#when i stop fighting affection its not that ive started accepting it instead. more likely that im detaching and zoning out until it ends

[sharedheadspace]

a copy/paste of [this] twitter thread on the fawning response to abuse, found through [this] tumblr post encouraging clicking through to read the whole thing

because when i come back to this i know im not going to be in the brainspace to bother clicking through, and nobody wants to fucking read eight thousand twitter screenshots. ever

[bolding added by me, in pieces i know im going to want to look at]

I want to share what has been, in the last year or so, one of the most important things I've realized about my own trauma history — something that has been massively important for my own healing.

Let's talk about the link between people-pleasers and emotional abuse.

Confession: I am a people-pleaser. It took me a long time to realize this, though. Because I'm opinionated! And I speak my mind! I'm an "open book" about a lot of what I've been through. Clearly I don't care what people think... right?

But people-pleasing is a lot more complex than that. It's actually part of a trauma response. Most people know about fight, flight, and freeze — but another response, "fawn," is at the core of what people-pleasing is actually about.

To avoid conflict, negative emotions, and retraumatization, people who "fawn" when triggered will go out of their way to mirror someone's opinions and appease them in order to deescalate situations (or potential issues).

For me, this meant that the more invested I was in an emotional connection, the less likely I was to criticize that person, vocalize when my boundaries were crossed, express unhappiness with their behavior, or share anything that I felt might damage that relationship.

This could come across as being excessively nice and complimentary, overly-concerned with another person's happiness, and waiting for cues in conversation to determine if something was "safe" to share or disclose. People-pleasers are often considered "emotional chameleons."

People-pleasers are often really warm, encouraging, and generous people. They tend to overextend themselves and say "yes" to everything and everyone, eager to make those they care about happy and comfortable.

They often grow up in very controlling and chaotic environments, and internalized the idea that if they were perfectly good or well-behaved, they could minimize conflict and secure love and attachment. 

And. When you have this tendency to defer, make yourself subordinate, try to become smaller, ignore your boundaries and intuition, and minimize your own needs... you are profoundly vulnerable to emotional abuse.

When you are excessively concerned with pleasing others, you learn that in order to be effective at this, you have to shut down your gut instincts, your values, your emotions — bc being an individual, rather than a mirror, doesn't serve you in securing the love that you want.

People-pleasers can become drawn to abusive relationships, and repelled from relationships that are abundantly loving — because love has to feel "earned" in order to feel secure. In other words? If love is given too freely or easily, it doesn't feel safe.

This means people-pleasers can be drawn to relationships that are controlling (they feel safest when they defer to others), emotionally-withholding (they are driven by the need to "secure" affection/elated when they do), and even abusive (their lack of boundaries is exploited).

Another part of being vulnerable to abuse is that people-pleasers are so easily gaslit, because when they are inclined to suppress their own instincts, values, and beliefs, they're infinitely more likely to defer to an abuser's version of events or narrative.

This also means that "fawn" types often go through cycles of restricting emotionally (I can't be "too much" for others) & then purging emotionally ("unloading" onto a trusted person bc the expectation to be perfect gets to be too much).

(I think this is why so many of us have eating disorders — just an anecdotal observation, but I digress...)

People-pleasers (the "fawn" trauma response) isn't intended to manipulate others and it's not meant to be dishonest. Every single person presents a version of themselves to others. This merely describes how trauma informs that presentation on an often unconscious level.

The "fawn" response is driven by fear, not a hidden agenda. The "fawn" type is less about manipulation, because it's not being used to *overpower* someone. Instead, it's an excessive *relinquishing* of personal power, driven by fear and a desire for validation.

For example, someone who runs personal errands for their boss — despite it not being part of their job description — is not manipulating their boss into liking them. (It won't work anyway.) Their boss, testing those thin boundaries, is exploiting their need for approval.

In more intimate relationships, this can show up as "fawn" types gravitating towards hot/cold dynamics, where affection and love are offered unpredictably.

This is where the emotional abuse piece comes into play. You have someone who is controlling, who feels safest in relationships where they call the shots, and most loved when someone is actively seeking out their approval. Enter: The "fawn" type.

An abuser will offer validation only to keep the fawn type tethered. But they'll withdraw that it before things feel secure, to ensure that the pleaser will continue going out of their way to "fawn" — continually giving over their power and autonomy so the abuse can continue.

I'm sharing this because, holy shit, my friends, the number of traumatic relationships I've thrown myself into — professionally, personally, romantically — to get stuck in this cycle, with my self-esteem pulverized, has made my heart so heavy.

It took stepping away from a friendship that had so thoroughly gaslit and demolished me — while plummeting into the deep depths of anorexia — before I realized that chasing controlling, emotionally unavailable, even abusive people was crushing my spirit.

I'm not going to leave you hanging, though. If you're reading this and say, "Holy shit... it me. Oh god. What do I do?" I'm here. I've got some advice, some books, some resources. Hang tight. For starters, I'm going to ask you something: Which of your friends do you cancel on?

Personal experience: I had this tendency to bail on friends, partners, acquaintances, whoever, that were the most generous, warm, and emotionally-available. I avoided those relationships where love was free and easy. Because it didn't feel "earned," so I didn't feel "worthy."

Which isn't to say that everyone with this trauma response does this, BUT, we seek out the familiar. Which means many of us tend to avoid what feels unsafe. For people-pleasers, we're so used to working endlessly hard in relationships — it's disorienting when we aren't asked to.

I made a google doc (no, I seriously did) where I listed out people who were "way too nice to me." And then I asked myself, do I like this person? Do I enjoy their company? If I did, I sent them a text message and told them I wanted to commit to spending more time with them.

I was completely honest about my process with those folks, too. I said, "Listen, I get really scared when people are nice to me. You've always been SO nice to me, and I get afraid of disappointing you. But I want to change that, because I just enjoy your company so very much."

In my phone contacts, I put emojis by their names. I put strawberries next to people who were super loving. I put seedling emojis by folks who taught me things that made me think/grow. So when I saw a text from them, it reminded me that I should prioritize that message. [seedling emoji] [strawberry emoji]

And? My life completely changed... in every imaginable way.

My "strawberry emoji people" went from being acquaintances/friendly to becoming chosen family that I literally could not imagine my life without. With the help of some amazing therapy, I grew to love myself so much — because that love was being modeled for me in a healthy way.

I'm going into a partial hospitalization program for my anorexia in the next couple weeks (because I've taken it out on my body as much as I have my mind), and my strawberry people (who are now all in a group text together) have been there every step of the way.

Resources! I genuinely believe that every single person should be reading Pete Walker's book about complex trauma. "Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving: A Guide and Map for Recovering from Childhood Trauma." It's really damn good. It talks about fawn types in more detail!

Most of all though, I just want to validate the hell out of you. [heart emoji] I understand the very hellish cycle that we find ourselves in when we're consumed by this idea that we need to be "exactly enough," and that, if we measure it out correctly, we'll never hurt or be hurt again.

But relationships involve putting ourselves in harm's way sometimes. What they shouldn't involve, though, is self-harm — and ultimately, that's what "fawning" does. We're harming ourselves. We're making ourselves smaller, we're self-silencing, and we're punishing ourselves.

You are allowed to have ALL the feelings. You are allowed to take up ALL the space. You're allowed to be everything that you are & then some. The right people — your people — will love you even more when they see how expansive your life becomes when you give yourself that space.

It doesn't happen overnight. It's a process! But I want you to know that it's a process you can begin at any time. It's never too late to give yourself permission to be, to show up more authentically, and to find those who will celebrate you for it. I promise you that.

[heavensgateiowa]

I seen you mention latent homosexual Jason and if you're interested in further elaborating I would love to hear it

hello hi!

so i would love to someday write a full piece about jason grace with like. real textual analysis and shit but i'm letting my ideas fester first

i've also made a few posts talking about where he as a character is placed in relation to other queer characters (as nico's initial confidant and friend, as piper's comphet partner) and also his relationship to leo (and to percy lmao) already.

essentially, jason has, almost from birth, had his life controlled by jupiter, king of the gods and ultimate archetype of masculinity, fatherhood and virility, and juno, his wife, goddess of marriage. riordan's characterisation of both these characters deliberately skews negative, for a very specific reason: the series hinges on just how scary it is to have a parental figure reject you.

percy feels abandoned by the father he never knew at the beginning of the series. annabeth is desperate to impress her mother, and feels overshadowed and abandoned by the rest of her family. piper is completely disconnected from the idea of heterosexual love and traditional, eurocentric feminine beauty which she associates with her mother, and repulsed by the association while so fascinated by it and desperate for the approval associated with it that she seeks it out in the form of her relationship with jason. i could go on, and each of these examples probably deserves its own in depth examination.

but for all these characters, alienation from and abandonment by a parental figure is the ultimate evil, the thing they fear most, the most destructive force in their lives. it's a reflection of the adolescent experience which makes the books resonate so hard with young people. it's an example of the 'there is a dragon. the adults don't believe you when you say there is a dragon' philosophy of childrens books; it is so hard to articulate as a child the negative experiences you are having with a parent or caregiver, and even if you can articulate those experiences, who will believe you? certainly not the parent themselves.

jason represents all this in extremis. what if a child was taken from his mother and sister (the same thing that happens to nico, incidentally, only jason was too young to remember it and is therefore almost numb to the trauma by comparison because he has never known it any other way), and groomed to become a leader and a hero in such a way that he could never become anything else? jupiter and juno are villainised because they represent the ultimate evil of the series, parental neglect, abuse and control. the distant father, who says out loud that he will not give his son the attention, praise or affection that he so clearly needs as a matter of principle. the overbearing mother and wife archetype, who becomes an embodiment of both heteronormativity and control, those things being one and the same in jason's life. when he seeks control he also seeks heterosexuality.

conversely, when he gives up control, when he gives up his role as praetor, when he and piper break up, he stops seeking heterosexuality. i would argue this very slow slide begins when he sees juno's true form and starts losing his vision (god im so hazy on this point ive only read the books once sorry if i get this wrong). he is exposed to the 'true form' of the goddess that represents, to him, heterosexuality and control. he then loses his vision, and is given glasses (by asclepius the son of apollo dont even get me started on that particular train of thought). this represents a physical transition, a step-down from youthful masculine perfection into almost a form of old age.

this is jason’s attempt to reclaim his own life and agency, and it ultimately leads to his death.

there’s something very compelling in the accidental ‘bury your gays’ moment that happens in trials of apollo. riordan has talked about how, upon reflection looking at the first series, he realised that nico was a queer character.

this is fascinating, and an excellent statement regarding nico, but the context of jason makes it all the more interesting. nico and jason are almost total opposites; nico is an outsider, a victim, associated with death and hell. he’s a lot more easy to shape into a queer narrative, where he comes out and is accepted within the group. instead, jason has spent his whole life on top of the world. a praetor, son of the king of the gods, the embodiment of strength and classical masculinity and heroism (but completely without agency). shaping a queer narrative out of that proves to be a great deal more difficult, and so riordan doesn’t. i don’t believe he intended to do this, i don’t think he recognised jason’s queerness for what it was, but he sublimates jason’s queerness into other things; he has jason fight for the underdog, like nico and the underappreciated gods. he has jason move from praetor to pontifex maximus, one of the only remotely autonomous choices he makes in the series. he has jason wear glasses with all they represent. he has jason slowly back away from heteronormativity, from jupiter and juno and all that they represent, from his failed relationship with piper.

but jason still dies. he fails to escape his fate, and dies the death of the very heroic warrior he no longer wanted to be. and his queerness dies with him.

there is so much more i could elaborate on, and someday i will, but this is already way longer than i meant it to be lol. long story short jason grace my beloved

[vrishchikawrites]

Its a prompt! (And dont worry about it, absolutely love reading your writing XD) Okay so dimension travel, so we all agree in a world where WWX was raised in another sect (like Lan/Nie) That he would be absolutely adored by them and everyone, healthy relationships( even Jin Zixuan and Wei Wuxian wouldn't be on a bad term much because no WWX JYL interaction) so! Canon!WWX from post ssc timeline gets transmigrated/summoned to one of these worlds where hes raised by either Lan or Nie so 1/2

They're a bit confused seeing WWX in black clothes, and seeing his gaunt/tired appearance and him being so on guard around them (since he's usually open and loved) that they ask him why is it so? Does he not know Lan Xichen/Nie Mingjue back from whicher place he came from, and Wei Wuxian goes 'Ive met them/we're not close' they ask 'sorry if its a bit personal but who were you raised by?' and WWX replies the Jiangs and cue everyone horrified cuz Jiangs areopen in their heavy dislike of WWX2/2

'It's my fault.' Nie Huaisang thinks as he frantically collects all the materials needed, 'It is my fault, I need to fix this.'

His er-ge was gone. His brother, Da-ge's pride and joy, the shining star of the Nie Clan.

Gone. Just like that.

One minute they're on an easy nighthunt and the next, Wei Wuxian is pushing him away to take an attack straight to his chest.

He knows his brother is gone. His body may be alive, but just barely. He's drowning in his own blood and there's nothing Nie Huaisang can do. There's no cognition in his eyes, that bright silver gaze is dull and blank.

He has to do something.

The ritual may not work. It came with so many warnings that Nie Huaisang lost the patience to read them all the way through. If something goes wrong, it goes wrong.

"Huaisang! What are you doing?!" Da-ge's voice is loud but Nie Huaisang doesn't pay any attention to it. The room is sealed and it would take da-ge some time to break through it.

"Nie Huaisang!"

Good, Lan Xichen is here. He'll take care of da-ge if something goes wrong.

"Huaisang!" There's a loud crash but he doesn't pay any attention to it, "Stop! Don't do something stupid."

"I need to save him. It is my fault, I need to save him!"

"Huaisang!"

There's a bright red flash and it drowns out everything.

---

Miraculously, he survives.

His fledgling Golden Core has shattered and melted into nothing, but he has survived.

And he has done it.

"Does your stupidity known no bounds?" Da-ge demands as Lan Wangji kneels by er-ge's bed and feeds him potent spiritual energy.

Wei Wuxian is alive. His cognition is intact and his Golden Core is stable but he's soaked in Resentful Energy.

"You destroyed your Golden Core, Huaisang! There's no recovering from it!"

"Wouldn't you do the same?" He demands, turning around to look at his oldest brother. He ignores Lan Xichen's alarmed voice and focuses on Nie Mingjue, "Is his life worth less than my Golden Core?"

Da-ge locks his jaw but doesn't reply. Of course, Wei Wuxian's life is worth more than a Golden Core.

"Huaisang," Lan Xichen sighs, "a-Xian wouldn't have wanted this."

"Look at Wangji-xiong and tell me that again." He says bluntly. He is tired and drained but no one can convince him that reviving er-ge wasn't the right choice.

Xichen-ge doesn't reply because no one can look at the devastated expression on Lan Wangji's face and say it wasn't worth it.

Huaisang doesn't feel the absence of the core as keenly as someone else might. He had only developed it during the Sunshot Campaign, after all.

He isn't like er-ge or Wangji-xiong, with their powerful cores and potent spiritual energy. The loss would've been devastating to them but is only an afterthought to him.

---

They realize something is off when Wei Wuxian opens his eyes and looks at them with distant wariness instead of familiar affection. He looks around and is instantly on guard, "Where... Why am I here?"

He looks directly at Wangji-xiong, "Lan Zhan? What are you... Have you brought me here?" He demanded, his expression shifting to something hostile, "Are we in Gusu?"

"Wei-gongzi," Xichen-ge calls for his attention, "I know you're very confused but please don't be alarmed. We're in your home at the Unclean Realm, not in Gusu."

Er-ge narrows his eyes and Huaisang recognizes that expression, even though it has never been directed towards them. A look of cool calculation as er-ge tries to decipher their motives. "My home?" He asks.

Wangji-xiong knows er-ge almost as well as they do. He reaches forward, "Wei Ying, let us explain, please."

It appears that this Wei Wuxian is just as vulnerable to Wangji-xiong as his brother had been because he softens immediately. His body is still tense but he seems to be willing to listen.

"You died in this world, saving Huaisang's life." Da-ge begins gruffly. Huaisang winces at the bluntness but er-ge seems to appreciate it, his sharp gaze focusing on their elder brother, "Yes, this world," Da-ge confirms, "Our didi decided he wouldn't tolerate it and decided to use one of our forbidden rituals to revive you. He didn't read things clearly. The ritual dragged your soul from another world and placed you in his body."

