?” Ludwig tried to be civil.

 “Oh, don’t act dumb! We know your sick plan to run off without a coin on your backs! You expect Feliciano to do your biding while you go off and party in Santo Domingo!” Vincenzo accused loudly.

 “What?...No! I wouldn’t do something like that!” Ludwig turned to the defensive.

 “But you are going to!” Augusto joined.

 “No! I’m not! Why would you even-”

 “Don’t go shouting just at Ludwig! You haven’t addressed Feliciano’s complot to go off with Ludwig’s money when the opportunity presents itself!” Monika pointed.

 “No! No! No! I would never!” Feliciano tried to even with their shouts, but they came out meek, especially as he kept his tight hold on Ludwig’s arm, now clearly afraid.

 “Look! There must have been some misunderstanding. The table is ready, we can sit down and talk about this,” Ludwig pointed in the hopes they could hurry.

 “Oh, Ludwig! There’s no need to defend him! You can go outright and say what is really going on!” Louis, with everyone else, seemed to block a pathway that could lead them to the table…and to some sense.

 “I can, if you just let me explain!”

 “Why should you? Let Feliciano do his own talking!” Augusto shouted, coming close, ready to take Feliciano to his side if he had to.

 “I…I…” Feliciano was trembling now.

 “He can’t even defend himself!”

 “Caught him red handed!” Monika blamed.

 “But I didn’t do anything!”

 “You’re only making him nervous!” Renata tried to calm.

 “Because it’s all exactly what he’s planning!”

 “He’s not planning anything!”

 “Well…technically we are…”

 “So there is a plan!”

 “But it’s not what you think!”

 “I knew something was off with Ludwig, knew it the moment they announced they were getting married!” Vincenzo shouted on.

 “Misusing of my boy’s innocence! He wants nothing but to taint him and leave him for the next offering body!” Augusto dramatized. “Feliciano, this is no way to give your virginity!”

 “Nonno…I’m not a virgin.”

 For some reason…those words…that brought deep flushes to the couple was the only thing that managed to bring final silence.

 “…you’re not…? When…when did this happen? Who?” Augusto was truly shocked and devastated.

 “Uh…” Ludwig tried to word.

 “Ludwig, we don’t have to tell them anything…” Feliciano held him.

 “So you won’t!” Aldrich angered.

 “You’re not even letting us!”

 “What excuse can you give us to defend this crazed plot?”

 “It’s not a crazed plot! If you would only listen!”

 “Well we don’t have to listen! We know enough! And let me say that I do not approve of it at all!” Reinhardt declared.

 “Feliciano!” And here Vincenzo pulled his son back to them. “We really don’t think you should go through with the marriage! Not when Ludwig can abuse you! I’m sorry, but I must withdraw my blessing!” Vincenzo told all, standing strong in his decree.

 “Papa, please! Let us explain!” Feliciano insisted, trying to let go of the harsh grip his family had on him.

 “Don’t do this! You haven’t given us the chance to talk!” Ludwig tried to defend, tried to get Feliciano back, but his family brought him back with their own strong grip.

 “Ludwig, it’s not worth it! I have to agree with Vincenzo, but I cannot permit such a marriage to occur. I will refuse to participate in it!” Louis said.

 “Then fine! I don’t want you to participate in it!” Ludwig managed loosening, harshly moving away from them. “I will marry Feliciano even if this all some plot to take my money away!” He shouted his clarity.

 “You’re willing to go through with this just so that could be the end point!” Louis shouted at him, Ludwig reaching an exasperation that was just agreeing so he could get them all to stop.

 “Yes! Okay! Fine! Let Feliciano take my money, let him be a lazy ass, let him disappoint me and make a fool of himself!”

 And Feliciano joined his family in the insult and disappointment. While they continued crying out, Feliciano tried not to tear at the harshness of such words. Whether they were real or not, the fact that they were a thought shone in screams along with the rest, proved enough of actuality to him.

 “Feliciano, let’s just go,” and Ludwig held out his hand expecting it all nothing, no other effort or defend. He wanted to go ignorant to what happened. Feliciano angered and wanted to slap the hand away…but at the same time…he did not want to be chocked by the hold his father gave him or how the rest hovered above him like vicious animals. It seemed that he would only have an escape with Ludwig…and there was something in that idea that settled very wrongly. He briskly let his hand free, glaring at his family and deciding to get away for now, having to take the grasp of Ludwig’s hand.

 “After he said all that…you’re still willing to go with him.”

 Feliciano flared but tried to keep his anger away from Ludwig or his family. “He’s already taking money from me anyways, so let him be a stuck up, let him betray me and leave me alone in another country,” he spat with fury, the grip of his hand not loving, but suffocating and wanting to hurt.

 Ludwig was wide eyed at the answer, fearful and broken, and Feliciano could only look away not explaining anything…as Ludwig did. Grasped still with a deadly hold, they decided on leaving, not looking back, the only sound the echo of Ludwig’s car as it drove down the street, sealing their decision for both families to take witness.

 Gilbert and Lovino had not seen what happened, blissfully unaware as they spent their time in Lovino’s apartment, talking and laughing before they had to come down and show another face to the family.

 “Rugrats! Of all things!”

 “I didn’t want to watch some damn Regular Show!”

 They fought even if with smiles and gentility, the only ounce of happiness to arrive to the somberness of what the restaurant had become. No one spoke with one another, and less they were going to sit together in this heaviness. To their surprise, Gilbert and Lovino were the only ones bringing that cheery atmosphere this dinner should have been. Yet they halted and stared in wondering, their mere gazes asking what was wrong.

 “Ludwig and Feliciano left,” Monika answered.

 “Already? We haven’t even started to eat!” Gilbert was incredulous.

 “I…don’t think were going to eat tonight, Gilbert,” Augusto glared, a new blame for any of the Beilschmidts now.

 “Ah, come on, Nonno! The cooks were going to make me a pesto pizza!” For once, Lovino was clearly disappointed.