Er-ge's expression is skeptical, "Our didi..."

Wangji-xiong sucks in a sharp breath, "Wei Ying," His brother's gaze moves to his 'best friend', "You are Wei Wuxian, 23 years old, the Head Disciple of QingheNie Sect, the adopted younger brother of Nie Mingjue and older brother to Nie Huaisang. You were adopted by the former Nie-zongzhu when you were six years old."

Er-ge stares at Wangji-xiong in stunned disbelief but there's no denial in his expression.

No wonder, Wangji-xiong never lies. That must be true in his world as well.

"a-Xian," Er-ge winces and looks at Xichen-ge, "You need to rest and recover. Your Golden Core is stab-"

Er-ge gasps and immediately sits up, placing his hand on his chest. He closes his eyes and almost violently summons his spiritual energy.

"Wei Ying!" Wangji-xiong calls out in alarm but his brother doesn't pay any attention, his focus entirely inward.

"I have my Golden Core back..." Er-ge breathes, astonished but his skin goes white and he loses consciousness.

They exchange stunned glances before scrambling forward to check on him.

---

No one can deny Wei Wuxian has changed. It takes a month for his body to recover but his heart is still unsteady. He puts on every appearance of being alright, but Huaisang has grown up with this man. He knows something is off.

It is only when er-ge decides he needs to start training again that things start to become clear. Er-ge has trained all of his life to fight with a Dao. His movements are powerful and aggressive, designed to overwhelm the enemy.

Er-ge's mind, however, is accustomed to the traditional Jian. He seems to expect his movements to be lighter, faster. More agile and less powerful.

The dissonance makes him clumsy and he loses his first fight against Lan Wangji in a long time.

"Wei Ying?" Wangji-xiong frowns, "Your movements."

Da-ge has his concerned scowl on and he grabs Baxia, stepping into the training field, "With me, Wuxian."

This fight is faster and more brutal. Huaisang almost wants to protest but he can see er-ge adjust and adapt quickly.

His eyes gain a razor-sharp focus and his battle instincts come to the fore. "Good," Xichen-ge observes, "He's accepting his body."

Indeed, he is. Against da-ge's overwhelming force, there's nothing er-ge can do but react instinctively. They engage in several bouts and keep at it for over a shichen.

By the end of it, er-ge is exhausted but faintly triumphant.

"Lan Zhan, again!"

"Wei Ying, you need rest." Wangji-xiong says with a shake of his head, "Don't strain yourself."

"Why were you fighting like you wanted to wield a Jian, didi?" Da-ge asks sternly, "You were hesitant and weak in some strikes."

Er-ge grimaces and Xichen-ge steps forward. It has been over a month and though er-ge has seen how much they all care for him, he remains wary.

"a-Xian," Xichen-ge begins gently, "You weren't a part of the Nie Clan in the past, were you?"

Da-ge's scowl deepens at the thought of er-ge belonging to anyone else but them. They had suspected something like this, of course. But they had hoped that er-ge would've still been a part of the Nie Sect if not the Clan.

Er-ge remains wary but sighs, "No."

"Not the Lans," Xichen-ge observes astutely, "Not the Jins either. Were you a rogue cultivator? Or from a smaller sect?"

Er-ge studies him before shaking his head, "I was the Head Disciple of the Jiangs."

"What?" Wangji-xiong asks, his voice uncharacteristically sharp, "Jiangs?"

Da-ge looks furious and Xichen-ge seems pained. No wonder, given how... problematic the Jiang situation is. That family is entirely unsuitable for someone as loving and giving as his er-ge!

Jiang Wanyin is a complex mix of pride and insecurity. He lags behind all sect heirs, though Huaisang is fairly certain their batch of cultivators is particularly skilled. Er-ge and Wangji-xiong are exceptional in every way and Jin Zixuan is barely a few steps behind.

In the face of such competition, skilled but ordinary cultivators can't help but be overshadowed.

Jiang Fengmian, according to da-ge, is a meek little imitation of his former self. The man that pursued er-ge's mother had been strong and wise. He had the skill, political acumen, and grace to be an admirable Sect Leader.

His marriage to Yu Ziyuan ruined him.

And Yu Ziyuan is a nightmare. The one time she met Wei Wuxian, she had left such an impression that da-ge had cut all ties with the Jiang Sect until its Madam apologized to the Nie Sect Head Disciple.

That hadn't gone down well and the relationship between them is still sour.

"Do you want to return to them?" He blurts out, unable to help himself. If Jiangs are this Wei Wuxian's family then maybe-

"No."

They still because that's a very firm no. It is a complete and utter rejection of the very thought of it.

"No."

---

Getting the whole story out of er-ge is like pulling teeth but between Wangji-xiong's pleas, Xichen-ge's gentle questions, da-ge impassioned demands, and his own begging, they manage.

This Wei Wuxian doesn't love them yet but he sees their love for him clearly. That softens his heart and they get to hear every painful, excruciating aspect of his past life.

Wangji-xiong looks furious, da-ge paces, Xichen-ge is pale, but all of that doesn't matter.

He recognizes the look on er-ge's face. He has never seen it on him before, but he recognizes it.

Er-ge expects them to reject him. To abandon him for his 'sins'.

"Well, I don't have a Golden Core. Can you teach me Demonic Cultivation?"

"Huaisang!" Is yelled from almost every direction but he only has eyes for his older brother.

He sees those tired silver eyes study him for a moment before they soften completely, turning into the color of liquid moonlight. "You brat," Er-ge murmurs affectionately, "The thought of you wielding that power is nothing short of terrifying."

"But er-ge! Can you leave me defenseless, just like that? Don't you feel sorry for me-"

"Huaisang!" Da-ge snaps, "Stop trying to manipulate your brother!"

"Really, a-Sang, it isn't right for you to-"

Er-ge laughs. It's familiar, loud, and openly joyous. Silver eyes sparkle as he looks at them, "Don't worry, da-ge, he's a hundred years too early to manipulate me."

Wangji-xiong huffs, "Wei Ying."

"Lan Zhan," Er-ge teases, "How is that you manage to reprimand me by only saying my name? Shall I try it too? Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan!"

"And they're flirting again." He murmurs under his breath, drawing an amused look from Xichen-ge.

"Perhaps we really need to start betrothal negotiations," Xichen-ge says and da-ge scoffs.

"Not going to happen unless you're willing to part with your brother. Mine is my heir. He's not marrying into the Lans."

"Da-ge, be reasonable-"

Huaisang tunes them out and waves his fan in front of his face, his mind whirling.

He doesn't care about er-ge's marriage negotiations. He has bigger fish to fry.

Really, those Jins and Jiangs are getting too bold.

[yami-writes]

ive been feeling a bit lonely, and i found ur acc and u seem kinda new, but i like your writing and ur oc so i wanted to ask u for our 3 main boi just as boyfriends :) extra fluff plz! (i know its kinda lame but i really want this)

CGFYCVGFGUJH ITS NOT LAME! and thank you! 

(🏷️) paring(s): Midoriya x reader, Bakugo x reader, Todoroki x reader (🔮) summary: Midroiya, Bakugo and Todoroki as boyfriends (hcs) (⚠️) warning(s): just sum fluff (💌) note from Yami: uh~ hai! enjoy

Midoriya

precious bean!

he loves u sm its adorable

he has a whole notebook dedicated to you!

your likings, dislikings, strengths, weaknesses, everything

he also writes his favourite things about you!

the way your eyes sparkle when presented with your favourite food, the way you talk, the way you walk, everything!

he loves to get you small gifts too

perhaps a small flower he picked up on his way to class

or he’ll draw a heart and write “y/n” inside and give it to you

he always has a small blush on his face while doing so and it's so cute!

and when you thank him for the gift, he out here creating new shades of red

you would give him a kiss but that would definitely break him

during sparring, he won't dare lay a finger on you

“why won't you hit me?”

“i-i don't wanna hurt you.”

“its ok izu! I can take it!”

“I still don't want to.”

you two never get into arguments, only cause he agrees with everything you want

he would never have the audacity to disagree with you, even if you don't mind

and if you somehow do get into an argument?

he will immediately try to apologize

he won't leave you alone until you accept it

and you know damn well if you don't accept his apology he will start crying

he’s already watery-eyed while he’s apologizing

once you finally give in, he’ll just go off on how much he loves you

“I love you so much y/n! I don't know what I would do without you!”

“ok ok! can you put me down plea-”

“you are my entire world! I love you more than anything! maybe more than all might- no I love you more than all might!”

Bakugo

tsundere(??)

he loves you, he just won't show it

surprisingly soft, but only around you

you and you only.

he cooks for you a lot

damn that shits good~

he observes you a lot

like, his eyes are always on you

its no wonder why he knows everything about you-

favourite food? yup. favourite colour? mhm. anything really

sparring? he’ll flat out say no.

he wants to avoid hurting you at all costs

“cmon katsuki! why won't you spar with me!?”

“I don't wanna hurt you.”

“it’ll be fine, I can defend myself too, ya know!”

“I ALREADY SAID NO”

a surprising amount of petty arguments from the two of you

but bakugo can't help but feel guilty

he’ll go out of his way to make your favourite food for you

even add some desert 

you can't even say no because he made it so damn good

he’ll just watch with a smirk on his face as you enjoy his cooking

then he’ll offer to carry you to bed

so soft!

todoroki

also precious bean!

the respect he has for you is unbelievable

nobody could ever compare to you!

like the other 2, very observant

it can get kinda creepy

he’s very non-verbal so he shows his love for you through actions

but, he takes what he wants.

his way of demanding affection is simply being very touchy 

he’ll lay his head on your lap, pick you up and place you on his lap, or just wrap his hands around your waist and place his head on your shoulder

at that point, there's no escaping him

you just accept it because, who wouldn't???

you convinced him not to get you expensive gifts because you know he would do so with his father’s credit card

so instead he’ll just get you smaller things

he’ll pick flowers of your favourite colours and put a ribbon around them, making his own bouquet

and damn, those shits are pretty

he has such a good sense of colour

he’ll pick a flower from the bouquet and place it in your hair

“this flower goes with your eyes”

“o-oh, does it?”

“mhm, it looks pretty on you. no, perfect.”

you can feel the heat go straight to your cheeks when he smiles

hnnngggggg his smileeeeeee 

he’ll spar with you, but he’ll be extra careful

you can tell he’s on edge

he wants you to get stronger, but he also doesn't wanna stop your progress by hurting you

“its ok shoto, just fight me!”

“but, y/n, I don't want you to get hurt~”

“it's ok, just go, you want me to get stronger don't you?”

“well, yea”

“then let's go!”

honestly, there aren't really arguments, just petty bickers

but in the rare occasions where there is an argument?

he’ll give you some time before approaching you again

the frustrating thing is he acts as if nothing happened

which makes you madder, but the boy is bad at picking up social cues

he’s just gonna keep talking to you until you actually tell him whats wrong

you give up because at this point he’s just following you around, waiting for you to finally acknowledge him

but when you do he’ll latch onto you 

hugs? kisses? movies? food? whatever you want

Masterlist

[c-ptsdrecovery]

“Did it ever get physical?”

This is often the first question we ask someone we know or suspect is in an unhealthy relationship. While starting a conversation around physical abuse is essential, the issue is when it’s the only question we ask.

Stopping short of inquiring about other forms of abuse implies that physical violence is the defining factor of an unhealthy relationship. Even worse, it conveys the message that whatever else might be going on is just “not that bad.”

This is a huge issue, because emotional abuse can absolutely be that bad.

Even if relationship never gets physically abusive, emotional abuse can escalate over time with devastating consequences, even death. And while emotional abuse does not always lead to physical abuse, physical abuse in relationships is nearly always preceded and accompanied by emotional abuse.[i]

Why don’t we hear more about emotional abuse? In addition to the common misconception that it’s just not that serious, many people simply aren’t sure what emotional abuse actually entails.

My aim here is to help you understand what emotional abuse really means and what makes it so dangerous so that you’re better equipped to start the conversation. Because if you want to stop it, you first have to know what you’re dealing with.

Defining Emotional Abuse

Understanding emotional abuse is complicated for many reasons. One reason is because there are several different names used interchangeably to refer to the same kind of abuse, including emotional abuse/violence, psychological abuse/violence, and mental abuse. For simplicity, we’ll use “emotional abuse” going forward.

Another complication is that there isn’t one accepted definition of emotional abuse. It seems that everyone has a slightly different version.

We’ve identified several common threads that make up the most widely accepted definitions and combined them here to create the following description of emotional abuse:

Emotional abuse is any abusive behavior that isn’t physical, which may include verbal aggression, intimidation, manipulation, and humiliation, which most often unfolds as a pattern of behavior over time that aims to diminish another person’s sense of identity, dignity and self worth, and which often results in anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts or behaviors, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

Wow, that’s a lot.

Each part of the definition presents its own complications to fully grasping the reality of emotional abuse, so let’s dissect what this really means, piece by piece.

Breaking Down Emotional Abuse

1.“…any abusive behavior that isn’t physical…”

Pretty broad, right? Emotional abuse is difficult to comprehend because it encompasses so much. Just take a look at the non-exhaustive list[ii] below of behaviors that are potentially emotionally abusive:

Intimidation

Manipulation

Refusal to ever be pleased

Blaming

Shaming

Name-calling

Insults

Put-downs

Sarcasm

Infantilization

Silent treatment

Trivializing

Triangulation

Sabotage

Gaslighting

Scapegoating

Blame-shifting

Projection

Ranking and comparing

Arbitrary and unpredictable inconsistency

Threatening harm

Forced isolation

We specify “potentially” abusive behaviors because some of the behaviors on this list could occur in a healthy context as well. Let’s take sarcasm and infantilizing speech, for example. Many people consider sarcasm a key component of a good sense of humor. Many people would also agree that using infantilizing speech as terms of endearment is harmless, for example referring to a significant other as “baby.” However, in the context of emotional abuse where the intent is malicious, these behaviors can be extremely cutting, especially when disguised as affection or an innocent remark. For example, someone who repeatedly tells his or her significant other “My baby is so smart” in a way that’s meant to mock their partner’s intelligence using sarcasm as well as infantilizing speech to make them feel small is a form of emotional abuse.

2. “ …which may include verbal aggression, intimidation, manipulation, and humiliation”

The key word here is “may.” Not only is the list of emotional abuse tactics incredibly long and dependent on context, the particular combination of behaviors that show up, how they show up—whether overtly or covertly—and with what intensity can also vary greatly from relationship to relationship. As a result, we have another layer of complexity: emotional abuse doesn’t have one specific look.

For example, an emotionally abusive relationship where overt aggressing behaviors like yelling, threatening and blaming are predominantly used will look very different from a relationship where only very subtle forms of abuse like gaslighting, passive-aggressive put-downs, and minimizing are used.

3. “a pattern of behavior over time”

Emotional abuse is rarely a single event. Instead, it occurs over time as a pattern of behavior that’s “sustained” & “repetitive.”[iii] This particular characteristic of emotional abuse helps explain why it’s so complicated and so dangerous.

Even if you’re the most observant person in the world, emotional abuse can be so gradual that you don’t realize what’s happening until you’re deeply entangled in its web. As a result, the abuse can go unchecked as the relationship progresses, building for months, years, even decades, especially if the abuse is more covert. In such instances, the target’s self-esteem is steadily eroded and their self-doubt becomes so paralyzing that they often have only a vague sense that something (though unsure what) is wrong.

4. “aims to diminish another person’s sense of identity, dignity, and self-worth”

Regardless of how emotional abuse unfolds, experts agree that it has devastating effects on those who are subjected to it.[iv]

Unfortunately, these effects as well as each harmful act of abuse are largely invisible. This makes it difficult for most people to comprehend the very real risks and damage of emotional abuse.

Let’s demonstrate why. For a moment, try to imagine a scene of physical violence, a fight. Even if you’ve never witnessed or experienced it firsthand, your imagination can probably fill in the picture pretty well. The struggle. The adrenaline and fear. The aftermath of blood, bruises, tears. It’s a painful portrait but likely one that you can envision.

Now, try to picture a scene of emotional abuse, specifically someone whose self-identity has been annihilated. Can you see it?

Chances are your mind doesn’t know where to begin. But if you are able to create a picture of either the acts of abuse or what the damage looks like on the person who experienced it, can you put that image into words?

While describing physical wounds is pretty straightforward, it’s much harder to articulate emotional trauma. The parts of a person that sustained emotional abuse destroys—identity, dignity, and self-worth—are abstract, almost impossible to picture or measure.

5. “results in anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts or behaviors, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)”

Because emotional abuse is essentially invisible, singling out the abuse as the culprit of its destructive effects is another kind of challenge and frustration.

Even in cases of extreme emotional abuse, there are no bruises or gashes where the victim can point and say, “This cracked rib is from that constant belittling and invalidation” and “That swollen eye and broken lip are from the incessant name-calling and guilt-tripping and pathological lying.” Instead, what emotional abuse ends up looking like is a person suffering from painful yet not uncommon afflictions like anxiety or depression.

It can therefore be heartbreakingly easy for anyone—whether the person inflicting the emotional abuse, a third-party observer, or even the target of the abuse—to misattribute its damage to some other cause like unemployment or family stress or even blame the target’s prior mental state if he or she battled similar issues in the past.

Closing Thoughts

Hopefully this explanation of emotional abuse is as comprehensive as possible, but I recognize that it’s still bound to have gaps due to the complications I’ve just mentioned. Think of it more as a springboard for future conversations and exploration than an all-encompassing definition.

Emotional abuse, like any other form of cruelty, thrives in the darkness when no one understands, discusses, or recognizes it. Use your newfound knowledge and curiosity to shine the light on the risks and devastation of emotional abuse.

A great place to start is with asking the question, “How does that behavior or action make you feel?” or “Did it ever get emotionally abusive?”

[astromechs]

slipped away into a moment in time ('cause it was never mine)

taylor swift made me do it. expect more, because the entire folklore album was basically angst fodder.

also on ao3!

i.

All things considered, Gamora has been through worse. Fought through worse.

There’s a lot of blood, but the gash across her thigh, courtesy of one of Annihilus’s minions, isn’t terribly deep — no exposed bone, nothing that would suggest any long-term damage. Still, though, when the Front has made its retreat to the makeshift camp and the wounded are being ushered into a medical shelter, when the skies clear over this rocky planet she’s already forgotten the name of, when the surroundings are quiet and there’s no longer a fight to focus on, a spasm of pain seizes her entire leg when it bears weight, and for a second, just one split-second, she winces.

You know what happens when you show weakness, Gamora. The voice of Thanos in her head, right on cue. That voice is right, of course; she knows what happens next, knows that it’s a mistake that’ll cost her.

Instantly, her hand reaches for the hilt of her sword, hanging on her hip; if someone’s coming to take advantage of that weakness, she’ll be ready for them. She’ll be ready for anything.

“Hey. You okay?”

Except, maybe, for this.

It’s not that she hadn’t heard Richard Rider, Nova Prime, Commander of the United Front, coming; that man doesn’t have a subtle bone in his body, and his steps would’ve likely been noticeable from several clicks away. He could never sneak up on her, but — something about him always seems to throw her off balance. Something about the perpetual kindness in his eyes, even through the worst of this war. Something about the gentle tone of his voice, a stark contrast to the power he holds in his hands.

No one like him has ever existed in her reality, and even now, months after joining a war effort that seems more destined to lose by the day, she still doesn’t know what to make of… any of it.

Her hand drops back down by her side, and she’s the picture of perfectly cool, even, with the requisite: “It’s nothing.”

She doesn’t quite see it under his helmet, but it’s obvious from the expression on his face that he’s raising a skeptical eyebrow. He’s a lot smarter than she’d initially given him credit for; maybe strategy isn’t his strength, no, but he knows those working under him, every single one — by name, by capability, by his own keen intuition that alerts him to anything that might be amiss.

There’s no getting past him. She knows in the instant before he says, “Doesn’t seem like nothing. You should go to medical.”

His voice isn’t chiding — just genuinely concerned. Again, she feels the ground shift under her feet; again, she feels so unsteady she could topple over. Instead, though, she swallows down a strange lump forming in her throat, hating the way her own voice sounds more strained than it should when she insists, “I’ll be fine.”

The conversation should end there; she owes him nothing more. But something tugs in her, prompts her to offer one useful piece of wisdom, perhaps in some attempt at equivalent exchange:

“Kindness will get you killed one day, Richard Rider.”

Then, she turns on her heel and leaves without another word, head held high, doing her best to ignore the limp in her steps.

ii.

He’s been staring aimlessly out the flagship’s viewport for hours.

She hasn’t been keeping track, not really; she’s purely exhausted her need for sleep on this particular night cycle, and in all the times she’s wandered by, he hasn’t moved, not even the arms folded across his chest. Nothing’s coming for them in this stretch of space, so any effort to keep vigil is pointless at best.

But she knows this isn’t that. Even if in this war, they’ve been handed nothing but defeat, Richard takes every single one of them hard, personally shoulders the weight of every life lost under his command. It’s a risky quality to have in a leader, and she’s still certain in what she’d told him before. Still certain that, one day, kindness will kill him. Break him.

She doesn’t want to see it happen.

Instead of moving on, she stops. Watches him for a moment longer, eyes lingering, before crossing the floor to stand next to him. If he’s heard her approach, he doesn’t acknowledge it, and so, for a time, she lets the silence hang in the air between them. Until —

“People die. This is war.” Her voice isn’t cold when she says it, nor is it any semblance of gentle or comforting, because she’d never been built for that; it simply is, another piece of factual wisdom that she’s trying to impart.

He exhales a long breath, and when he turns to look at her finally, expression haggard, he looks much older than anyone as young as him has a right to. “I know.”

Perhaps it’s that, above all, that tugs at something deep in her core, past years of hard-learned truths and carefully constructed armor; it aches in her chest, this sudden thought that maybe, in some ways, they’re not so different.

A hand reaches for one of his, winding their fingers together.

After a beat, he squeezes back.

iii.

Gamora gives him whatever small pieces of inconsequentials that she’s capable of giving. She gives him her nights, saves a spot for him in her bed. Gives him release from the pressure he threatens to crack under some days, gives him just one place where he doesn’t have to make all the calls.

Sometimes, she gives him an extra hour of the sleep that’s so difficult for him to find.

Already, she’s declined four pings on his comm this morning, but sooner or later, someone will come looking for him. He’s important, after all. And he would be angry at himself over missed duties.

“Richard-Human.” Her hand reaches for his forehead, gently brushes the hair from his forehead.

At that, one bleary eye opens to peer at her, followed by another. His hair is sticking up in all directions on the pillow, and he looks completely ridiculous. “Hey,” he says, raspy but soft.

His smile, though, lopsided as it cracks his face — his smile is bright enough to light up a star.

She thinks she could burn under the force of it, because for someone who’s spent most of her life in the dark, it’s almost too much to bear. The eye contact certainly is in this moment; her gaze drops, fixating on the tangled sheets that still cover them both. Time’s ticking on these moments she’s stolen, she knows — this thing they have, whatever it is, can only live in a warzone, and if they both make it out of this alive, he’ll go on to a life that certainly doesn’t include her. That’s what he deserves. What….

Fingers brush the lines of her jaw, graze over the skin of her face, and pull her out of her thoughts. Bring her eyes back up to meet his. She drifts closer, ever closer, until their lips meet and everything else fades away.

She lets herself have this.

For now.

iv.

The Kree prisoners fall under her sword. Their deaths are quick under barely more than a single stroke; their blood rains down, soaks the ground below.

If you find nothing useful, her teachings would tell her, wipe them out.

By them, she had done well.

She wipes the blade and sheaths it, steps delicately over a body that’s still warm. And —

Meets a pair of eyes that she’d never wanted to disappoint, their cold stare cutting through her like daggers.

It’d only been a matter of time. She’s so skilled in exploiting limits that it’s practically reflex to her; sooner or later, she’d have found the limits of his affection, his naive faith in her, too.

She’ll never see those eyes again. She’s sure of it.

v.

The first thing she thinks is that she feels — empty. Cold.

It’s a feeling she’s far from a stranger to. For years, it’s been her constant companion as she’s drifted, from one planet to the next, one galaxy to the next, between wars fought for causes and jobs taken for nothing at all, looking for something that’s long eluded her: purpose. Richard had been imbued with it every single day like it’d been effortless, conviction burning brighter than the force of a star that had propelled him — and she’d wanted that, more than anything, wanted to experience even just a fraction of what that could feel like.

Eventually, she had found it, buzzing through her veins with every directive from the Phalanx. Purpose. As part of a whole, part of something beyond herself, she could keep moving forward on a clear path with a set destination; weeds like guilt and regret had withered, making everything… blissfully uncomplicated.

And now it’s gone. It’s gone, and all she feels is cold.

They’re cured, Richard says, with his particular brand of bright-eyed earnestness, like all the universe’s problems are fixed, just like that, but it isn’t a solution at all. It puts her right back where she flarking started, and she’s — she’s tired, down to her cybernetic bones. Tomorrow, she’ll have to start drifting again.

But today, with his steady hands there to pick up the pieces, she allows herself to break.

It’s as ugly as she is inside, full of ragged breaths and stumbling words, full of the kind of weakness that would get someone killed. She hates it, she hates this entire situation — and she hates herself most of all.

But in spite of everything, in spite of the fact that not an hour ago, she’d been ready to kill him, blade pointed at his throat, he doesn’t waiver. She doesn’t deserve anything that this man doesn’t hesitate or question giving — not his comfort, not his acceptance. Doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near the presence of someone so unfailingly kind and good.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he says into her hair, both arms wrapped tightly around her as he pulls her close to his chest.

Foolishly, she doesn’t fight it. But what’s most foolish of all is that in the warmth of his embrace, she almost lets herself believe him.

coda.

She hasn’t cried in decades; Thanos had firmly seen to that. Tears had been considered a weakness, and like every other she’d once carried, they’d been removed under the cut of a knife, her back strapped to a table, screams so long-buried that they hadn’t even attempted to rise to her throat. Several times since, in the private silence of cold nights, she’s waited, head bowed, for some kind of reminder that she can still feel, that she lives and breathes beyond being someone’s object.

But even if she could cry, could let tears cloud her vision and allow for some kind of release for the heaviness in her chest, she doesn’t think she would now.

There’s no point in crying over what she’s long known to be inevitable.

When her passport activates and the Cancerverse fades from view, when the familiar sights and sounds of Knowhere fill her senses once again, she doesn’t even get angry. There’s no point in that, either, she thinks.

Hope is fleeting, a flower that can sometimes manage to grow even in the hardest and driest of dirt — but it will always get crushed out of existence. Light can never overtake the dark; this is the way of things.

Richard Rider’s days have always been numbered; a light that brilliant could’ve never stayed.

The universe returns to balance.

[dancinginadaydream]

ANGSTY DRACO AND HARRY HEADCANONS ((TW))

so im writing this with caution. these are some *really* sad and possibly TRIGGERING headcanons for some. but they've been bouncing round my head for days (i fckn thrive on angst and sad shit) so i wanted to share.

triggering themes to be aware of before reading ARE:

alcohol abuse

drugs; cocaine misuse

eating disorders; anorexia

self-harm; cutting

suicidal ideations 

imprisonment 

hints at abuse

rough sex

if any of these topics trigger you, i urge you to use your own judgement and exercise caution. please do not read these headcanons if you fear they will trigger you and/or you cannot read things like this. i have given you all these warnings so they don't just appear out of the blue. I have added the keep reading option so that nobody sees them accidentally. The last thing I want is for people to be triggered by even having to scroll past and catching a glimpse of it. Please take care of your mental health! 

most of these are headcanons for draco because i just fckn love draco and think about his life more than any other characters. 

ive put a lot of thought into these. ofc i accept constructive criticism and would be happy for healthy debate if anyone disagrees with any of my hc's!  

DRACO MALFOY:

draco suffers from anorexia. as a slytherin, he desires control over situations (particularly his own). however, his entire life has essentially been mapped out for him and he has lost a lot of his control over his life. as a result of this, when he was around thirteen and had a little more control over his outward appearance, draco started to obsess over his body image. nothing was every quite right. he decided to take control over that and make it to his vision of perfect. so he didn't eat unless he absolutely had to, or he was in important company and his father told him he had to keep up appearances, and even then he would go for a jog and feel ultimately guilty for it afterwards. this ended up worsening during his sixth year of school. all draco wanted was to have some control and often it felt that the only control he truly had was his body image,

draco was imprisoned in azkaban for a year following the trials and the war. it doesn't sit right with me that the malfoys got it lightly, they still did wrong. but draco was only imprisoned for a few months to a year to set an example and to teach him a lesson. he then spent two years on probation/parole. of course he knew that he'd done wrong, he accepted the punishment and it nearly destroyed him,

following his imprisonment in azkaban, draco pretty much changed his entire perspective- he smeared the feared malfoy name according to his father. draco became an activist for muggles and muggleborns, supporting hermione in securing more rights for them. he had intense amounts of guilt for what happened and his imprisonment made him realise that. he had a lot of time to reflect on the man he knew he should become,

after azkaban, draco essentially looked like machine gun kelly. he got a nose piercing, he covered himself in tattoos (mainly to distract from the dark mark on his arm) and he tended to kick about in muggle clothes (like a baggy jumper, hoodies, skinny jeans, doc martens, converse etc). of course that would all settle down as his anger towards his father and family settled. it was an initial act of rebellion to what his family stood for that he didn't agree with,

despite trying to do good in the world and support hermione in her multitude of causes, draco was still haunted by the ideals he grew up with. so he turned to drug abuse, namely cocaine, to distract his mind and still feel a buzz instead of depression. the cocaine addiction also becomes part of his anorexia, leaving him without food because he feels he doesn't need it,

throughout school, draco was a self-harmer. he would cut his thighs to have some form of relief. the reasons for this were almost always depression, but were triggered by individual events such as; not getting a perfect score on an essay (fear of punishment from his father), the issues with his body image, the forceful nature of his parents, the rise of the dark lord, dealing with his sexuality (i see draco as exclusively gay, but tries to be heterosexual for his family's sake and that has a lot of issues within itself). the self-harm subsided after azkaban and when he'd discovered the effects of cocaine (which could be argued that his addiction to coke was in itself an act of self-harm).

basically, no one punishes draco more than himself for his role in the war

HARRY POTTER

harry's never had a normal, easy life. he's either been abused by his aunt and uncle, or he's been fighting the dark lord and his goonies for the entirety of his school career. so after the war, things are settled for him. he's famous, he's being handed things for free, he's got the job he wanted, but he's not happy. because most of his formative years he was constantly fighting to make the wizarding world a better place, the sudden calm and quiet post-war has caused him some major depression issues. this it not to say harry wasn't depressed and anxious before, it's merely been amplified post-war. after the war he experiences feelings of worthlessness and paranoia. he's both ready and not ready to fight again. the world isn't the same and he's not settling well into the new way of living, the calm. his feelings of worthlessness accumulate and harry's friends and family are essentially on suicide watch for a few years post-war. they're worried that harry is going to kill himself. not only is harry suffering with feelings of worthlessness, he has survivors guilt. so many people died in the war and he blames himself. he should have been the only death, in his opinion. he's stubborn so won't believe any of his friends when they say that it's not his fault they died. he's attempted suicide a few times when the survivor's guilt gets too much and due to this he cannot live alone, his friends always have someone with him,

harry becomes an alcoholic post-war. its his way of dealing with things. he rely's heavily on alcohol for the feeling of numbness. it started out, in his opinion, as harmless fun but he became reliant on it. it becomes a problem and on top of his  suicidal ideations, his friends are unbelievably worried. they eventually manage to get him into rehab and he becomes sober, but then he turns his self-depreciation onto something else,

sleeping with draco began as a way of releasing anger and sexual tension. they started sleeping with each other after meeting at a wizarding club - draco was coked out and harry was drunk (probably on something too). their sex started in club bathrooms, anywhere dirty and messy because they just didn't care. then when they eventually went somewhere with a bed (hotel room, one of their flats), the sex became angry and was extremely rough (choking, spanking, scratching, slapping, hair pulling). the type of sex they had was bordering destructive as a result of their pent up anger at the world and each other. but after both of them became sober from their addictions, they continued seeing each other and it blossomed into something special and caring. of course they still had rough sex, but they had plenty of aftercare instead of a rough fuck and go,

not entirely related to the headcanons, can be separated or go hand in hand, but transgender harry potter. imagine harry growing up known as "the girl who lived" and it caused a lot of dysphoria growing up in a world being reminded that he wasn't cisgendered. he came out and the majority of hogwarts was accepting (even draco, he may be a dick but not that much. he would stop bullying harry using she/her pronouns and then use he/him). imagine harry constantly being reminded that he was the girl who lived. after the war, they started coining him as the boy who lived, but there were still pockets of people who refused to accept him as trans.

basically, the reasons i have these headcanons is because i don't think draco or harry would be entirely okay afterwards. they suffered a lot of trauma in the years leading to, during, and post war. that would have massive effects on their mental health and there's no way they would continue being arrogant and cocky - internally at least. they could be that way externally as a result of their trauma, anger at the world, and the need to make people believe they haven't been affected as much.