 “I’ll…go and stop them from making anything then.” And without another word, the old man turned and made his way inside the kitchen. The rest, without a single glance to meet themselves, began picking their things and one by one each left their own direction without leaving a word of explanation.

 “What’s up with them?” Gilbert wondered.

 Lovino shrugged, “maybe not hungry. But fuck, my pesto pizza! I was so excited!” Lovino went back to angering.

 “Ah, come on, we can just go somewhere else to have it!”

 “No! Nu-uh! I don’t trust anywhere else out of nonno’s restaurant. There’s a lot of fakes out there.”

 “Then why not make it yourself?”

 Lovino was ready to fight it, but stopped when it began to sound quite appetizing. “Ugh! It’s too late to make a pizza now!” He sadly realized.

 Gilbert shrugged, “how about tomorrow then? I can come over and you can really show me how it’s done!”

 “Great! How about you arrive for lunch and spend the whole day?”

 Such excitement, such a good glow.

 “Awesome…so…do we make it a date then?” Gilbert dared along with a smirk, a lean and a blush in his cheeks and eyes that Lovino had to look away from before he succumbed to showing himself an utter fool to those gazes.

 “Yeah…fine, it’s a date…” he tried hard to pout it…but instead there came a smile that Gilbert didn’t fail to miss.

 “So…be at your place by two. You’ll have everything else and I’ll…bring some beer,” he let himself twirl one of Lovino’s curls, what the other thought easing and nice.

 “Nothing too shitty, please.”

 “Only the best!” They chuckled and began moving away, ever so slow as they couldn’t keep their eyes off each other. Gilbert tried to make his exit backwards, not letting anything break the view he had of Lovino. He let himself indulge in it, smiling and waving. He used one hand to try and find the exit, but he couldn’t control his legs from bumping, tumbling and almost bringing the entire table to the ground.

 “Careful!” Lovino scolded, but so gently and sweetly that Gilbert was still enamored.

 “Haha, yeah, yeah…yes! I…I can do things…I can walk!”

 What an adorable doofus.

 “I’ll…see you tomorrow!”

 “At two!”

 “At two!” Gilbert promised and was off, leaving Lovino with the brightest smile in the ruins of what had just occurred.

  The car ride was silent. When they arrived to Ludwig’s apartment, it was also silent. Feliciano didn’t spare a word as he went into the guest room and shut himself inside. Ludwig didn’t bother to fight him about it, he went to his own room and tried to get some sleep. He tried to not be persuaded by the empty spot beside him…the spot where he expected his sun rays to be in, where his arms will embrace it, let his own scent engulf him until he was spread himself with the sun. He turned the other way and tried hard to ignore it…he could sleep without it…he could…-by five a.m. he was already on the table, typing away on his laptop. His eyes were grey, lost on the screen, forcing himself to work, to calculate and write no matter how the anguish weight him into his seating. It was around eight that Feliciano woke…far too early for him. He was just as grey and drained, not bothering for a cup of coffee, a wash, he just took a seating in a near stool, to breathe and lost in thoughts that Ludwig couldn’t read. He forced himself to only be on his laptop, letting this silence continue to reign.

 …Their mornings were never like this.

 “Ludwig…” Feliciano started to speak, doubtful and fearing, “…do you really think going to Santo Domingo like this is a good idea?”

 Ludwig didn’t answer so quickly, didn’t even look at him, Feliciano wondering if he had purposely ignored it…only the more reason for him to anger.

 “Everything is already planned…we’ve bought everything we need, the wedding is in a couple of weeks…let’s just…go with it as it should,” he did answer, but he didn’t gaze at anything else.

 “I don’t want to just…go with it!”

 “Isn’t that something you’re always telling me to do…go with it!”

 “Yeah, but…not like this, not after what you said last night.”

 Ludwig rolled his eyes, “there was a lot of pressure…”

 “So in a lot of pressure you decide to call me a thief, a lazy ass, a disappointment and a fool!”

 “I didn’t exactly say those things and you know I didn’t mean it!”

 “I heard it, Ludwig! You insinuated them, you thought them, you readily said everything right before your family and mine!” True pain was presented well on Feliciano now.

 “You called me a stuck up, a cheater and disloyal.”

 “I didn’t-”

 “You did! I heard you…and right before my family and yours!” He finally raised his eyes to him, staring and hurtful, Feliciano shaking and hating that this gaze was now brought upon him.

 “I…I was hurt by what you said.”

 “You didn’t think I was hurt too.” More an edge was added to his tone, a cut that silenced Feliciano, twirling his fingers, looking away as he settled with this new pain.

 “I really…I really didn’t mean them.”

 “I didn’t mean mine either. Just forget about it…we said what our families wanted to hear and got them off our backs. We can go on.”

 “By making each other go against our own families? Ludwig, despite everything, I still care for my family and I want them to keep being a part of my life…yours too.”

 “We don’t need them, Feliciano. We have ourselves.”

 “But-”

 “Do you really want to keep people who said all those things about us?”

 “Because we couldn’t explain! They didn’t know any better!”

 “And this is how they respond when faced with uncertainty?”

 Their voices got higher with each accusation.

 “We just…we just had to keep trying. We had to fight and defend one another…” Feliciano was never one to keep himself, Ludwig knew his emotions had to always be displayed. No secrets, no hiding, his eyes reddened and already the first tears began to fall down his cheeks. He thought him beautiful still, but it scorched that they were being caused by him, while all he did was stay seated, trying to keep his eyes away, afraid to face sadness from one he always made sure to make bright.

 “Why…why didn’t you stand up for me?...Why didn’t you defend? Why didn’t you try to prove them wrong?”

 And yet Ludwig couldn’t face it, couldn’t let himself show how this was shredding him as well, not wanting to show his own weakness when he was too stubborn to keep his strength in the discussion.

 “Feliciano…there was no need…” was somehow the only thing he could say.