[madasthesea]

5 times Tony tries to tell Peter he loves him

+1 time Peter actually hears him

i.

“What’s going on with you, kid?” Tony asks. Peter jerks, looking away from the window for the first time since he got in the car.

“What? Nothing,” Peter says unconvincingly. His hair is rumpled from where he was leaning against the head rest.

“You sure? You look...” Tony searches for a word and Peter raises his eyebrow, “sick.” He finally lands on, because that’s the best way to describe Peter’s thin face, pale cheeks, and dull eyes. Peter’s hand shakes as he rubs at his forehead. There’s something about it that makes Tony think ‘bone-deep exhausted’ might have been a better choice.

“’m fine,” Peter insists. “I can’t get sick.”

Tony has a vivid memory of a sweaty, delirious Peter curled up in his lap that contradicts that statement, but he bites it back. He stays quiet for a minute, maneuvering through traffic carefully.

“You know,” he finally starts. Peter jumps again like he’d forgotten where he was and who he was with. “If you need something, you can ask me. I want you to ask me.”

“What would I need?” Peter asks, the curve of his mouth a smile that is almost bitter in its resignation.

“You tell me,” Tony challenges. Peter just looks at him, unimpressed. Tony sighs.

“I mean if you need a solid meal that isn’t burnt, I can cook. If you need a nap, I’ve got a bed with your name on it. If you need to, I don’t know, blow some stuff up in an adult-supervised, high tech lab, we can do that.”

Peter’s mouth thins like he’s holding back words that are desperately trying to get out. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he whispers.

They get to Peter’s block and Tony wonders if Peter is out of it enough to not notice if they went around a few more times to give him time to say what he needs to. But instead he pulls up to the curb, puts the car in park.

Peter unbuckles his seatbelt and Tony fights the urge to drive off, to go back to the tower and bundle Peter up where he can watch him and make sure he’s ok.

“Maybe take tomorrow off school,” Tony suggests.

“I’ve got a test,” Peter says with a small grimace.

“I’m on your emergency list, I can sign you out.”

Peter looks like he honestly considers it, which is both an admission of how much he’s struggling and a small victory that some part of Tony’s lecture is getting through.

“I’m ok. Thank you, Mr. Stark.” His hair is still sticking up. Tony fiddles with the gear shift to avoid reaching out and smoothing it.

“Ok. Well, you know where to find me.”

Peter gives him a slightly more genuine smile and opens the door.

“Take care of yourself, kid. I l—” Tony cuts off, stunned at the word on the tip of his tongue.

“I’ll see you later,” he chokes out as Peter stares at him.

“Ok,” Peter says slowly. “Bye.”

Tony sits frozen at the curb as Peter enters his apartment building, then mechanically puts his car into drive and pulls away.

Had he seriously just almost told Peter he loves him? On accident?  

He hasn’t done that since he was seven and he told his father he loved him. Howard had just stared at him for a moment and then shooed him from the room.

He had never pictured those words coming out of his mouth so easily in his life. It took him months of reminding himself to say it to Pepper before he became comfortable with it, and that was with the love of his life. What is it about this kid that erased all of his trauma, knocked down all of his walls?

He couldn’t place his finger on a single reason, but he knows, in a bone-deep way, that despite how unplanned the words were, they are true.

He loves Peter.

Even if he’s only just now realizing it.  

 ii. 

When their captors come, Tony presses Peter into the corner, his back against Peter’s rapidly moving chest, and snarls. The men just laugh as they grab Tony by the hair and drag him away. Peter’s yelling behind him, but as Tony twists and struggles, he can see that he’s being left in the glass cell, two men guarding the door to make sure he doesn’t get out.

Even as his hair is pulling loose from his scalp, Tony breathes a sigh of relief.

The door to Peter’s cage locks behind Tony.

The man holding him bodily drags Tony until he’s standing on his own two feet.

“Look at him,” he sneers, his hot breath reeking as it fans over Tony’s face. But he obeys, because he wants to look at Peter one last time.

Peter, who’s still raging against the walls, pounding both fists against the reinforced glass as he looks frantically around for some hope of salvation.

“You’re never going to see him again, Stark. Any last words before we kill you?”

He has a lot of words: Stay in school and it’s ok to mess up sometimes and don’t get yourself killed, Pete.

But most of all he thinks my dad never told me he loved me.

He swallows hard and the man laughs. “No? Alright then.”

Another hand seizes his arm and he’s being jerked backwards, away from Peter, whose eyes go impossibly wider, his gestures getting more desperate.

“Peter.” The name is jerked out of him before he can stop it. “Peter.”

Even with the rough, unbalanced motion of being forced away, Tony can see still the first tears fall down Peter’s cheeks.

And what does pride matter when compared to the look on Peter’s face. So he’ll be mocked even more as he’s tortured and killed. It’s worth it for Peter to know.

“I love you.”

The men around him laugh, jostle him further.

Peter doesn’t react. Tony only now realizes that he’s yelling, has been yelling this whole time. The cell is soundproof. Peter can’t hear him.

He needs Peter to hear him.

He can’t die when Peter doesn’t even know that he was unquestionably, unconditionally loved.  

“I love you! Peter, look at me!” he pleads, begs the kid to read his lips through the glass, but Peter is looking around too much, never focusing directly on Tony, still holding out for some last hope.

They reach the end of the hallway. Tony had been afraid to fight back before, worried that they would punish his bad behavior on Peter, but now he claws for just a few more moments with Peter in his sights.

“Look at me, Pete! I love you. I love you.”

Someone kicks his hand where he’s scrabbling at the wall. Another boot meets the back of his knee. He goes down hard, and Peter disappears as he’s dragged around the corner.

Later, when Tony wakes up in a hospital bed next to Peter’s, he watches the kid breathe and tells himself that he still has time.

iii. 

Getting thrown into a cement wall hard enough to dent it would have broken anyone else’s spine, but thank the gods above, Peter isn’t anyone else. He’s able to hobble away with some bruises and stiff muscles.

It’s still enough to leave him nearly bedridden for days. Or should he say, couch-ridden, since Tony and Peter have been camped out on his sofa for going on eighteen hours. And even Peter’s impressive movie-watching stamina is starting to wear thin.

Tony is pretending to watch the movie, actually watching Peter out of the corner of his eye as Peter tries to shift into a more reclined position.

The hiss of pain through Peter’s teeth is the signal Tony was waiting for.

“Ok, easy,” Tony says hurriedly, reaching for Peter’s shoulders. “Let’s try something else, alright?”

Peter nods minutely, his eyes clenched in pain.

Tony scoots forward, wraps his arm around Peter’s waist and carefully tips the boy back against his chest. Peter’s muscles are tense under his touch, still too wary of the pain to find comfort in it.

Tony gently rubs a palm against Peter’s chest and stomach. “Relax,” he murmurs. Slowly, Peter sags into him, his injured back warm and solid against Tony. “There we go.”

Peter’s head lolls against Tony’s shoulder and he squirms just a bit, nestling himself further into Tony’s hold. Tony has never really been one for prolonged contact, but he finds himself resting his head against Peter’s, tightening his arms around Peter’s stomach, relishing the warmth and steady rise and fall as Peter breathes.

This means something, Tony thinks. There’s a reason you don’t mind when it’s Peter. Tell him.

Tony swallows, anxiety ripping through him.

It’d be weird, wouldn’t it? To just say it. For all Tony knows, Peter is accepting their pseudo-cuddling simply because he’s tired and his back is making it hard for him to sleep.

And besides, Peter probably already knows. It’s been an unspoken thing for months. Tony doesn’t need to say it in so many words.  

Peter shivers lightly against him. Chuckling, Tony reaches out and pulls the blanket he keeps around for this very reason off the back of the couch, tucking it carefully around Peter. Affection is cutting through the hazy, fearful thoughts like a knife.

Tell him.

“I love you,” Tony whispers, his heart in his throat.

Silence greets him. Tony’s stomach twists in nerves and dread. Why wasn’t Peter saying anything? Should Tony take it back? Apologize?

He’s about to disentangle his arms from Peter’s and leave when he hears a soft snore.

Closing his eyes as he laughs to himself, Tony buries his smile in Peter’s shoulder.

“Yeah. I love you.” Even if you fall asleep when I’m trying to tell you.  

 iv.

Tony’s hands are covered in ash.

When Peter died, Tony didn’t say anything.

He didn’t say anything.

“Peter,” he gasps, hates that he’s addressing smeared dirt coated on bloody skin.

“Peter.” A tear drips onto his hand and he sucks in a breath. His heart is on his palms—he’s afraid it will wash off and disappear forever.

“I love you,” he confesses to the ether, the unreachable nothingness Peter is lost to. The red dirt shifts at his feet and there is no answer.

“It’s time to leave,” the daughter of Thanos says.  She hauls him to his feet and he sways.

“I never told him I love him.”

“There’s no use telling him now,” she hisses. “He’s dead.”

Tony flinches, his lungs failing to pull in air.

The woman pauses, her mechanical face shifting like a glitch.

“Do you? Love him?” she asks, her robotic voice almost quiet, and Tony blinks in shock. He nods. He tries to say yes but no sound comes out. “Then you are better than my father.”

She turns away, leaving Tony to catch up.

“I will help you save him. So you can tell him.”

v. 

The first thing Tony tells himself he’ll do when Peter is once again alive and in his arms is finally tell the kid that Tony loves him more than he thought he was capable of loving anyone.

The first thing he actually does is pass out.

When he wakes up, ripping the IVs and oxygen mask off without a thought, he stumbles toward the couch Peter is sleeping on in the corner of the room, his vision tunneling until all he can see is Peter’s chest rising and falling.

He wants to shake him awake, wants to tug him into his lap and feel his heartbeat under his palms, a constant reminder that Peter is alive alivealivealive.

Instead, he kneels on the floor next to him. He traces cold fingers over the delicate bones of Peter’s hand, the one that partially hangs over the couch cushion.

“I love you,” he breathes.

He presses Peter’s hand to his cheek.

“I love you.”

He leans his head against the couch cushion, watching Peter’s face, lax with sleep. He tries to memorize the way his eyelashes lay over his cheeks, the freckles across the bridge of his nose, the exact curve of his jaw.

“I love you,” Tony whispers, his voice breaking.

He stays until a random nurse finds him and forces him back to bed.

 i.

Tony isn’t sure why they’re playing chess, other than that Peter had found the old set while digging through a closet and started setting it up. Tony didn’t even know they had a chess set, suspects it’s Steve’s, from the War judging by how cheap and beat up it is.

“So this should probably be in the Smithsonian, is what you’re saying,” Peter says when Tony tells him that.

“Probably,” Tony admits. Peter doesn’t stop setting up pieces, though, so Tony just sits down across from him.

He’s not very good at chess, never taken the time to practice, though he’s delighted to learn that Peter used to be on his junior high chess team.

“I’ve forgotten everything, though,” Peter mutters, glaring at his white pieces scattered over the board.

Tony moves his rook a couple spaces forward, only realizing after he does so that it opens up his queen to Peter’s knight.

Ah, well. He’s already losing. He sits back, content to watch Peter think.

It’s January and the kid is bundled up in Tony’s MIT sweater with a blanket draped around his shoulders like a cape. He bites his lip while he considers his options, his eyes bright and intelligent.

The rushing warmth in Tony’s chest is familiar by now. He looks back down at the board, staring at his doomed queen.

He’s tired of fighting it. Tired of overthinking it and feeling guilty.

“Peter,” he says. Peter hums.

Tony doesn’t look up at him, just watches as Peter’s hand hovers over the bishop that will capture his piece.

“I love you.”

There’s a beat, and then Peter’s voice, “If you think that’s going to distract me from taking your queen,” he says, knocking the black piece over with a flourish, “you’re wrong.”

Tony huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes a little.

“That’s not why I said it, but it would have been a nice bonus.”

Tony finally dares to glance up at Peter, is happy to find a content smile playing at the edges of his mouth, his cheeks lightly flushed as if he’s pleasantly embarrassed.

Biting the inside of his cheek so his own smile won’t be visible, Tony pulls his bishop back toward his king.

Peter plays again, a quick decisive action. Tony considers his next move—the kid left his queenside castle open, but Tony’s trying to predict if it’s a trap or not. He’s just about to reach for his piece when Peter speaks.

“Tony,” he murmurs, voice low and warm.

Tony looks up, meets Peter’s eyes.

Peter beams at him.

“I love you, too.”  

And Tony melts. His heart is beating harder, his entire stomach erupting in ecstatic butterflies. A film of tears blurs his vision, and in an effort to distract Peter so he doesn’t see them, Tony quickly grabs a black pawn, moving it its designated space forward.

It isn’t until a moment later, after he’s blinked the tears away and can see the board again, that he remembers the undefended castle.

“Oh my gosh!”

Peter erupts into peals of laughter at Tony’s exclamation. Tony drops his forehead into his palm, exasperated at himself.

When he looks back up at Peter, the kid is grinning at him.

“That’s not why I said it,” Peter says, a laugh audible in his voice, “but it was a nice bonus.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony grouses fondly, shaking his head at his own idiocy, but his smile gives away how little he actually cares about the game.

As he watches Peter quickly put Tony into checkmate, all he can think about is that’s not why I said it. Peter said it cause he meant it.

And Tony meant it, too. More than anything he’s ever said before.