 “No need…no need…” he hiccupped in a heave he couldn’t withstand, those words a heavy marked realization that made him surer of a pathway he had to take. It stung when his hands reached for the ring that had been worn faithfully since the day Ludwig presented it to him in a wonderful proposal. He lunged himself with a terrible cry, knowing what he had to do, what he deserved and should stand strong for, Ludwig crumbling, wishing he could force himself to take Feliciano, but is own despair kept him seated.

 The ring began to get removed in what they heard themselves a shriek, released along with a void that sucked whatever light was always present between them.

 “Then I guess there’s no need for me to wear this anymore.” And it was placed on the coffee table as a token to be forgotten. “No need for a wedding…no need for us.” Feliciano didn’t bother with another glance, he picked a bag he had made and left. No other goodbye, no beautiful trace. He was gone as swiftly as a ghost, yet with a haunting that kept Ludwig stunned, the pain like the heaviest shot, the weight like a swarm of animals were on top of him, the cage the most restricting he had been in. He heaved, lost on how his movements worked…how to look, how to stand.

 In this mess, in this ever clashing of emotions seeming to rampage all across Ludwig’s body, he exploded by throwing his own laptop to the ground, uncaring of pieces and what its memory of work held.

 Nothing…it was all nothing…he had nothing anymore.

 He pushed his hands into his eyes, ignoring the pain in favor of trying to dam the tears that already began to swarm, but in the end, in a release of breath that made him heavier, he let them coat his face how they wanted, redden him and already paint him a mess after only minutes of being left by Feliciano.

 There was no perseveration to move on with his day…it seemed like it wasn’t there anymore, like there was nothing to live for and make it his.

 He let himself sink in that position, determined to stay and dig himself ever deeper.

 There was nothing else now.

< previous chapter

[somedayonbroadway]

is snyder ever good to race and/or jack or is he just constantly a dick (which wouldn’t surprise me honestly- i mean, it’s snyder)

Everything I Ever Wanted Masterlist

He might be somewhat kind once or twice...

TW: Past Abuse

Jack’s whole body ached. His head pounded and his throat burned. The few blankets he had did nothing to calm the chills that wracked his body.

He’d barely slept a wink last night. With the inability to breathe and the constant need to blow his nose or cough his lungs out it had been pretty difficult, even though all he’d wanted to do was pass out. He was freezing, yet he perspired.

For a long while, he was blissfully unaware of the time, letting himself try to relax in the darkness of the morning, cocooning himself in his thin blankets and trying to forget about how uncomfortable he was. He could hardly remember the last time he’d been sick. All he could remember was Specs petting his hair back, telling him to calm down.

Jack’s heart ached for that kind of affection again.

When the obnoxiously loud alarm clock rang beside him, he groaned, crossing his arms over his stomach as he rolled over to let his eyes slowly slide open, sticky with unshed tears and completely exhausted. He knew his throat was swollen, nearly to the point where the mere thought of speaking made him want to vomit. He could barely swallow. Still, he managed to swing his arm over to hit the clock, moaning in relief when it went silent.

Rolling onto his back, the young man tried to take a deep breath, only ending up sending himself into a coughing fit. Finding himself back on his side, the young man curled in on himself, a panic building in the back of his mind as he felt he could die soon. He could vaguely hear his brother telling him that he was being dramatic, but he just whined again, closing his eyes and willing it all to just go away.

He must’ve dozed off at least a little, because the next thing he knew, there was a knock on his door.

Based on the small, calm knock that came, Jack could only assume it was his son and not the old man who would more than likely be furious after learning how sick Jack was. He knew he had to get it together, get up and push through. Snyder would kill him if he didn’t.

But he couldn’t speak as he heard his door open up. Bare feet padded down the stairs across the room to him and Jack tried to move but he couldn’t. He was too tired. “Jackie?” the boy whispered tentatively, like he was afraid to wake him up. Jack’s heart warmed a little at that, but he still shivered. Unable to speak, he just lay there, breathing through his mouth and wishing the world would just stop for a day so he could recover and go on as though nothing happened. He loved the little boy in front of him more than life, but he’d give anything for everything and everyone to just disappear.

A small hand touched his shoulder. Jack didn’t move. He sniffled and squeezed his eyes together tighter and tried to swallow as his baby shook him, not having ever seen him this way. “Jackie…” The hand slid over to his cheek. Jack turned somewhat into the touch. “You’re hot…”

The young man finally opened his eyes to look up at his little boy who was standing over him, looking so concerned. He nodded, reaching up to brush the blond curls back on the boy’s head. He gave him a sleepy smile and let out a pitiful cough, his arm nearly just dropping down before Racer took his hand. Knowing he had to get up, Jack licked his chapped lips before he tried to find his voice. “‘S Snyda’ ‘wake yet?” he managed to croak, letting the boy grasp at his fingers.

The boy glanced up the stairs, as though he thought the old man would miraculously appear at the sound of his name. Sometimes, Jack was sure if he whispered it three times the very same thing would happen. But the old man was not there and the twenty four year old couldn’t stop his boy from rushing away, no doubt going to get the man that he hadn’t understood Jack was trying to avoid.

Accepting his fate, Jack just lay in his bed for a moment, trying to work up the energy to sit up. It must’ve taken him a long while because the minute he actually managed to push himself up, Tyler was rushing back down towards him, Snyder’s hand grasped in his own as he pulled the owner of this house down to Jack who would not meet his eye. “See, Papa? He’s sick!”

Laying back down and closing his eyes, Jack waited for a slap, some kind of insult. He waited for a hand grabbing his arm to shove him up the stairs. He waited for Snyder to tell him how worthless and pathetic he was.

But all he heard was a sigh. A calloused hand pressed roughly against his forehead. It was an odd feeling, one Jack wasn’t sure he’d ever felt. Those hands were familiar, but not for being kind or gentle. He tensed a bit under the touch, feeling someone crawl onto his bed from behind him, cuddling up against his back. He heard an irritated grumble but no threat of violence or rude words left the old man.

Before Jack could even try to open his eyes, he heard Snyder begin to speak. “Hello, Hannah, darling, how are you?” The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Jack didn’t stop to think about who it was. “I know this is last minute, but I was wondering if you’d like a job today. I’m willing to pay a hundred an hour. Tyler’s nanny is sick and I need somebody to keep an eye on him.” An eight year old pressed into his back, making Jack melt a bit. “Wonderful! I’ll see you in a half an hour.” When Jack did dare open his eyes, he looked up to find Snyder hovering over him, watching him oddly calmly. “You get a day, Kelly,” he stated before looking behind him. “Tyler, it’s Saturday. Study time—“

“But Jackie always studies with me on Saturday,” Race said, as though there was no way he could study alone. It was true that this was the routine. Jack would make Race's favorite breakfast, Mickey Mouse shaped waffles with blueberries, chocolate chips and bananas, and he’d help the boy with flash cards. It had been Jack’s favorite as a boy too. His mom used to make them, but they’d spread peanut butter out before the syrup. Race was allergic.

“I will not have you getting sick as well, Tyler James. Jack needs to rest.” It was something Jack had never heard the man say out loud before. He didn’t speak as Tyler pressed further into his back. He didn’t mind the feeling but he knew Snyder was right. He didn’t want Tyler getting sick either.

When Tyler got sick, he got really sick.

“‘S okay, b’by…” he whispered, coughing again. “I’ll be okay…” he promised with a sniffle.

“Can I study down here?” the little boy asked with so much hope, like if he didn’t spend the day with Jack, his whole life would be ruined.

It occurred to Jack that Race had to have gotten his dramatics straight from him.

“Did you take your medication this morning, Tyler?”

“Yes,” Tyler responded easily. It was well known that Race hated taking his medication. He was supposed to take it once every morning. Jack used to sprinkle it in his juice to get him to take it because the boy hated swallowing it.

With another sigh, Snyder reached over Jack and lifted the boy from the bed, setting him on his feet in front of them. “If you do two hours of studying and an hour of piano today, you can come down to see Jack later. But only if you’re a good boy.”

This was one of the most ludicrous things Jack swore he’d ever heard. It was almost as if William Snyder, the grade A asshole, was being a parent.

Almost.

Because he wasn’t. He wasn’t Race's father. He just pretended to be.

Jack wasn’t sure if it was worse when Snyder was outright cruel or was genuinely trying to be a good papa to his baby.

“Okay…” Race caved, turning back to Jack and pressing a kiss to his head. “I’ll be back later, Jackie…” he promised. Jack was barely able to squeeze the boy’s hand as he turned to go. The young man reached for him as he went, wishing he could stay in that moment.

But he let the boy go as Snyder put his phone back in his pocket and went to follow him. Jack watched him go, only stopping him after a moment with a small croak, “Will…” The old man rolled his eyes as he turned back to him, waiting impatiently for Jack to say what he had to say. “Thank you…”

Not really accepting the words, Will turned back towards the stairs. “One day, Kelly.”

One day.

Jack hadn’t expected to get that much.

One day was good enough for him.

I mean... he was sort of nice. Mostly though he just needs Jack couldn’t work like that and he didn’t wanna get sick himself. But he was kind of nice.

[freddiesaysalright]

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes - Chapter 3

Gwilym!Prince Charming x Reader

Summary: After losing your parents, your step-family makes your life impossible. That is, until Prince Gwilym holds a ball. It’s your one chance for everything to change. 

Word Count: 2.8k (sorry it’s short)

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @the-moving-finger-writes​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @rose-writes-prose​, @queenlover05​, @26-7-49​, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish​, @queen-paladin​, @rogerina-owns-me, @mirkwoodshewolf​, @namelesslosers​, @headl0ng​, @captvianswaan, @folietracksix​, @baltimoresweethearts​, @killer-queen-87​, @haileymoreolikestupid, @itsametaphorgwil​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this update! 

Warning(s): Mild descriptions of abuse

Moodboard

Prologue  Chapter 1  Chapter 2

Chapter 3 here we go!!!

Eleanor and Miranda were immediately all aflutter, speaking so much and so rapidly that if you hadn’t been standing beside them, you would not have believed it was only two people making so much noise. You couldn’t keep track of who was saying what. 

“A ball?!”

“What for?”

“Who’s going to be there?”

“Is it a special invitation?”

“Will the prince be there?”

“Oh, do say the prince will be there!”

Your own mind was spinning with similar questions. But there was one at the forefront.

“Silence!” Frank interrupted harshly. “The invitation says the whole town has been invited - upon the prince’s request - to attend the ball in honor of his birthday. The king added that he hopes any and all eligible maidens will attend, as the prince is ready to marry.”

“Marry!” gasped Eleanor. 

“You mean - he’s really looking for his wife?!” added Miranda. 

“This is the moment I’ve been waiting for,” he said. “This could be the chance for you, my daughters, to prove your worth. One of you must win his heart.”

You saw your step sisters deflate at their father’s words. Your heart was moved with pity. But, there was still something you had to ask.

“May I go to the ball?” you blurted out. 

Frank’s eyes widened when he looked at you, as if realizing only just now that you were present. Clearly, he had not meant for you to hear. 

“You?” Eleanor sneered. “A servant?”

The sympathy you felt a moment ago evaporated. 

“It says any and all eligible maidens,” you reminded them. “That applies to me. And it is the king’s wishes. The king’s wishes are as good as orders, don’t you think?”

You kept your tone even and cool, fearful Frank might mistake your suggestion for impudence. But you knew better than to outright question him again. 

“Father, you can’t -” Miranda began, but Frank held up a hand to stop her. 

He smiled at you in such a sinister way it sent a chill down your spine.

“Certainly, Y/N, you may attend the ball,” he said.

You blinked, honestly shocked that you had persuaded him. He kept his hand in the air when his daughters tried to protest again.

“If you get your chores done,” he said. 

You beamed. “Oh, I will!”

“And,” he said, making you hesitate. “If you can find something suitable to wear.” 

“I will, sir,” you assured him. “Thank you so much!”

You hurried away to finish your chores for the day. Frank watched you go, a scowl forming across his lips. 