[xsay10x]

I'll be my own Inquirer

Why so incapable of contemplating this constantly unstable mental state put up with it for a taste of what it feels to be understood for once but is it worth the risk I really need to think this through why I'm reluctant

to share my ideals and opinions tell people what my thoughts are open up with my consciences but cant quite make a coherent sentences so I just hide keep everything inside make sure nothing can come in from the outside because i don't care to confide in the ones who saw something good in me

Wow.. oh! really? what a pussy you see what I mean who talks about their feelings you just need to vibe bro it's not that complex just go with the flow let go stop holding on to the to the shortest rope with the least likelyhood of success

Success what is success dress up for attention have the latest model and nicest brand surrounding yourself with distractions procrastinating instead of contemplating how to be the best you that you want to be

But am I changing for me? or for what I was programmed to be just waiting for directions like the rest of humanity

Stop and take a hit just smile and laugh shut up and start relaxing your attitude is really taxing

How is it, that you can be relaxing while others are slaving away to pay their bills mountains that came from hills

Nah man here just take some more pills I'm not here for this shit

You ain't real enough for this shit just a cog in a machine a dog on a leash careful not to bite the one who feeds

Following orders and deeds obligated to represent reputations neglecting their just vessel a tool being used to confuse the masses they think their the consumers being programmed frequent frequencys colors and pretty flashing lights

Designed to have you mindlessly sitting on the couch smiling neglecting your brain till you go insane till you open of your pouch of pain meds now your addicted but not affected cause your drugs did their job of robbing you of your cognitive thinking now your a cog no need to thrive a bee in hive serve your queen that's not obscene

I'm not trying to instigate these situations I hate but I can't pretend that I dont spectate and sit alone think hold what wait try a lil harder to file my thoughts thought hard about it I feel myself departing no longer hanging I the branch I've hanging on for way to long

I cant let me lose myself cuz I'm all I got I don't care what i was taught I'm not on the clock

Still so unsure what the game plan is but I'm getting more uncomfortable with uncertainty

Let myself stay close to home dont get lost all on my own but still complete that dont mean I want to compete

It's not hard to see that I'm socially inept. I'm begrudgingly accepting the fact that I don't mix with society cuz a part of me has always wanted to blend in but in my own way

Cant even keep track of these days constant reruns don't need the attention I dont want to be in your silly little club or a taste of the sweet life I dont ever want to be a wife

I want stay true to me but when I'm obstructing my own sight its really hard to see who I actually want to be

I went to wander and roam free think for myself try to make it on own but now I'm lost in this labyrinth that is everything I fear everything i hold dear lost in mind and seem to find this part of be that seems to be missing

I'm no longer okay please stay away

I've created a tailored hell just for to sink further into insanity no I don't need help. I'll do it by myself just go away

Or you'll have hell to pay I'm I'm toxic but not just cause I'm sick of all this shit of adjusting and trusting for them to not care what I think

But they dont have to but I'm of hearing bitching from someone whose so insignificant that try to be something superior to me

Why cant we see that were equally capable of maintaining a stable mindset but I know it just goes right over my headset manically depressed or just obsessed trying to breaking away when something's

Telling me I need to stay to find that there will always be pain clean up another blood stain refrain from buying a fresh blade

At a masquerade ball try to find my way but feeling more like im looking in fun house mirrors facing the fears I have of myself

Won't stop complicating everything thing I'm saying can't stop arguing with my self is there really a war going on in my head can't stand the hours I set here laying in bed waiting patiently silently debating constantly switching the side I stand on till I fall find myself laying in bed awake again

Not know how I left myself drifting so long

Being shifty but letting things slip out of control and I don't think I'm holding on to anything but my problems can't keep my promises

I just want to find the common denominator to all this mental labor. But I trapped myself within these these conflicting thoughts

the way I'm feeling can't say just what I'm thinking cant help how far I'm falling

I wont reach out for help... I don't need your help. I dont want your help I just run away from everything right now

Why are all my thoughts consistently conflicting wont stop contradicting what I try to put my mind too

Always finding new ways to contribute to the progression of humanity

I won't stop obsessing I can't bring myself to comply even if I have to lie

Whenever I stand up tall try to make myself different from you all but the universe is so much bigger than us all we don't realize how far we're actually falling

It gets me wondering to where I just sit alone pondering the possibilities of so many diverse realities

The perspectives of everyone. are enough to confuse anyone

Making you feel so discombobulated used to think everyone else was assimilated

Yet it still feels like ive been searching for so long feel my patience slowly slipping away

As my path remain unclear forced myself to stay say I was okay not knowing what that means to me

I fell away blindly moving to go forward into life I thought wanted still struggling to grow up and deal what I've been through not knowing what seems right I dont know how much longer I can stay fight

Wanted so bad to hold onto the mistakes I've learned from but I fell down a rabbit hole everything pulling me back into the habits I want to let go of

I don't know how to move forward I want to go but part of me won't budge

I need a nudge feel free to judge me but who am i judging really why am i comparing all of these people? because I wont let myself see when in comes down to it the only one that i got through it all is me and I need to focus on myself cuz I'm all I have for the long haul but I'm still not ready at all

afraid to receive affection or look at my own reflection not willing to stop and check my agenda hoping to get enough high that it will distract me from my health and keep me from falling into this paradox I call myself

I just have to keep deceiving myself so I cant trick everyone and so I Don't forget to smile and constantly contradict and contort so that they cant see me decaying and semi consciously constraining what im actually thinking because its wrong to think about all the bullshit the majority's put up with an If you can't help but think about it

Just pretend like your okay because that's how you run in the human race

Still can't help ask why I alive? Who is this mask? I'll follow their lead finish the task neglect what need

To fuel the fire that seeds my Insanity

Because I am alright I'm doing fine

I'll say that I'm okay so I dont bare the shame of running away

[heyifinallyhaveablog]

In response to @carminavulcana‘s prompt: 

5 times Bhalla almost let Devasena go. And the one time he wanted to leave along with her.

I’m sorry love, this took so long. I know I should have got to this earlier. But then 

a) This is Bhalla, we’re talking about, and,

b) My life is a messy, little, boring bitch right now.

So here goes nothing!

I.

It wasn’t just as simple as he would have liked it to be.

Yet, it involved no physical exertion at all. He simply had to pull the latch, untie the chains and then-

Devasena would be free-

-And he would finally heave a sigh of relief.

Moreover, it wasn’t as if she had a place to ensconce herself in. Gone was her motherland, and gone were the people in it. Her marital home had faded into oblivion as well, as this new land that he ruled, remained nothing of the Maahishmati he knew.

Amarendra Baahubali was long dead, and his wife, The Valiant Devasena of Kuntala, was only a breathing mollusc.

And he, Bhallaladeva, had no use for a relic. Particularly one that reminded him of his momentary defeat.

His fingers, calloused and hardened, almost reach out to the bars of her cage, where she lay, finally asleep, motionless, her breath a whisper, almost ominous.

But freeing her?

Was that necessary?

Couldn’t she just stay to witness the disappearance of his Brother’s memory?

Couldn’t she just bear testimony to the ruins He would bring about?

Couldn’t she just be a helpless spectator, while He finally took charge of what was owed to him?

No.

His soliloquy comes in a tone of finality.

Not until she saw the last of it.

II.

The Palace of Maahishmati was still aglow with the fire that had testified his wedding.

Torn from Saurashtra and supplanted in His Land was his Vallabhi, the only one whose affections had been undivided when it came to him.

Or so you thought!, His mind mocked.

He hadn’t been spared this time either. Baahubali’s ghost haunted him even as he forcibly took her from her Father. She, for her part, knew of the cage that held Devasena, and-

-She hadn’t been forgiving.

“Matricide and fratricide!” she said, her voice caustic, “Your hands reek of the blood of the one who begat you, and your breath bears the stench of the carrion you reduced a Father to! Your eyes still bear the spite you hold for his wife, who you cage only as a token of your savagery!”

He hadn’t stopped her as she had levelled her blade to his throat, millimetres away from their marital bed. He didn’t jerk the weapon away with an effortless swoop of his fingers, that longed to caress her cheek. He didn’t turn the knife in her direction either, to quieten her for an eternity.

Instead, Bhallaladeva had only left.

What if I set her free?, he wondered in solitude.

Would that win him his Vallabhi back? Would that grant him her love back?

The contemplations came and went in an endless stream, with conclusions better than the last, with prospects of love, hope, and warmth, all that he yearned for-

He only had to unlock the bolt.

But then, his vengeance was necessary. If Baahu’s spirit had lingered on, even as it tormented him thus, he just couldn’t let it have the satisfaction of knowing that he had finally won.

Devasena had to stay.

III.

Try as hard as he might, Baahu's memory just wouldn't take its leave. His subjects, his people simply wouldn't let him go.

I have tried!, Bhallaladeva furiously clutched the goblet in his hands.

He had. He really had, with all the sincerity he could muster in every way. But, somehow he had failed.

Correction-

He had been a miserable failure.

At times, he felt as if Devasena got a significant triumph watching him fail thus. It was infuriating to give her the satisfaction of knowing that the people weren't accepting his rule.

But then-

You should have known, someone sneers.

At times, freeing Devasena felt like one way to gain their confidence. It would suffice even if they let him start, in a small way.

It wouldn't take him long.

Somehow, it just didn't feel right. Devasena didn't deserve that ultimate triumph that lay in her freedom.

IV.

"Let her go!" His beloved pleads, her eyes bloodshot, her voice quaking, her fingers trembling.

"Vallabhi!" He really doesn't bother concealing the quiver in his own voice as she helplessly fell to her knees.

"Please!" she cried. "I won't ask for anything, ever!"

He fumbled as he held her in his arms. He fumed at his misfortune.

She had been unencumbered all along. Time had brought them closer. She had seemingly forgiven, and perchance ignored a lot more than she had remembered, as she began letting her walls fall.

He had let his guard down as well. Only Vallabhi knew him to have a side where he loved with all his heart and that he held no acrimony. None at all.

But it only had to last till she saw the cage, tangible and proud, right in the middle of the square. And till she saw Devasena, doomed and wretched to a fate none would ever find desirable. It had been hard to believe that the man who loved her so dearly could perpetrate such wrongs on another woman.

"She had a baby!" she begged, "Let her go! For me! For our child!"

His lips went dry as he saw her tremble in grief.

He just didn't feel the anger he should have felt. Instead, he felt the same pain as the woman in his arms. He had been elated when he'd heard the news of her pregnancy.

Happiness was months away as he eagerly awaited the birth of his child.

Hadn't Baahu been escatic as well?

Hadn't he killed a newborn?

Had he not slain his own Mother?

Was he not doomed?

For all Vallabhi's happiness, his vengeance bubbled, yet again. Baahubali hadn't spared him now either.

And he, Bhallaladeva, for his part, wouldn't spare Devasena.

V.

'Bhalla!'

The deep baritone called out to him, yet again in the middle of the night.

At times, the voice felt like a tangible form, as humane as Amarendra had once been, in the times when he used to smile, the warmth extending up to his illumined eyes…

Was it him?

Was it a ghost?

Or a spirit?

He always woke up, startled out of his wits, sweating profusely.

He never had to ask who it was, for he knew that voice too well. It was the voice that killed him a thousand deaths every moment he breathed, reminding him of his-

Sins?

Had he really sinned?, wondered he.

Would releasing Devasena be atonement enough to stop those thousand deaths?

But he hadn't really sinned, had he?

The Maahishmati Throne was his. Sivagami Devi's love belonged to him. None had been Baahubali's to call his own. The mighty Amarendra Baahubali had been in his debt, and had left his dues unpaid.

Unpaid debts accrued sin.

And in captivity, it was his wife who was atoning for his sins.

At least, that reasoning helped him garner some paltry slumber in such nights.

---

+1

'We couldn't save The Queen, My Lord.' the Royal Nurse almost trembled with the wailing infant in her arms.

Bhalla didn't look at his son. He could most definitely not look at his deceased wife.

There goes your chance of atonement, Dear Brother, He heard clearly.

Vallabhi's lifeless body seemed to mock at him in her resignation from life. She had purposely let it go, deliberately held back in a fight against death, only to relieve herself of the burden of loving an irredeemable soul.

If she had been unable to deny her love, she had denied herself the life that had been her destiny, and with it, she had taken the final bits of life he could cling to.

"Release her, please!" she had requested, time and again, only to be met by indifference and useless consolations.

Would she return if he set Devasena free now?

The dead cannot be resurrected, he told himself. He had no use for anything now. If he freed Devasena, maybe he could accompany her, and let this accursed land rule itself.

At least, he could make an attempt to revive his soul, just as she had wanted.

But then-

Vallabhi wasn't there to witness his redemption, was she?

And wasn't it Devasena's plight that had caused her such psychological malady? Wasn't that woman responsible for destroying his final chance at humanity?

She couldn't find her satisfaction in his defeat. He had to re-assemble his pieces and forge them into a stronger structure, not just for himself, but for his blood, now motherless.

And as for Devasena-

'Arrange for a nurse for the child.' he said impassively.

'And I shall provide food to the prisoner myself, later in the day.'

He would make sure that Devasena would understand that the pyre she was making was for herself.

---

[ila9182]

88 shandy? Thank you!

Thank you so much @mikusc for the ask! I’d like to apologize for the delay, real life got in the way and I didn’t have much time to write lately. 

Now here I am and the prompt challenge is slowly coming to an end. This prompt takes place at the end of 3x06 “Jane Doe Number 38″. I hope you will like it!

88. “I’m better, now that you’re here.”

The team progressively left, directing small smiles to Andy or giving him pats on the shoulder. Andy nodded to each one of his coworkers; thankful they had all joined him in the service he had organized for Alice, or whatever her name was. He hadn’t expected everyone to be there; he was surprised at first when Morales and Hobbs had tagged along, but he was glad they did. This was far more than paying their respects to a dead homeless girl, this was the proof they all were a team and that they stuck together in hard times. Maybe this was enough to end the day on a bright note.

Andy had exchanged one last glance with Provenza before the older Lieutenant nodded to him and disappeared down the end of the hallway, just as the rest of the team had done a few minutes earlier. Andy sighed and leaned against the wall, the exhaustion of the day creeping through him as he closed his eyes. He heard heels clicking near him and he didn’t need to open his eyes to know who it was. He would recognize her walk even in a crowded place. When he finally cracked his eyes open, two mesmerizing green eyes were staring back at him. She was standing silently next to him. She offered him a faint smile before saying, “It was such a beautiful service, Andy… and it was so thoughtful of you.”

Andy didn’t say a word. He didn’t know how he could possibly answer; he lowered his head as he had done previously during the service. When he looked up again, she was still there, staring intensely at him. He was slightly taken aback by the feelings he was reading in her expressive eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he had read pride or admiration in someone’s eyes. He had seen disappointment, hurt, sadness; he was usually the one who let people down. All of this felt new to him, and he couldn’t believe that someone as special as Sharon would be so proud of someone as screwed up as him.

“How are you?” Sharon asked him softly, tilting her head as she studied the man in front of her. She was aware of how much the case affected him. She had witnessed him dealing with his conflicting feelings during the course of the day; anger, frustration, sadness… It was sadness she had read during the service, as his face had turned into a pout before he had lowered his head.

“I’m better, now that you’re here.” The words slipped from his mouth and when he realized what he had just said, it was too late to take them back. He didn’t dare look at her, too afraid to see her reaction. He cursed himself for not being able to hold his tongue and for saying reckless things like he just did.

“I’m glad I’m here then.” She softly replied after a few seconds, interrupting his thoughts and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. She gently squeezed it. Andy slowly looked at her hand on his shoulder before hesitantly meeting her gaze. She was smiling reassuringly at him and he surprised himself as a smile crept across his features, even if he didn’t really feel like it.

“Let’s go to my office, we’ll be more comfortable.” She offered as she quickly brushed a hand down his arm.

Andy simply nodded and they silently walked down the hallway, side by side. They reached her office and Sharon stepped in first. She stood by the door, waiting for him to enter before she closed it. She motioned to the chair and Andy sank in it without a word. She studied him for a few seconds and noticed how exhausted – not only physically, but also emotionally – he looked. His features were tense and he looked paler than usual. She suddenly worried the case might have messed up with his blood pressure and made a mental note to ask him about it. She slowly joined him, sitting in the other chair, facing him. She didn’t need to sit at her desk for that conversation; she wasn’t there as his boss, but as his friend and she wanted to be sure he understood that.

“I’ve heard things got a little tense in Electronics while I was interrogating Slyder.” She started. “Do you want to talk about it?” She softly asked, leaning in a little to catch his gaze.

“I’m sorry about that, Sharon…” He let out with a sigh. “I-I slightly lost my temper. It won’t happen again.” He immediately assured her, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

Sharon shook her head as she replied in a serious tone, “No, Andy… that’s not what I meant. I’m not here to lecture you.” She paused as she emphasized her next two words, “I understand.”

Andy nodded and he briefly closed his eyes. He rubbed his forehead before saying, “Hobbs was about to proceed with those ridiculous second-degree murder charges… and I just… I just couldn’t accept it.” He paused and took a deep breath before continuing, “This asshole killed a young girl. He drowned her in a pool because she tried to stop him from robbing the house…” His voice trailed off and he sighed, “She was just a kid.”

Sharon nodded, looking down. She wasn’t sure she could find the right words to comfort to him. What could she say? She was also very shaken about the case. She didn’t have to think much about it because Andy kept on, “That flower hair clip… Nicole used to wear one like that too…” His voice was slightly shaking and he briefly closed his eyes to regain his composure.

“Don’t do this, Andy…” Sharon whispered, resting her elbows on her knees as she leaned forward. She studied him, and she could tell that he was fighting a silent war against his overwhelming feelings. She gently reached for his hand and covered it. Andy reopened his eyes at the touch and stared at her hand on his. Sharon squeezed it before releasing it, forcing him to meet her gaze. When he finally did, he told her, “She had no one… No one cared, no one asked her about her life, her family… hell, no one even bothered to ask for her last name.” He added, a hint of anger in his tone. He sighed, and his shoulders slumped as if it was getting too tiring to even get angry at the situation. His defeated tone came back as he said, “She was invisible…”

“Not anymore, Andy.” Sharon assured him, shaking her head. “We’re not going to give up on her, and we’ll be sure Slyder pays for what he did.” She told him firmly and it was easy for Andy to believe in her words.

However, there was still something bugging him. Andy shook his head and muttered with a wistful smirk, “Yeah, but now it’s too late. No one was there to help her when she was alive.”