“Father, you don’t really mean she can go to the ball, do you?” asked Eleanor. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Frank spat. “Of course she isn’t going.”

“Then why did you -”

“Don’t worry about her!” he cut across Miranda harshly. “Her attendance is conditional, and don’t forget, I set the conditions.”

He grinned to himself as his daughters exchanged worried looks. 

Before you went to bed that night, you went to your mother’s old room. Frank had left it untouched since her death. Her wardrobe was large and varied, so you knew you would be able to find something in there to wear to the ball. You scanned through the gowns, trying to decide on a color. A soft pink caught your eye, so you reached for it. You pulled it free from the rack and held it up, examining for any flaws. Technically speaking, there were none. It was just out of date.

“So much for that idea,” you sighed.

You started to hang it up again, but stopped. You could sew. You altered dresses for your step sisters all the time. Surely you could make some adjustments to this gown and look good enough for the ball. You looked over it once more, noting to yourself all that you could reasonably do within the next 24 hours. You bit your lip. You would need more time than that.

The clock in the hall chimed. You would have to get up in a few hours to do your daily chores. A rash idea came to you - stay up through the night and fix the dress, do your chores quickly, and get a short nap before going to the ball. You could miss dinner if necessary. Through a yawn, you nodded. 

Taking the dress to your room, you started in for the night. 

***

Gwilym awoke the morning of the ball feeling light and excited. He had interacted with a few people from the town before, but nothing to this degree. He wanted to truly get to know his people, and be a better leader to them. His father was right about things changing - Gwilym wanted to be more of a servant to his people than a sovereign. 

He went down to breakfast, joining his father and his friends. The younger men were reading letters from home, while the king was signing some documents. 

“Good morning,” Gwiylm greeted cheerfully as he took his seat. 

The butler placed a plate in front of him while a footman loaded it with food. 

“You’re awfully chipper,” the king said. “I hope that means you’re ready for your ball.”

“I am,” Gwilym assured him. “This is the most exciting birthday I’ve ever had.”

Suddenly, Rami choked on the bite of food he was eating. Gwilym reached over and clapped him on the back, while Rami cleared his throat and took a sip of tea. Through watery eyes, he offered an apologetic glance around the table. 

“Good news from your wife?” Ben wondered. “Or is it…”

Rami shook his head. “No, it’s good. She...she’s still pregnant.”

“Alright!” Ben cried excitedly. 

“That’s fantastic!” Gwilym agreed. 

Both of them knew that Rami and his wife had been struggling to keep a pregnancy. It concerned them both so much, they had a doctor examine them for any problems. The queen required a small surgical procedure, after which there were supposed to be no problems. Rami even hesitated coming to Gwilym’s party in case they got bad news again, but his wife insisted he go. Now, he sniffled as he looked at the letter.

“She made it past three months,” he explained. “The doctor said that’s a sign the baby should make it.”

“That’s wonderful, Ram,” Ben said. “Really, being a dad is the best, you’re gonna love it!”

“I hope it’s a strapping young boy,” the king interjected. “Should remind your people that you’re a king now.”

Rami chuckled. “They can keep calling me Prince Rami, I don’t mind. And as for the baby...boy or girl, as long as they’re happy and healthy I couldn’t care less.”

 Gwilym looked at the king, who seemed to be softening. Then the latter met his own son’s gaze.

“You see, Gwil?” the king asked. “The joys of marriage?”

“I do,” Gwilym replied. “But part of that joy is because Rami loves his wife so much.”

“You really aren’t going to let this love thing go, are you?” the king asked, defeated.

Gwilym shook his head. “Not a chance.” He looked at his friend. “Congratulations, Rami. That’s great news.”

“Thanks, Gwil,” he replied.

“Yes, all health and good fortune to your wife,” the king added. 

“Thank you,” Rami answered. 

They continued breakfast, and Ben told Rami all the great parts of fatherhood that he had to look forward to. And for the first time, Gwilym did feel a pang of jealousy at the happiness of his friends. He seemed resistant to his father, but all he wanted was a partner like Ben and Rami had found for themselves. He hoped beyond reason that whoever was meant for him would appear tonight. And then he could say to his father and everyone else - “At last, I’ve found her!”

***

By some miracle, you had finished your dress before breakfast. You stood up through a yawn and went to help Elsie get breakfast ready. You’d probably kick yourself later, but it was worth it. The dress was beautiful, and looked like the style you’d need for the ball. 

A pleasant surprise came when Frank told you he and the girls would be going to town today to shop for new gowns for them to wear. You nodded, and assured him everything would be done by the time they returned. Once they were gone, Elsie came over to you. 

“Y/N, my dear, go up to bed,” she said. “Robert and I can handle the chores.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, yawning again. “I can help, I really don’t mind.”

“We’re sure,” she said. “Go on and get some sleep. Tonight could be the most magical night of your life. Don’t spoil it by being tired.”

You agreed and shuffled back to the servant’s quarters. You crawled into your bed and shut your heavy eyelids, dreaming of the joys the ball would bring. You dreamt of music, dancing, your gown, and the face of Gwilym. Perhaps he would be there, and he could see you at your best. 

Your eyes snapped open. Gwilym was having a ball according to his friends. There were people coming from all over. Could it be that he was the prince, and was inviting the townspeople to his birthday? How had you not put it together before? Gwilym was the prince!

Your heart sank. If that was the case, you had to give up any hope of him. A prince could not be with a servant. Even if by birth you were a gentleman’s daughter, you no longer held that place. Frank had robbed you of it. Gwilym was out of your reach. 

You fell asleep despite your heart breaking at the thought of not being enough. You were just too tired. You slept just a couple hours before Elsie came to wake you. You would need some time to appear fresh when Frank got home. 

The girls demanded your help in getting ready, and you obliged. They ordered you around to pick up their sashes and necklaces and ear bobs and petticoats - just to find the perfect look for the evening. You even helped them put on some rouge and style their hair. They looked beautiful. But, you knew what they were like on the inside. You wondered if Gwilym would have the chance to meet them. And if he did, would he see their true nature?

The ball was set to begin at eight o’clock. Your step sisters were ready by seven, so they had time to have dinner before leaving. While they ate, you went up to get ready. Elsie helped you into your dress, but you did your own hair. You pinned it back, away from your face, the way your mother always liked it. You admired yourself in the mirror a moment. A jolt of nerves went through you. You still didn’t look like your step sisters. How would you compare to all the other fine ladies you were sure were attending tonight?

You shook your head. You couldn’t think about that. You couldn’t think about Gwilym. You were just going to go and have a good time. Take a well-earned break. And if you met someone there, then very well, but if not, you promised yourself you wouldn’t be too disappointed. 

***

Gwilym stood still while his valet finished with his clothes. There was still about an hour before the ball would start, and he would be meeting all the noble women his father invited. And yet, your face swam into view in his mind. He had barely stopped thinking about you since seeing you that day at the cemetery, and then again at the tavern. He still felt flush each time he recalled you wishing him good luck. Well, he certainly needed it tonight. Especially if you turned up.

***

At half past seven, the carriage was pulled to the front to take you all to the palace. You came down and couldn’t help but smile. Frank looked you over and scowled. 

“What is this?” he demanded. 

You faltered, coming to a stop about a yard away from him. Something in his face frightened you. 

“It was my mother’s,” you said, turning to show him. “I’ve updated it to match the current style, but -”

“Stop!” he cut across you. “There are very few things that are left of your mother’s, and you chose to take one - without permission - and ruin it?!”

“I haven’t ruined it, I just -”

“You stupid, selfish girl!” he shouted, crossing the front hall in just three strides. He was so close to your face, you had to take a step back. “You really think I’d let you go to the ball now? When you have defaced the property of my dearly departed wife?!”

“I didn’t know -”

“Silence!” he snapped. “I will not allow you to defend this behavior. Take off the gown at once.”

You stepped back again, but he followed. 

“I don’t have anything else,” you said meekly. 

He snarled, reached out his hand, and grabbed a handful of the bodice, right at the chest. He yanked down hard, pulling you so much that you stumbled. You heard a long riiiiip as the dress came apart at the seams. The front was completely torn away, revealing your corset underneath. You gasped and moved to cover yourself, but his next move came for your sleeve. He jerked it away from your arm and tossed it to the floor, along with the piece from the bodice. He repeated with the other sleeve. He took the sash next and wrenched it away. 

You felt hot tears of humiliation and shame run down your cheeks. You kept your arms in front of you and sank to the floor. 

“Stop it,” you croaked out. “Please.”

He raised his hand and you shrunk away, fearing he might truly strike you. 

“Father,” Miranda said. “We’re going to be late.”

Frank slowly lowered his hand to his side. He glowered at you. 

“Clean up this mess,” he ordered. “And never again presume to have a claim on things that belonged to my wife.”

Your lips trembled as he swept away. The girls followed him out. You kept your eyes fixed on the floor questioning what had just happened to you. It didn’t seem real. But the pieces of the dress sat on the floor just feet away from you, clear as crystal. When you heard the door close, you buried your face in your hands and let out a sob. 

***

Gwilym waited to be announced. The king went first, followed by Rami, since he was king of the neighboring country. Ben was announced next, since he was a visitor and prince. And then Gwilym. As he stepped out into the ballroom, he scanned the crowd, hoping to spot you. All he saw so far was glittering jewels and satin gowns. He sighed before making his way forward to begin introductions. 

He had asked Ben and Rami to be on the lookout for you as well. When the first half hour was over, he took a break and went to his friends. 

“Any sign of her?” he asked. 

Rami shook his head. “I haven’t seen her.”

“Me neither,” Ben said. “Sorry, mate.”

Gwilym sighed. “She must not be coming.”

“There’s still some carriages outside,” Ben said encouragingly. “She could be on any one of them.”

“Yeah, don’t give up just yet,” Rami said. “You’ve got all night.”

Gwilym nodded. He knew he mustn’t be over anxious, but couldn’t help feeling sore. Where were you? What could have kept you from this?

***

You escaped the house and fled to the garden. That was where your mother always took you for comfort. Your father loved to garden, and you always remembered him in this place. In truth, it was a place that was cherished by both your parents, and you needed to feel close to them now. You flopped down onto one of the benches and cried some more.

“It’s no use,” you sobbed. “God, it’s hopeless.”

You brought your knees to your chest, resting your forehead against them. Your tears splashed into the fabric of your ruined dress. 

“Now, my dear,” said a soft voice to your left.

You whipped your head up and faced the source. There in the garden stood a plump woman in a white cloak. Her silver hair hung around her face in delicate curls. She had a metallic glow around her as well that drew you in. In her right hand, she held a staff with a sapphire the size of a fist at the top.

Fear and amazement kept you frozen where you sat. She didn’t appear to be a threat, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t. And yet, you felt like you knew her somehow.

“Wh-who are you?” you wondered. “How did you get in here?”

“With magic, my dear,” she said, beaming. “As for my identity - I’m your fairy godmother.”

“My…” your brow furrowed. “My what?”

“Your fairy godmother,” she repeated kindly. “And I understand you are in desperate need of some help.”