“We’re going to give her peace, Andy…” Sharon murmured encouragingly. “That’s all we can do, but it’s important too…”

Andy looked down at his fidgeting hands and took a deep breath. He knew she was right and he wanted nothing more than to fully believe in what she told him. He just wished he could manage to make the sadness he was feeling disappear, but he knew it wasn’t that easy. At least he was there, talking with someone instead of drowning his sorrows in a bottle.

Sharon worried her bottom lip as she watched him struggling. It seemed to her that all the words she had said to him were useless. She felt like she was powerless to lift his spirits, she felt like she was letting him down and it saddened her. “Look Andy, we all have that one case who hits home…” She tried.

“I know, I know…” He repeated as he waved a hand absent-mindedly.

“I’m not telling you to not feel this way…” Sharon softly told him with a wistful stare, “Just don’t let this case eat you alive. Don’t obsess about it, don’t bottle everything up, talk about it.”

“Well, I’ve got you for that.” He told her, meeting her gaze, as a smile finally crossed his features; the first since they had started talking after the service.

Sharon felt relieved. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding back. “You sure do.” She agreed with a wide smile before patting his knee. “What do you say to grabbing something to eat before calling it a night?” She offered encouragingly. When she saw Andy open his mouth, she shook her head, and tried to lighten the mood as she added with a smirk, “I won’t accept no, or I’m not hungry as an answer.”

Andy seemed to consider her offer, and Sharon began to fear he might refuse it. His serious features suddenly broke into a grin when he asked, “Well, would you at least accept a thank you?”

“Oh, I sure would.” She smiled back before standing from her chair. “Come on, Lieutenant.” She urged him, stretching her hand in front of him. “Let’s go.”

Andy grabbed it and stood as well as he teasingly answered, “Yes, Captain.”

Andy let go of her hand and she moved behind her desk to grab her bag before walking to the door. He put a hand on her upper arm to stop her. Sharon slightly turned around with a questioning look and he sincerely whispered to her, “Thank you, Sharon.”

“Anytime, Andy.” She replied with a sweet smile, patting his arm. “Anytime.”

[magical-agatha]

god my fuckin temperament is too weak to handle thinking about inguinal hernias anymore today. this: http://transhealth.ucsf.edu/trans?page=guidelines-testicular-pain is still the only link i can find that has any confirmation of it as a danger to trans women who tuck. but it doesn't go into detail about how the actual hernia is occurring and what the relationship is with tucking. but at least it confirms a correlation so i know that it is in fact a danger and not just wild speculation or something based solely on one person’s experience, which may or may not reflect the rest of the community. from what i can guess its probably like? pushing the testicles into the inguinal cavity is distending it and weakening the muscles, which is allowing the intestines to slip through into the cavity. i wonder if theres like, something in this to do with like, physical exertion, bc it could also be that tucking is creating a weakness that is getting exacerbated by a moment of physical exertion? or maybe by moving in a way that like, affects the muscles in there? idk. there really isnt a lot of info about this and im not a doctor so the best i can do is speculation. but i dont think the idea that tucking is distending the inguinal cavity which is weakening the associated abdominal muscles is too extreme of a jump. this is one of those times where i really really wish there was more medical information and research about trans bodies, bc most of what there is is sporadic and incomplete and the rest is sourceless uhh, whats the word, when its just based off a persons experience being recounted without any like, reliable research or info. starts with A. im very tired lol. point is i wish there was more info out there cuz there really isnt a lot and im scared ppl are going to get hurt bc of that. this is also like, opening my eyes a lot about how uncertain the information i have in general about like, my body and the bodies of other trans women. bc im finding inconsistent info about things i thought were facts, like for example tucking has always been held up to be perfectly safe, but ive never been able to do it without it hurting, and apparently like?? the whole ‘hrt will turn you infertile’ thing might be inconsistent too? apparently it happens to some but not others. and the thing about like, ‘you WILL lose the function of your dick’ (with the implied ‘but thats a good thing’ that has always pissed me off) and my dick still works, it works differently and i cum and orgasm differently than i did before hrt but it still very much works, it just seems to follow different rules? and i still cum and i can still get hard, both of those things were supposed to stop happening but they didnt. it just like.. went through a process of being reprogrammed so it behaves differently now. cuz there was a period where i couldnt orgasm and i couldnt cum, but then i could again, and now my orgasms are totally different than they were when i was pre hrt. instead of it being like, sudden and intense and overwhelming, it builds up slowly to a peak, then gradually declines from there and leaves you feeling warm throughout and very very soft. and my hen leaks precum constantly when im aroused, and then when i cum it shoots a little bit out then like, leaks goo for the next half hour, not a little bit either. its a mess.

there was something else i wanted to say here but i forgot it. all in all im just. mad that the only ppl who care about the health of trans ppl are some doctors and trans ppl themselves. and that information about our bodies is inconsistent even between professionals. i cant be sure that my doctor actually knows how my body works and whats best for me. it makes it so much harder to trust doctors and feel safe when i see them. what a nightmare. i want to help ppl. i want to find and compile info about our bodies to keep us all safe but i can barely look after myself and i cant commit to doing that. i have to focus on myself. so all i can rly do is like, give advice and try to warn ppl of potential dangers and do what research i can. which is what we’re all doing. the danger is when personal biases conflict with caring for the safety of other ppl, which is the root of all the problems with trans medical stuff i think. whether its doctors enforcing their biases on trans ppl thru medical advice/medicine, or trans ppl themselves giving advice that is warped by their personal beliefs. it leads to misinformation and inconsistency and thats dangerous. that means people getting hurt. so i have to be careful when i give advice to be aware of my own personal biases. such as like, i hate tucking, but i cant tell ppl to just not tuck bc its not my body, i dont know if theres a way to tuck safely or not, so instead i have to tell ppl to be careful and to be aware of potential risks, and to listen to their body bc pain and discomfort are important indicators of harm being done. but im scared that will be lost in the tide of ‘tuck or you arent a real trans woman, you need tucking to pass, it cant hurt you’ that has been spread among us for a really long time.

i feel like this is like, tied to another big problem which is the like, necessity and obsession with passing. which are two very different things. necessity is like, passing to be safe, which i feel like has room to accept that tucking might not be totally safe and comes with certain risks, because it isnt about affirming self worth or identity, only about staying safe. then obsession, which might not be the best word but it will do for now, by that i mean ppl who feel they Have to pass at all costs, bc they think that if they dont they arent a real woman or something like that. they tie passing to self worth and identity, if they dont pass they are worthless or incomplete or like, inferior to cis women, and they will do anything to pass, with little to no regard for personal safety. they will do risky things like skipping meals or tucking unsafely bc they want to pass at any cost. but they spread their perspective on this through advice to other trans women, telling them they need to tuck and they need to wear makeup and they need to do voice training and get implants and srs and all manner of things or they are a trender. a faker. they put insecurities into other trans women and bully each other to propagate their personal biases and force other trans women to conform. most trans women pre hrt are extremely vulnerable and lost, which is when these obsessive trans women give them bad advice and twist them to their world view. that happened to me. i got sucked into that when i was trying to figure out my identity and needed validation. luckily i got out of that and i know better now. its really fucked. ive talked about like, versions of this idea before. that there are two kinds of trans ppl, those who love being trans and those who hate is and want to be cis. and i think as im getting a bit older and learning more and getting further thru my transition im starting to put together a bigger picture of the interplay between all of this stuff. like, the interactions between cis society and its expectations of trans ppl, how trans ppl deal with those expectations and how they deal with living and moving in a cis society thats hostile to trans ppl. this is all one big mess. and thats not even touching on the interactions between terfs, transmeds, and the various levels of trans communities both online and irl. its an absolute nightmare. and then as well there’s like, further interactions with like, nb and gender diverse ppl, gay vs straight trans ppl, intersex ppl, exclusionists, and the mess that the current lgbt+ community online is. i could write a book about this. im living in a nightmare. a massive roiling chaotic community thats fighting itself and the world around it and trying to survive and destroy the parts of itself that it thinks arent ‘valid’. which sounds like a metaphor for my experiences as a trans woman. god and theres more i keep forgetting. im so scatterbrained tonight. i havent had enough sleep to be trying to talk about something so complex as this. and im destroying my hands by typing this much. time to stop. i can sort all this out later. what a mess.

[i-am-the-entertainer]

RevieWBY: Volume 6

This has been stated so many times, but Volume 5 was bad. Okay, it wasn’t terrible, like I don’t feel offended by it being bad (unlike certain folks), but looking back on it I don’t have anything to say to really defend it as something Rooster Teeth should have talked up as much as they did at the time. It had some good things going for it, but the amount of problems it had in terms of animation and writing really put a sour taste in everyone’s mouth. So for Volume 6 to deal with all that fallout, it was going to have to do a lot. And to their credit, CRWBY accepted the criticism in stride, and actively worked to make Volume 6 something that people who despised Volume 5 might enjoy.

Still, one had to go into this season with the understanding that some people were never going to be completely satisfied with whatever CRWBY did. Because at the end of the day, the RWBY that Rooster Teeth currently makes is not Monty Oum’s show anymore. No, this isn’t saying CRWBY is in any way disrespecting his legacy, it’s just Monty Oum had a certain method to running the show that only he could really get away with: epic fight scenes, suddenly throwing giant curveballs into the series’ mythology, taking vital time away from storytelling so the fights looked cool. I mean, there are people who criticize the show for doing that now when they didn’t give two shits when Monty did it, because Monty did it in a manner that somehow worked. I don’t know how he did it, but he did, and, well, he’s not here to do it, and there’s no way even a huge animation team can collectively do things like him. And they shouldn’t: if they can use a better industry standard animation engine than Poser, than the fact that Monty Oum didn’t like animating with Maya shouldn’t stop them.

Blah blah blah...this is all about FNDM reception. What did I think of Volume 6?

Well...

Focus

In my mid-volume review I cited this as Volume 6′s strongest aspect, and as far as I can tell this remains the case. By focusing our hero storyline on one group and for the most part the villain storylines on only a few characters who were paired off, Volume 6 effectively told a story that didn’t force the viewers to juggle multiple things and find some semblance of a continuing story. Everything happened linearly and the whole thing made for a more enjoyable watch overall.

Tone

Building off of that renewed focus, this volume felt like it had more of a consistent tone that lasted from beginning to end. RWBY markets itself as an anime show and uses a lot of that anime-style of humor (slapstick and comedically exaggerated emotions), but honestly it’s always played fast and loose with using that humor in a way that doesn’t feel out of place. In this volume it was more consistently used, and that’s largely thanks to the nailed down focus that allowed character interactions to utilize the humor in a natural way. Ruby and Maria Calavera were especially good sources for humor.

Now, things did get a little more screwball when Cordovin came into the mix, but it was interesting seeing CRWBY take that humor to a logical extreme for the first time in a while (not since the Beacon years). It interrupted the tone for a bit, but not in a manner that overall changed the genre this show is going for.

Animation

Beautiful. The improved production pipeline that we’ve heard about really came through. These episodes were the best they’ve ever looked, minus a few errors here and there, showing just how amazing RWBY can look when you give the animators time to add their own touches. There was some really great fight animation to boot: none of the fights this volume felt awkward, and you could tell the animators had a lot of fun.

Worldbuilding/Storytelling

It feels weird saying that Volume 6 did a better job with worldbuilding than Volume 4, which took place on four different continents and traveled across one, and Volume 5, which took place on two different continents and featured the second major skirmish between the villains and the heroes. I think this has to do with just how well it was integrated into the story: insight into the world came at points where the story needed it and when the viewers wanted it. Nothing ever felt like a massive info dump better suited World of Remnant; where there was just too much information delivered that wasn’t relevant to what was happening in the show. Volumes 4 and 5 had this same problem with establishing the world, often telling us too much in a way that just didn’t feel natural to the story. With Volume 6, almost every chapter up until the final Argus arc included some form of that insight:

Chapter 1 showed us how ordinary civilians deal with traveling through Grimm territory––the steps they take to protect themselves

Chapter 2 showed us some aspects of the Mistral criminal underground, not telling us too much about it but suggesting it was much larger than what Cinder encountered.

Chapter 3 showed us...so many things.

Chapter 4 offered a sense of the stakes RWBY faced in relation to all of Remnant.

Chapter 5 and 6 gave us a glimpse at another form of non-city life in Remnant.

Chapter 7 introduced us to Argus, my favorite of all the Remnant cities we’ve seen; plus a glimpse into the life of the silver-eyed warriors; and a more representative depiction of what domestic life is like in Remnant

Chapter 8 told us what Atlas personnel who aren’t Ironwood or Winter are like, plus the long-awaited insight into how the silver eyes work.

Chapter 9 shows something of the effect the Battle of Beacon, and by extension Pyrrha’s death, had outside of our core group.

Things kind of teeter off with the finale arc, but that’s because worldbuilding became a little less important to what was going on. This is kind of a stretch, but the mech fight and the arrival of the Grimm in Argus give us an idea of how large non-capital cities defend themselves without just spelling everything out.

All in all, this volume delivered on some impressive worldbuilding, probably the best the series has had in a while. It wasn’t massive info dumps unless it needed to be (e.g. Chapter 3), and it offered just enough for other important things like the storytelling and the action to still be in the forefront.

Characters

Volume 5, despite the fact it involved the major reunion of Team RWBY after two volumes, felt like it was simply putting the main characters through situations without those situations really doing anything to develop them or define them as anything beyond what we already knew. Some characters fared better on the development front, namely Yang, but others, especially Ruby, just seemed to be along for the ride without us getting any insight into them. This is where the writing issue that came from separating everyone starting with Volume 4 really came to a head: too many different characters with their own story to cover, and sometimes those stories just didn’t do much for the character beyond existing as a situation they were in.

Volume 6 feels like the refutal of that, and that mostly has to do with the fact that we’re not juggling so many storylines anymore. When a major event happens to the heroes, everyone gets affected at the same time. The train crashes? DEVELOPMENT! Jinn’s story? DEVELOPMENT AND INSIGHT! Snowstorm? INSIGHT! The Apathy? DEVELOPMENT! Telling team JNR about Jinn’s story? DEVELOPMENT! Adam ambushes Blake and Yang for the first time since Volume 3? DEVELOPMENT! WITH A HEALTHY DOSAGE OF ANGST!

Surprisingly, the same thing is happening to two of our favorite villains, Mercury and Emerald: even though they only really appeared in three chapters this Volume, we actually got a surprising chance to see how their defeat at the Battle of Haven affected them, and their increasingly strong misgivings about working for Salem. We get more of an idea of them as people rather than Cinder’s blind followers, understanding why they stuck with such an evil person for so long. It’s the most we’ve learned about them since Volume 3, and we didn’t even need lengthy flashbacks.

Even Adam got some more insight. RWBY has been following the path that Adam was an abusive ex-boyfriend for quite a while now, but there was always this underlying thought that he got into the White Fang business for a seemingly noble cause. The problem was the show hadn’t depicted how he got from Point A to Point B. The Adam Character Short offered us some of that much needed insight, putting some of his actions up to this point in a new context, even if it was set-up for clearing up some things so they could get rid of him.

Of course, there are still exceptions to characters getting character development, and honestly they’re kind of glaring ones. Oscar’s development arc, where he came to accept he was his own person, completely happened offscreen (for reasons that I’ve brought up before and will reiterate in the final section), robbing us of really witnessing his growth as a person. I enjoyed some of the stuff Cinder did this volume, especially her escape from the vault and her fight with Neo. But honestly she continues to be a pretty bland villain with little hints at her motivations for being such a terrible person: the Battle of Haven was such an utter defeat for her there needed to be some form of consequence that would’ve affected her character while also telling us more about her. Maybe it would’ve been her strategizing her revenge, which would’ve gotten more insight into how she thinks as a master planner. Instead, we get her leaving the vault, more or less going back to what she used to do but in a more low-key setting, fighting with Neo, plotting with Neo, and leaving with Neo. It felt more like “Hey, she’s alive, and here’s what she’s doing,” which while I appreciate it feels kind of a waste of time if you’re not doing anything with her beyond that. Honestly, a post-credits reveal that she was alive and then a pre-Volume 7 character short detailing how she made it to Atlas that covered her and Neo’s entire storyline this volume would’ve been more helpful.

Before I go on to my most major critique of this volume, I need to address the two Goliaths in the room.

Adam

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: they needed to get rid of Adam. The way things have been going, there was only so much more you could do with his character before he became a nuisance that was overstaying his welcome. I understand people wanted some deeper insight into him, but the fact was he was never introduced to be a major villain to anyone beyond Blake and later Yang. They could’ve had him have a thing against Weiss, but they didn’t, they focused the time that would’ve made him a major villain for everyone else on making people like Roman and Cinder and Salem the big villains. They decided on the path of abusive ex-boyfriend a very long time ago, and if you hadn’t figured that out after the Adam Character Short I honestly think you were being willfully ignorant to what’s been building up.

The best I can say is that Adam and his history is a missed opportunity for some pretty interesting storytelling and worldbuilding, but the fact remains: it is not his story that they want to tell, it is not his show. It may make something interesting to think about, but Adam’s story is supplementary, and works better in supplementary material, a la character shorts and maybe mangas.

Jaune

Y’all need to quit it with the “Hrrr drr Jaune took up time again moan moan Miles Luna is self indulgent” talk, he barely did anything this volume beyond Chapter 9 and having a sister that the whole fandom loved.

Pacing

This...this is where Volume 6 ran into trouble.

Overall, from the season premiere to the finale arc, this was probably the best-paced season of RWBY we’ve ever had. Major story events happened right when we needed them, and for the most part they didn’t drag out story arcs for any longer than they needed to be.

Well...until they reached Argus, that is.

At face value, a lot happened in the final couple of chapters. Chapter 8 gave us Maria explaining the silver eyes, Chapter 9 had the scene with Pyrrha’s statue and the mysterious Red-Haired Woman (I’ll headcanon whatever I want about who she is, Jen Brown) Chapter 10 started the Cordovin fight, Chapter 11 reinforced Blake and Yang’s partnership, Chapter 12 killed Adam, and Chapter 13 had Ruby finally use her silver eye powers to defeat a Grimm and they made it to Atlas. Yeah, it was a pretty eventful set of episodes.

So then why did it feel like it dragged? Here are a couple reasons that I’ve identified.

1. The Cordovin Battle sidelined story arcs for too long

I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: the finale arc should not have been split up like that over so many episodes. It afforded us some pretty well-animated fights, some of the best the series has ever had, but the volume hadn’t been relying on that action to keep up the forward momentum, but on actually telling the stories of these characters. I get the need for CRWBY to prove that they can do well-animated fights, but as I’ve come to accept action should never take precedence over storytelling (I know, that’s hard to swallow when parts of the fndm spends hours complaining about how Monty’s not animating the fights anymore). And it’s clear to me in this final arc put emphasis on the action over the momentum of the story, bringing the actually pretty good storytelling the volume had had up to that point to a grinding halt.

Now, historically RWBY fights have delayed telling stories, but it’s never been for too long, at most maybe two chapters? But if you spend three chapters on a single fight, thereby devoting three weeks of your viewers’ time to high-octane action, people are gonna notice that the story is basically going nowhere.

What could’ve made this less of a problem? Well, perhaps establishing Cordovin earlier and making her less of a buffoon would’ve eased my hatred of this arc. Volume 6 lacks a clear antagonist for the story, but the way Cordovin was treated as a big deal in this final battle made it seem like she was taking up that role, except we didn’t even see her until the final half of the volume, and in her debut we couldn’t take her seriously as a villain, much less an antagonist, because of the pure comedy they used in her intro. There needed to be something about her at least a few episodes early––take this with a grain of salt because I think following JNR in Argus would’ve killed the balanced pacing of the first half of the volume (and just made the Jaune haters apoplectic), but maybe a few quick scenes of JNR arriving in Argus and getting rejected by her would’ve been helpful. Or honestly easing off on the comedy of her intro. Such a one-note character who we are primed to not take seriously isn’t interesting as a major force, so identifying her as a more threatening roadblock for the heroes would’ve made the stakes of the final fight a little more...present.

2. Important storylines got trimmed for time’s sake and weren’t addressed properly.

@hypeathon (whose excellent production analyses for this Volume are well worth a read) identified a tweet Miles made back in October, prior to the premiere and most likely when they were finishing storyboards, about “killing your darlings.” For those unaware and who may have severely misinterpreted that comment, “killing your darlings” is when writers have to sacrifice something they love or want to do so that the story works better. The timeliness of this tweet (after they would’ve finished the script but before they’d wrapped on storyboards and voice acting for the final episodes) suggests the writers’ room had to cut a lot of material from Volume 6 (what Miles called a massacre of darlings), most likely due to production limits or not having enough time to cover them.

Think about it: the story from Chapters 1-7 was really good: everything was properly spaced out, the scripts felt polished, there was a balance of action and comedy and legit storytelling, the good pacing lasted longer than it ever has within a single volume.

Then we hit Chapter 8 and suddenly it all changes: storylines don’t get the proper time devoted to them, arcs come to a screeching halt due to the big fight. Unlike previous volumes, where the imbalance was pretty much the entire volume, there’s actually a clear point right in the middle of this volume where things suddenly took a turn for the worse. And the fact is, some of the problems with the story in the final arc suddenly make more sense if you accept that time that would’ve been devoted to it got sidelined in this “purge”: Qrow’s alcoholism suddenly getting brushed aside after Chapter 9 hopefully to be addressed next volume, Oscar disappearing and all his development happening offscreen, Adam’s completely unsubtle return after only a vague hint in Chapter 1 that would’ve been stronger if he’d kept popping up in Argus. I’d even go so far to say the odd pacing of the final few chapters could easily have been the result of the writing team not being able to devote a single chapter to such a grand fight, so they needed to stretch it out so CRWBY could actually animate it within reasonable deadlines, which meant sacrificing time for those arcs that so desperately needed development.

So what overall is gonna fix RWBY’s pacing in the future? Well, I think at the moment the show is too ambitious. If it wants to keep to a reasonable production schedule, they need to control the scale of their finales so that it can be completed without needing to sacrifice other storylines. If it wants to hold onto that ambition and make the finales as grand as they want it to be to do their boy Monty proud, then they absolutely need to delay the actual release of the volume so they can put in the proper amount of time to both the story and animation. And I don’t think anyone would mind waiting a little longer for Volume 7 if it meant this show got the care and attention it needs to tell the story it clearly wants to tell.

Conclusions

Evaluating Volume 6 is impossible without evaluating what came before it. RWBY was never a perfect show, but when you lose someone who was responsible for the show’s popularity in the first place and have to change how it’s made to make up for his absence, there’s going to be backlash. Backlash from the fans, and, uh, backlash from inside the company. The fact is, people are never going to be satisfied with the RWBY that Rooster Teeth makes today, and Rooster Teeth is never going to push out a RWBY that will make everyone happy. All they can really do is keep moving forward.

And move forward they did. Despite my problems with the finale, Volume 6 was good. I’ve always been sort of ambivalent about the show (I was drawn to it by my brother shortly before Monty’s death and have been watching it out of respect for him and the company as creative artists), and even if I thought some of RWBY’s critics were being too harsh (or seriously needed to find something better to do), I didn’t find Volumes 4 and 5 enjoyable enough that I felt like defending them. But guys, Volume 6 did something amazing: it made RWBY fun to watch again. Focused, consistent, and compelling storytelling plus gradually eased-in worldbuilding made for a story that I could follow along without having to juggle so many different plots. Improvements in the overall animation made things nice to look at and when fights happened they were always entertaining, never making me cringe or grimace, always making me think “Hell yeah, beat the shit out of them!” Just like I felt back in the old days of the show.

I feel as though what’s holding RWBY back at this point, however, is adhering to the production schedule that its old vision called for in making its current vision. And it honestly cannot keep doing that. RWBY is a show trying to reach grand heights, and its rushed production timelines and lost story arcs are keeping it tethered to the ground. Yet I can’t help but say: Volume 6 is RWBY at its finest so far. It can’t fix the problems that previous volumes have had, but it builds on the void those problems left to build a story that makes this show feel like something worth following once more.

So, I can safely say I’ll be following along when RWBY returns for Volume 7...hopefully later rather than sooner (again, it needs a better production schedule).

[my-proof-is-you]

Healing You - Ch. 1

Summary: You were pretty close to dying, you were sure. It was going to be over, and what would you have to show for it?

A great career as a nurse, sure. But you lacked passion and romance in your life.

Luckily, a handsome man with piercing green eyes saves you. While you were sure you’d never see him again, life had other plans for you.

Chapter 1

You rolled your eyes and blinked harshly in pain when you felt the needle hit muscle instead of your vein.

This moron—whatever he was—could not find a vein for the life of him. Being that you were a nurse, you were tempted to snatch it away from him and do it yourself. Even if that would be aiding in your own death.

You took a deep breath as he prepared to insert the needle again, the dank smell of the basement filling your nostrils. You were certain that with each breath there were mold spores finding their way into your lungs.

You shifted your eyes away from your bruised arm and the imbecile that caused it and focused on the girl in the chair a few feet away. She was hanging on by a thread, the blood loss too great to keep her conscious. You knew that at any moment she could stop breathing.

“Oh, my God, you would think you’d be an expert at this by now!” you yelled angrily at the thing. It bore its fangs at you before slapping your face with the back of his hand.

You knew it was stupid to say anything, but you just couldn’t handle the incompetence. You had been named head nurse at the hospital where you worked at a fairly young age. You were good at your job, and the hospital recognized that. Every nursing student you had taught since then could find a patient’s vein on the first try. They practiced on countless oranges and each other until you knew they were experts at drawing blood and inserting IVs.

So watching this douche who was going to kill you anyway was almost too much to bear.

He finally got it and you watched as your warm blood filled the tube that was connected to a blood bag. He walked up the creaky wooden stairs before pushing open the cellar door. A short burst of light came in and you knew it was still daytime. Which day, though, was something you weren’t sure of.

You were pretty sure they were vampires. You gave yourself about thirty seconds to freak out about their existence when they first captured you before making yourself accept it and move on.

These vampires were not what you expected, though. It seemed that they captured people, slowly collected their blood, and disposed of them when they died. It was unlike any story of vampires you had heard before. These vampires didn’t bite into your neck to suck your blood, or turn into bats, or even seem all that affected by sunlight.

You started to feel woozy from the loss of blood and you knew it would only be a day or two more before you were looking like the girl next to you. She had been conscious a few times here or there and you had been able to find out that she had been captured only a few days before you.

They had been giving you water, presumably to keep you alive longer and keep you producing blood for the time being. You knew, though, that it would be too hard for them to keep up with after a while, and they would let you die.

You hadn’t thought about death for a long time. As a nurse, you saw death a lot. But your own death was something you thought wouldn’t come until you were old.

Before you knew that you wanted to be a nurse—when you were still pretty young—you couldn’t picture yourself doing any job when you grew up. Most kids said they wanted to be a fireman or a dentist. But not you. You were oddly morbid as a child, and your little mind thought that maybe not knowing what you wanted to do meant that you wouldn’t get the chance to grow up—that maybe you were going to die at a young by age.

Maybe I was right, you think to yourself. This would definitely still be considered dying young. Of course, you found your calling when you graduated high school, and after you went to nursing school and got your RN you never looked back. At the age of 27, you were pretty pleased with your life.

The one thing that bummed you out, though—besides the no longer living part—was that you didn’t feel that you ever met your one true love.

You had boyfriends in the past, but none of them were long term and most turned out to be jerks. You never knew true passion, and that was definitely something you regretted while facing death.

Little black spots began to appear in your vision, and you knew unconsciousness was coming soon. You didn’t fight it. You just let it take you away from your worries and regrets and into the silence.

Dean

“Dude, ten missing people in two weeks. That sounds pretty monster-y to me.”

Dean shoved the newspaper in his little brother’s face, aching to get out of the bunker and on a hunt.

“Yeah, that’s weird, but what if it’s just a serial killer?” Sam asked.

“Either way!” Dean exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “We’ve dealt with monsters and bat-shit humans before. I’m just sayin, we gotta get out of here or I’m gonna lose it,” he continued, wiping a hand down his face. 

It had been two weeks since the brothers’ last hunt, and Dean had grown tired of the dark walls of the underground bunker they lived in. He wanted—no, needed—to get out and drive his baby, his beloved Impala.

Sam ran his hands through his chestnut hair with a sigh. “Okay. But if it’s another bunch of crazies like the Benders, we’re out of there.”

Sam had been kidnapped by a crazy cannibal family in the past, and Dean understood his caution toward that happening again. He also somehow knew in his gut that this wasn’t the work of humans, though.

Dean practically jumped with happiness when Sam said they could go, and he grabbed his keys and his go-bag before rushing to the garage door like an excited puppy. He didn’t even care if that was how he came off. He just needed to be in his car with his windows down and music blaring.

A few hours later they were pulling up to an old house off a dirt road after talking to several locals. They had figured out that there were some newcomers in the small town, and they hadn’t gone unnoticed. When they had been questioned about the kidnappings from the local police, they came up clean. Sam and Dean knew better, though. Many monsters knew how to blend in and what to say to throw off suspicion.

They knocked cracked wooden front door to the house and waited for someone to answer. When no one did, they decided to snoop around the side of the house and see if they could see through any windows.

All the windows were covered except for one spot where a blanket had been moved, causing a small corner view into the house. Dean wiped the dust from the window with his sleeve and looked inside.

It was dark inside the house. The window showed into the living room, where five men were sleeping in different spots. Some were on a big, ratty couch and some were on the floor. Dean was thankful that they hadn’t heard when he and Sam knocked on the door.Just from the fact that they were all sleeping during the day he was nearly positive that they were vampires. Getting any living hostages out would be a lot easier with them asleep since they could get in and kill them while they slept.

Sam and Dean got in and took off all the vamps’ heads quickly and with little effort. They searched the house, but didn’t find any hostages. In fact, they didn’t even find any bodies or traces of blood.

“Dean!” Sam called from the kitchen.

Dean walked in with his machete ready just in case. Sam was standing in front of the refrigerator, the door open wide. Inside, where there should have been food, were piles and piles of blood bags.

“What kind of weirdo vamps were these?” Dean asked, picking up one of the bags.

“I don’t know, but we know these didn’t come from a hospital. They must have been taking blood from the victims and storing it.”

“Which means some of them might still be alive,” Dean concluded.

“But we checked everywhere, Dean. Where else could they be?” Sam asked.

Dean thought back over every inch of the house. He even thought about the outside, which was when he remembered seeing a cellar door.

“The cellar,” he said quietly. Both brothers immediately ran outside. When they reached the cellar door it was padlocked, but a quick trip to the Impala later they had the lock cut open.

They crept down the stairs in case any more vamps were there. 

Sam and Dean split up when they reached the bottom, each one untying a victim from their chair.

Dean knelt down when he had you untied. He lightly tapped your face, trying to see if he could get you to come to.

After a few moments, your y/e/c eyes fluttered open and landed on Dean.

“Hey, don’t worry, I’m not a vampire,” Dean explained quickly. You looked skeptical but nodded as you noticed that you were untied.

“You have to get me over there,” you said in a raspy voice. Dean’s eyebrows crinkled in confusion. He followed your gaze over to the other victim, a young blonde that Sam was still trying to wake.

You started to get up and Dean watched as you wobbled. He quickly stood up as well and wrapped an arm around your waist to help support you. When you reached the girl you immediately put your fingers to her neck.

“Her pulse is thready. She won’t make it much longer. We have to get her to a hospital,” you said. Sam and Dean just stared at you, surprised. You looked back and forth between the men, your hand going to your hip. “Now!” you yelled. The brothers swept into action, Sam picking the girl up and carrying her up the stairs, while Dean continued to help you walk.

“Those things dead?” You asked quietly after you were up the stairs and Dean walked you to the car.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Thank you—“ you gestured questioningly.

“Dean,” he filled in for you.

“Dean,” you finished, nodding. Your face was serious, but Dean noticed that it lacked any fear. “I’m Y/N.”

[tropicalgoon]

Spoilers for the Homestuck Epilogue below.

First things first, i had caught up reading Homestuck on the exact day the Gigapause started (10/16/13). So long pauses and people arguing about canon was pretty common. Then the comic ended but later we got snapchats. Once the snapchats started coming people were unsure how ‘canon’ the snapchats were. Also    

i was surprised with how fast the rest of the Epilogue came out. I figured it would have been drip fed like the comic was but reading it now i can see why that was not the case. If you haven't read the Epilogue i have one thing to say.

PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE CONTENT WARNINGS THEY ARE NOT JOKES.