[niceallocockbro]

realized that cishet aces/aros (and cis aroaces) who think they’re lgbt remind me a lot of christian-raised athiests (in modern day western culture) who think that they’re part of an oppressed religion

like how they use purely anecdotal “evidence” aka stories about stuff like their families kicking them out or being made fun of at school, neglecting to account for the fact that unlike ppl in non-christian religions, the ONLY way for them to be visible as atheist is if they tell people. which it might be annoying to keep secret if it ever becomes relevant, but they’re not actually being Repressed From Living Their Truth by simply omitting some of it. there’s no Atheist Lifestyle that they’re being discouraged from living. it’s just assumed that they believe in god, and that question is unlikely to be outright asked of them unless they refuse to participate in christian activities that aren’t even that much effort to do. it would really be plain stupid to come out to a devout christian family as an atheist if you thought there were going to be real consequences because you gain absolutely nothing. you Not Believing In God is not a core part of your identity that affects how you live your life in general. if you don’t genuinely need to explain, say, why you’ve stopped attending church as an adult, there’s simply no point.

there’s also how anything they DO face has nothing to do with people actively specifically hating atheists and is instead just a result of a larger issue - christian abuse - which is going to equally harm their devout family members.

and it’s specifically due to their privileged status as being christian-raised in a christian-dominant society that they’ll be ignorant to the fact that there are just entirely different concepts applied to non-christian religions. which they prove with how they’ll deride ALL organized religion as inherently bad. they don’t recognize that most other religions are essentially indigenous to where their largest populations are (or where their ethnic origins are) and have far more culture tied to them. they usually don’t even KNOW that atheists raised in other religions not only have a completely different attitude toward their atheism, but often don’t reject the religion they grew up with because you simply can’t separate the spiritual traditions from the secular ones.

atheism isn’t a religion. nor is it mutually exclusive with all religions. it doesn’t imply any set of morals, any traditions, any culture, etc. it simply means you don’t believe in the existence of any deities. ultimately, whether or not one believes there’s a god just... doesn’t matter that much. it’s internal and very personal. there’s SO much more to spirituality. which is why almost any atheist who was raised in a non-christian religion will classify themself as that religion alongside the qualifier that they are atheist. meanwhile christian-raised atheists very rarely do so.

and listen, this isn’t a perfect parallel. many sects of christianity are extremely abusive and it makes sense to want to separate yourself from that. but you can’t deny that you’ll never ever get away from christian values. they're not just in the house you grew up in. they’re in your WHOLE society.

christianity is so pervasive that it overlaps with the supposedly “secular.” ppl will say they’re completely divorced from christianity just because they don’t believe in god anymore, but they’ll still celebrate christmas and easter. they’ll still hold beliefs that they learned through christian teachings whether they realize it or not. and they’ll use the fact that their family doesn’t approve of their lack of belief in god to justify being a dick to people of other religions. because they’re convinced that they’re ALL like christianity when they’re in fact victims of christianity.

while yes, christians are all about the Thought Crimes, they don’t care nearly as much about beliefs that you lack as they do about Wrong Beliefs that you HAVE. even moreso, being open about having those Wrong Beliefs. believing in the “wrong god” and doing “rituals” that aren’t allowed, and whatnot. hell, bouts of “lacking faith” are even EXPECTED. the vast majority of the time, if a christian finds out that a fellow christian has stopped believing in god, they react with pity and a desire to help. meanwhile discovering that someone has a different religion entirely is often met with conversion attempts or outright persecution.

say a handful of ppl of different religions - jewish, muslim, sikh, hindu - were all talking about their experiences with discrimination relating to religion. even if none of these people wear identifying religious symbols or scarves or other clothing, chances are they don’t need to in order to be recognized as from a culture that’s largely non-christian.

now, you’d obviously say that it’s extremely inappropriate for a christian-raised atheist to try to JOIN this conversation, right? like, yall understand that the absolute worst thing the christian atheist could describe would most certainly be an isolated incident, meanwhile all of these visibly non-christian people are talking about very regular experiences. they would have to outright lie about their origins in order to avoid discrimination (and that still might not even work), meanwhile there’s absolutely nothing that would make an atheist get “clocked” as one. one of those original people might even also be atheist themself, but they don’t feel the need to talk about it because it’s NOT their specific lack of belief in a god that gets them persecuted; it’s the fact that they are part of a culture with non-christian values and follow non-christian traditions.

the atheist does not belong in this group - not because they’re an atheist, but because they were raised christian, and therefore cannot relate or even benefit from the conversation other than to make it about them and likely make everyone else uncomfortable at best. they could, however, certainly benefit from a conversation with other atheists who are talking specifically about their atheism.

all this to say that once again it’s not a PERFECT parallel and i’m NOT trying to make any direct comparisons between other aspects of religion, but lmao doesn’t all that sound familiar?

[brightbeautifulthings]

Complete Tales & Poems by Edgar Allan Poe

"'For the love of God, Montresor!' 'Yes,' I said, 'for the love of God!'"

Year Read: 2020

Rating: 2/5

Context: Starting two years ago, I’ve picked an intimidatingly long classic to read over the course of a year. I have a problem with trying to read books as fast as I possibly can, so if I set myself a thousand page novel, I’ll try to pound it in a week, and it will just be a miserable experience all around. So, a year is a nice compromise. I’ve hit the major Poe horror stories in the past, and I’ve been thinking about rereading them, but I couldn’t decide where to start. Reread my favorites? Read the ones I’ve heard of? What if I’m missing something awesome? As usual, my go-to answer is to read them ALL. For more thoughts on individual stories, see my monthly blog posts. Trigger warnings: character death, torture, live burial, cannibalism, decapitation, animal abuse, injury, severe illness, racism/xenophobia, anti-Semitism, ableism, slurs, mental illness, bitter ranting from the reviewer.

Thoughts: My edition, with an introduction by Wilbur S. Scott, is probably not the edition I would have picked, since I prefer more notes or even essays to help me out with books that are 100+ years old. Context is helpful. Somehow though, my dad and I ended up with the same edition, so we decided to read it together. My dad loves all things horror (I come by it naturally), and we’re both longtime Poe fans, especially if you happen to put Vincent Price in one of his film adaptations. Scott’s introduction is particularly pretentious for a book we probably found in the bargain bin, and he manages to criticize the horror genre for not being “literary enough”. This is an Edgar Allan Poe collection, right? Way to alienate 90% of your audience right from the start. You can’t snub an entire genre and then attempt to explain why people like it. Like a lot of critical writing, it tells us more about Scott than it does about Poe, and I was circling his typos to entertain myself by the end of the introduction.