With that out the way, i think the biggest shift in the Epilogue vs the actual comic is that everything is way more mature. While Homestuck was full of angsty, snarky teens and a lot of jokes, ironic and not, the Epilogue overall has a more somber, powerless mood to it.

Also one more thing, i do not have a fav character or ship. So that might be why im upset about how it is.

Now i read the Candy choice first so ill talk about that. Now as soon as i saw the juju i knew it was going to have an effect. And i was right, the juju makes people feel okay with their surroundings and so when John ate it he felt at ease with the chaos his life and friends were becoming. But hoo boy did everyone suck all around. 

i knew Gamzee was gonna be back and i was not wrong. i think the whole iVe bEeN GeTtIn mY MoThErFuCkIn rEdEmPtIoN On sO EvErYtHiN I Do iS GoOd was a funny bit but maaaaaan did it get a lil crazy. Jake has always been a doormat and easily manipulated. So nothing too new there but it was nice when he ran off with lil tavros. Also i guess hes the earth c equivalent to a kardashian.

 It really surprised me how fast Roxy got together with John. In fact the Candy Roxy is way different than the meat Roxy. i guess thats the juju at work. Rose was sick with an “illness” but soon after the candy was ate she got “better”. What actually happened was she stopped trying to open her mind to the infinite degree and just let herself live in the moment and be truly happy. It was nice to see her and Kanaya have a happy life, at least until everything went bad. As for Dirk i felt bad for him because he always had that whole meta textual self importance thing going on so when he offed himself i was like oh no. Its nice that him and Dave had bro-sesions.

And now time to talk about Jade, Dave, and Karkat. It feels like Dave and Karkat have mostly stayed the same with a few big differences.1) they both are a little less insufferable, 2) Karkat has accepted he is a leader and 3) their tip toeing around relationships was kinda annoying. Which brings me to Jade. She was butting into all three of their relationships trying to force them to admit feelings. While ive seen some people say Hussie killed Jade i personally dont think so. Jade was always a headstrong, stubborn person who would go after what she wanted and i mean she was on an island by herself for most of her life if she wants to have fun let her. 

Jane really went off the deep end. Which i dont think was so far off her canon personality in the comic. Her denying being xenophobic while being incredibly xenophobic was funny but also pretty real. While i didnt like they way she interacted with Jake it honestly fits in with what happens in the comic. (the trickster stuff, the crockercorp kidnapping). Her whole shadowy rise to hidden power was inevitable also i feel like she was really echoing the Condense on earth. Allowing Gamzee to spread his faith while funneling her wealth and fame into passing the policies and laws she wants. I do not think its out of character for her and Dirk to hate trolls since their lives were so affected by them. 

Johns depression clouding his judgement and making him not want to react was sad to read. It really felt like he was just drifting around, letting all of the situations and chaos just wash over him. So when he was talking to Terezi and she helped him make sense of things it was a nice turn of pace.

Speaking of Terezi, its sad how long she went chasing after (Vriska). As of this moment i dont really think the quadrant system is really in place anymore (at least relationships with humans in it). With John and Terezi talking to each other it really felt like blackrom.  “1F 1 W3R3 3V3R TO DO BL4CKROM 4G41N, 1T WOULD H4V3 TO B3 LOW K3Y”. It is sad her obsession with finding (Vriska) led to her dying in the void.

Seeing Aradia and Sollux was a surprise but they really didnt add much to anything (esp. Sollux). It was kinda funny how much of a dickhead Cade (Calliope Jade) was towards her. Cade was interesting. i really feel like she acts like she did in the comic. 

(Vriska) returning was also not a surprise. She THE most known character. Of course she would be back, but not by her own accord. She wants the spotlight, she HAS to have it. Now that she is trapped on earth c she is now out of canon and so she is out of the spotlight. Thats why she was wailing about needing to SEE it. I think its kinda funny she ends up having a quick fling with Gamzee, and he tries to sell her on his redemption arc bullshit. It really shows how far her obsession has let her fall.

And now its time for meat. Honestly im glad i read candy first because meat was really nice to read after candy. As i said with candy, i figured meat would be the more active of the two (duality like the cherubs). 

First off it was really nice to see how much Dave believes in Karkat and how he thinks Karkat would be leader earth c NEEDS. In Meat they still have their relationship drama with themselves and Jade. I really feel like shes slightly more direct in this one. After the blowup 

John dealing with Roses instructions, finding and bringing together the younger versions of themselves so they could go fight a younger Caliborn and getting sucked into the the house juju was not a surprise since its been theorized thats what would happen. Of course Rose did not warn him, or even tell him what to do. Even when the younger versions of Johns friends die and get hurt he still tries to save them. 

Jake is a very powerful figure in the new earth, he doesnt even realize it. Which leads to everyone trying to get him on their sides. I honestly feel like this is partly his page powers (but then again the classes and aspects dont mean all that much) but he has always been unconfrontational and a doormat. Dirk, Jane, Dave, and Karkat only want to use him for his ass and fame so they can further their agendas. 

i think its rather fitting that (Vriska) doesnt get to see how the battle against Lord English ended. It was GREAT to see Davepetasprite^2 make a comeback and fight Lord English. She KNOWS the final battle isnt her battle but she is still THE ONE who turns the tide. She’s the one who has brought the winning piece so its still a victory of hers by proxy. Also she does not have the talk with Vriska (rose and kanayas kid) on a clown throw pillow so she does not get to do the self reflection she needs. Instead she gets sucked into a black hole.

The Jane and Dirk combo was not surprising, they both had the hangups about Jake and i feel like it ended the same way. Once they got what they wanted it was no longer exciting, or mysterious. But reading the political sabotage and Dirks plans coming together made me realize he was using her for his own gains too. 

Now the whole Rose dying because her physical body couldn't contain the infiniteness of infinity was truly heartbreaking. Especially when Dirk was fucking with Kanaya. i do not know how much of Rose was being manipulated by Dirk and how much was her wanting to end her chronic suffering(2real4me). Addressing all of the....implications around those two. i really do not think they ran off to be together. i believe Rose is the first person Dirk has really connected with on a actual personal level. From what ive seen he does not really treat people as well... people. I think him and Rose are feeling the, “i am the only real person here and everyone else is a puppet” feeling John and Terezi was talking about. But unlike John, Dirk was never one to sit idly by, hes a mechanic after all. All the pieces have to be in place.

The whole bit with Cade and dirk taking control of the narrative was something i feel like has been building up for a long while. The unreliable narrator has been established a few times in the comic, in friendsim, and now in the epilogue. But it does raise a good question about who has been narrating the story and can they be trusted to give us the truth. We saw Dirk acknowledge that he is not unbiased and says things as he sees it. Cade says shes unbiased and just gives the whole truth but all i can think about is how she made Jane carefully cradle the juju and put it on the mantle. Watching Dirk outsmart Cade was defiently exciting to read. I cannot wait to see where all of this is leading to. 

Do i think thats the end of both of Davepetasprite^2 and Lord English? No, as the comic has always said,” Don’t turn your back on the body.” We dont know where they ended up but we’ll just have to wait for more to come out and i cant wait. Does Rose, Dirk, and Terezi (i guess) have an agenda, yes. Do i have any goddamn idea what that is? Nope, and im fine with that. Overall i enjoyed both of them.

[ruthsheart]

from dusk till dawn

Ruth glided through the crowd like a thief in the night, melded flawlessly into the environment of glittering diamonds and sheer silk. The click of her heels on the polished wooden floor made hardly a sound amidst the chiming of tiny silver hors d'oeuvre forks against glowing white porcelain tea plates and the steady circling flutter of violin strings that hovered over the low chatter of guests. She lifted her hand and, without pausing to stop and search, effortlessly plucked a flute of champagne from a silver tray as it slipped past. The air was sweet with the aromas of ripe summer fruits and fresh cut flowers, intoxicating in the thick summer humidity. Ruth continued to flit between slick dark suits and light-colored shimmering gowns, unheard and unseen, while the guests bantered in cheerful vapid conversation.

As she settled against the back wall, tucked between two tall paintings she had donated to the charity for auction, Ruth sipped pensively at the delicate flute of champagne perched between her fingers. Her eyes slid over the pulsing mass of people with pointed disappointment. It was the first year in many that Ruth didn’t have a date to the charity ball. Faye didn’t want her, Imogen had some competition going with Jude, Marco had snatched up lovely Cleo, even Ava… Well, she got the feeling Ava wasn’t ready for that sort of thing yet. Alone. The last few months she had tried so hard to let go of the needless grasping for love and attention, the endless search that only perpetuated her misery, but it had only made her feel so utterly alone. If it weren’t for the warm, inviting glow of the crystal ball that rested at her bedside, she would have given up her new attitude of dis-attachment long before it ever settled in. Instead, she drew her strength from the enlightened crystal, taking solace in its constant friendly energy that lit up the darkest of nights.

On the opposite end of the room, Eduardo and Elizabeth had framed the raised corner stage with thick frilly curtains, the dour colour of a deep red rose, like some prolific opera house stage. Ruth sniffed a short incredulous huff. They could have spent half as much on curtains if they really cared at all about this mental health charity. It was an odd choice for the Marinos, to be quite honest. Her mother and father usually went for more loud charity themes for their yearly ball. Themes like hunger and poverty always brought the big spenders. They avoided anything too political, such as resources for refugees or the more controversial environmental protections. This was, in truth, a political act, after all. It always had been. So what had inspired the unusual choice to talk about “invisible illness”? Where was the money in that?

“Always follow the money, Ruthie.” Elizabeth had told Ruth over and over again. “Money can’t lie to you.”

Ruth’s mother was an old world goddess in new paint, a flame reflected in the cut surface of a diamond, a rare and dangerous creature. She had stalked the fluorescent jungle of hallways at HM Treasury long before her girlhood had blossomed into womanhood. Even at events such as this, when Elizabeth hung on Eduardo’s arm and proudly gloated to the guests about Marco’s latest success, every man in the room wanted her. They dreamed of her, and they feared her. Elizabeth Marino-Hart could make or break any man in the world on a simple whim. So when she stepped out onto the stage, a hush fell over the party guests before she had even turned on the microphone at the podium. She moved with slow, roiling confidence, like a panther in the brush. Delicate grace and smooth, silky power shifted beneath her skin. With a radiant smile that could topple empires, she tucked a thick curl of dark hair back behind her ear. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, friends and colleagues. I am… immensely honored that so many of you have accepted our invitation once again and come to help us on our little mission to make the world a better place.”

As sweet as her mother’s endearing rosy blush was, and her carefully chosen introductory words, Ruth couldn’t help but sigh. It was almost word for word the same speech she’d given the year Ruth and Marco had moved away for uni. Elizabeth glanced back at her husband, standing like a stone monolith at the edge of the stage. “Thank you all for coming. Please, enjoy the array of hors d'oeuvres and our expertly tended bar. You may want to get in there sooner than later as some particularly hungry individuals have been cleaning out the strawberries and goat cheese with fig vinegar parfaits with unprecedented speed.”

On the edge of her vision, Ruth spotted Jude freeze up, loaded spoon poised in his mouth. Shamefully, he chewed, swallowed, and set his parfait on the nearest table like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. A rude snort of laughter escaped Ruth’s nose as she tried to stifle her smile behind her hand.

Her mother continued, “But this is not a night for being greedy. As we do every year, we’ve gathered to open our hearts and give freely to those in need. The… heartbreaking pieces of art you see around the room tonight were all donated by an incredible artist for the charity auction this evening. She is giving one hundred percent of the proceeds to benefit our selected mental health organizations, out of the kindness of her heart. Thank you, Ruthie, we’re very proud.” With a soundless, dainty pat of her hands together, Elizabeth encouraged a round of applause from the room. Ruth had heard this speech a dozen times. She told herself it didn’t really mean anything. Every year, they took her art and she was repaid with pride. She didn’t mind, she wanted to support a cause and it was the best way she could. All she wished was that their pride could last a little longer than one night.

“It’s time to introduce our speakers for this year on the theme of mental illness, a tragedy that affects people across the globe from all walks of life. As you all may know, my husband Eduardo will start off our discussions, as he does every year, with his annual statement. I’d like you all to please welcome Eduardo Marino-Hart to the stage.” Elizabeth backed away from the podium. The room rippled with applause, more enthusiastic than the polite applause that had been offered Ruth. Leaning back against the wall, Ruth lifted the champagne to her lips and sucked down a deep gulp. Her father’s speeches were always quite dry and clinical. Facts lined up like ducks at a shooting range. Words like bullets that tore so rapid through the hall that you couldn’t exactly follow where they had come from, yet they still managed to wrap around the brain and subdue the tongue’s ability to fight. Ruth swallowed a stiff lump in her throat as Eduardo lumbered onto the stage. He loomed over the little podium, his broad shoulders casting a mountain-sized shadow. He did not fidget with the chunky rings on his fingers, nor straighten his ornate blue and black silk brocaded tie. He did not even force a smile. Even from across the room, he was just as enormous and foreboding as Ruth remembered him being. A man with fists like solid bricks and a jaw hewn from hard stone. He adjusted the comically small glasses that perched on the bridge of his regal Roman nose and cleared his throat in a deep growl.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” He didn’t need the tiny microphone on the podium. When he stood up straight, the podium hardly reached up to his trim waistline. Though his tone was gentle, the booming resonance of his voice rang out easily over the heads of the guests and aloft into the high-vaulted ceiling. He simply had that kind of voice, the kind that commanded attention and drew you in. “Thank you all for coming. Tonight’s charity is a subject very near and dear to my heart. I have been the president of the Marino Aerospace Corporation for over two decades. Our satellites are beaming information to your cell phones every second of every day. Our latest drone jets are circling the planet to protect us while we sleep. I had come to think of myself as invincible. A man who could resolve any problem with ingenuity. I was wrong.”

Ruth’s gaze sharpened with suspicion. This couldn’t be what it sounded like. Her father couldn’t be admitting to a mental illness. It would ruin his career. His company stocks would crash. He’d lose his place on his own governing board. So, why did he sound so uncharacteristically vulnerable?

A nagging tension in her stomach warned her something was terribly wrong.

“This year has been a very challenging one for my family. Pain comes in many forms, and often it keeps itself hidden where you least expect to find it. Throughout their young lives, I had reinforced the values of strength, persistence, and honesty in my children. I am proud of the brilliant and dedicated people they have become, and hope that one day they will leave their impression on the world as I have. Nobody would have expected illness to creep in and deal us the blow that it did this year.”

No, no, no, oh god no, don’t do it. Eduardo, don’t do it. Please. Please stop. I’m not crazy. Don’t tell everyone I’m crazy. Please, please stop-

“Last November, my daughter Ruth attempted to take her own life.”

The welling tension in her stomach dropped into a bottomless pit, like she was on one of those free-fall rides at the fair. Dozens of curious eyes turned in her direction. Ruth could feel the color draining from her face.

“I hope none of you are ever in that position we were in, your child in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and IV drips, wondering where you went wrong…”

The crystal glass dropped from her shock-loosened fingers. She didn’t even hear it crash, or feel the champagne soaking into the skirt of her dress. All she could hear were the whispers and gasps of sympathy scattering around the room. What a horrible experience that must have been. How unfortunate! Ruth clenched her fists tight and set her jaw. Her skin prickled as she imagined the heat of so many eyes inspecting her, judging her. Poor girl. So sensitive. So fragile.

They don’t know, she told herself. Her fists shook, her muscles coiled all the way up her arms. None of them know what happened. They have no idea.

It didn’t matter. She couldn’t tell them. Then they would lock her up in a hospital for certain.

Calm down. Count to ten… Months of mandatory meditation classes had to be worth something.

“It has been a difficult trial, for all of us. Every day we worry for our daughter’s health, knowing that we cannot understand the darkness that pushed her to such drastic lengths. But there is hope…”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” The words burst from her chest in an unexpected fury before she had even reached the number ten. The screaming inside her could no longer be stifled by carefully forged walls to trap her emotions. It was too loud, too furious. A wordless hurt thundered behind her rib cage. Betrayal—ruthless, cold and razor-sharp—cut through her hardened skin as if it were merely paper.

Her heels crunched on broken glass as she marched toward the emotionless monster she called father. She opened her mouth for the anger to spill from her like tongues of flame, but small hands grasped tight at her arms, tugging her away from the stage and the bright unfeeling spotlights.

@imogenxsong