It did not get better. In short, I actively hated so much of this collection, and it's my most arduous and least enjoyed year-long read to date. To be even shorter, the only stories I found worth reading for pleasure were the horror ones I had already read and loved, and I'm afraid to examine too closely whether that has more to do with nostalgia and pop culture than the stories themselves. Poe has a way of lingering on pointless descriptions and belaboring a point to its absolute death, alongside an aggressively pretentious tone that suggests the narrator (and, by extension, Poe himself), knows everything there is to know about everything and you're an idiot for even asking. His true talent may not be horror, but in turning what might have been a good story into an intellectual soapbox and hammering it the point of absurdity. It would be different if the stories actually were intelligent instead of ridiculous. I’m happy to talk Aristotelian ethics, but the point is never to intellectually engage the reader–-it’s to show how clever the writer is.

On the whole, it seems like Poe struggles with telling a straightforward story, and I can’t tell if it’s because the short story genre has changed so much since then or because he’s so busy trying to show readers how smart he is that he forgets that stories have very specific components like suspense, exposition, or rising action (or endings). Most of them consist of some narrator speaking the entire time (I have all kinds of problems with this, from, “You just ruined the twist of your own story” to “No human talks for thirty uninterrupted minutes unless some idiot gave them a microphone.”), and few of them have anything resembling action, plot/character development, strong themes, or closure. There’s an essay-like quality to some of them (“The Imp of the Perverse”, “The Premature Burial”) where he seems to be trying to tease out a concept on an intellectual level, sometimes for pages and pages, before he remembers that he’s telling a story with characters and what could loosely be called a plot. I could do without all the intellectualizing, verbal grandstanding, and narrative cartwheels; just tell a good story, please.

And he does, sometimes. It's clear why Poe remains an essential part of the horror canon because those are easily the best stories in the collection, and I don't think that's just because I'm a horror fan. Horror seems to age better than some other genres because certain things remain consistently scary over decades or even centuries--being buried alive, for example. “The Fall of the House of Usher” is permeated by a feeling of bleak foreboding, culminating in some truly terrifying images, and “The Tell-tale Heart” is one of the better examples of Poe’s rambling narrator who thinks a lot of his own intelligence and slowly unravels over guilt. Both scared me to death when I was a kid, and I’m happy to see that they still maintain a high creep factor as an adult. (I also had the Great Illustrated Classics Tales of Mystery and Terror as a kid, because all a story about being buried alive needs is an illustration!) “The Cask of Amontillado” has long been one of my favorites (because there is something deeply wrong with me, probably), and “The Pit and the Pendulum” and “The Masque of the Red Death” are both top-notch horrifying, the latter a classic plague story that's a little *too* relevant to the times just now (but, you know, also one of my favorites). The clock symbolism is some of the best in the entire collection. Why, pray tell, would you be afraid of time?

The tolerable stories are the detective ones and the adventure ones, in that order. I can see why Poe’s detective stories like “The Gold Bug” and “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” spawned a genre. I was getting clear Sherlock Holmes vibes from his character, Dupin. However, it reaffirms that something is a classic because of its effects on literature as a whole and not because it’s still all that accessible. Just because something is the first of its kind doesn’t mean it’s the best of its kind; in fact, it usually isn’t because that was only a starting place. I can’t help feeling “Murders” would have been more compelling as a horror story than a detective story. Murdering gorillas are cool; listening to someone talk about murdering gorillas, much less cool. I was extremely irritated by his hot air balloon stories ("The Balloon Hoax", "The Unparalleled Adventure of One Hans Pfaall"), but apparently Jules Verne loved them, which makes a lot of sense. I was getting a lot of Verne vibes from things like "A Descent Into the Maelstrom" and even the utterly long, boring, and racist "Narrative of A. Gordon Pym." It's clear they had influence on other writers, even if they're not the best examples of their genres.

Which brings us back around to the bad. It's not worth my time or yours to list all the terrible stories in this collection, but I can briefly summarize what I found so terrible about them. First, Poe is tragically, emphatically unfunny. The things he seems to find humorous are either in very poor taste now (his tasteless descriptions of mental patients in “The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether”), or they’re outright ridiculous, almost slapstick, like the woman who gets her head stuck in a clock and is subsequently decapitated by it in “A Predicament,” which is an odd sequel to “How to Write a Blackwood Article.” I’m sensing that Poe is making fun of intellectuals or would-be intellectuals here, but with so much time and cultural distance, it’s hard to tell. In any case, it led to a running joke (“I’m going out for groceries!” “Don’t stick your head in any clocks!”). Somehow, I doubt this is the major takeaway Poe was hoping for.

Worst of all, they don't age well on representation either. Poe seems at pains to offend every single minority he possibly can throughout his oeuvre. There are a lot of horribly racist depictions of African Americans, snide comments about Jewish people (or the much more obvious anti-Semitism in “Four Beasts In One” where a mad king has a thousand Jews killed--really?), and blatant ableism (“Hop-Frog”). It's at its worst in "Narrative of A. Gordon Pym," a novella that spans over a hundred pages, that is basically a tedious, xenophobic setup to paint the native population of an island as the most horrific and duplicitous monsters imaginable. (The narrator previously ate one of his shipmates, so can he really afford to throw stones here?) For inexplicable reasons, that story isn't finished, and by that point, I was grateful.

Poe's poetry is a little easier to work through than his prose. I love "The Raven" with its lilting rhymes and dark message, and "Annabel Lee" is very pretty, both ubiquitous in popular culture. I also liked "Dream-Land," "Al Aaraaf" (where Ligeia makes another appearance), and "Alone." Most of the poetry has pretty simple rhyme schemes, the subjects mainly love and loss. There's an excerpt of an unfinished play, "Politian," included as well, but it didn't make much of an impression on me. TL;DR: I stand by my initial opinion, which is to read his horror stories for pleasure and, possibly, his detective and adventure stories for genre purposes, and to skip the rest. I'll probably be looking for a smaller edition of the stories I like. This one is a massive hardcover, more like a book you put on your coffee table to look impressive than a book you actually read (but I don’t have a coffee table, so it’s actually just taking up more room on the shelf than any one book has a right to).