#you do not need to feel shame about acknowledging your defense mechanisms

[yourhealingjournal]

Hey.

I'm really struggling with PTSD related anger lately and it has ruined a lot in my life. I feel like crap for unintentionally hurting people and feeling like I have to defend myself to the death. Do you have any advice or reassurance for dealing with mental illness and anger?

Thank you!

first of all I AM SO SORRY FOR JUST ANSWERING THIS. i didn’t get notified by tumblr dot com that i have an ask on my inbox waiting my bad

my first thought reading your ask is that anger does not make you a terrible person. & i would argue you’re not a terrible person because i have the proof of you sending in this ask which to me shows: a) you’re aware of the hurt you’re causing as a byproduct of your anger & b) you want to change and be better about it.

& then you mentioned two things i’d address separately:

re: feeling like defending yourself constantly - i don’t know what you’ve been through but it must have been really tough and exhausting. i hope you’re far away from the situation that hurts you & i’m also so sorry that the effects of it still isolates you. feeling the urge to defend yourself often is one of the unfortunate consequences trauma can leave behind.

i think defensiveness that comes out from trauma often stems from a belief that a part of you is being threatened. this can be from you or your choices always being questioned or scrutinized (threatens your security of self), not being believed (threatens your sense of reality) / having to explain yourself constantly but not still being understood, not having a safe place to live (threatens your physical security), etc. it can also be feeling threatened for your own self and survival when you perceive the threat to be too big or strong for you to handle. most trauma modalities argue any of the 4Fs are survival mechanisms that ultimately serve to protect us one way or another.

unfortunately, even after we’ve removed yourself from the harmful environment, our nervous system requires time to catch up. anger is a form of fight & like you said it feels like constantly defending yourself.

my advice (if you’re at a point where you’re ready to process your trauma & can do so safely) is to not shame your anger, but ask what is it so angry about (not in a judgmental way, but a curious one). you can keep track of an anger log to see what triggers that anger to come out. what event did it remind you of that you have the urge to defend yourself now? the roots of our current responses are wired in the past.

anger can also be a presentation of resentment that was built up overtime so you can also ask what you’re resenting about the other person or situation. i’d suggest not thinking too deep about any of these questions — writing or typing might be easier to just get the thoughts out. you may find a deeper understanding of where your anger comes from, from the process alone.

if you’re not a place to process it deeply, you can start with accepting that your anger exists. i think all our trauma responses really boil down to needing safety & comfort & protection so each time the anger comes, i hope you give that acknowledgment and comfort to yourself. it can be difficult to have gratitude for a part of you that responds in a way that can put you in a disadvantageous situation, so you can start with a neutral statement like: “I see you’re trying to protect me.” or “you don’t have to be angry any longer. you can let the anger go now. i can protect you.” (i’m borrowing a bit from IFS parts work’s framework of thinking). my point is yes your anger can be misplaced, but your anger did come from somewhere so it’s not something you need to shame yourself over because also to your other point:

re: you feel like crap, you said, because you know the anger wasn’t the response you wanted to emulate at that point in time. you can fix that. my only advice for this is to apologize once you’ve calmed down to the people you unintentionally hurt. (not saying you don’t already do this by the way) if you’d like (&it seems appropriate to disclose that in your relationship with them), you can also tell them it’s something you’re working on (e.g. let’s say you got angry at someone you barely know or only know as your work buddy, you can say ‘sorry about the other day, it was a long one’ v.s. If it’s someone you’re close with like a friend, then you can say “sorry about x event. i’m working on my anger”). you dont have to disclose the why you have the anger in the first place, but if you feel that beneficial to your relationship, go forth.

with other people in the equation, the solution is not so much to isolate but to titrate. by that i mean:

first, if you can limit the amount of contact from people who trigger you (e.g. a well meaning relative but really they push your buttons), do so for the time being.

if however these are say a deeply beloved friend who you haven’t seen each other in a while or a situation where you can’t limit contact with them (e.g. work, etc.), when you start to feel frustrated, remove yourself from the environment if able. make an excuse like needing to use the bathroom, “let me check and get back to you”, etc. if it’s not feasible and you have to stay in the room or you don’t want to draw attention to yourself, distract with doing something that can delay your response. for example, drinking your choice of beverage, walking away to get something before returning, etc. ideally we all can leave & disappear when something triggers us but that superpower hasn’t been invented yet.

i didn’t say “triggered” and use “frustrated” because sometimes there’s a build up to one snapping. build ups can range from not getting enough sleep the night before, being hungry, & anything else that can impact one’s mood regulation. the acknowledgment of where you are on the scale of being on top of your mood regulation game is dependent on you checking in with yourself daily. you can do this in the morning / afternoon / evening where you just ask yourself where you are on the scale of tolerance. mostly it’s to let yourself know like “hey i didn’t get much sleep last night so i might be a little bit more prone to being angry so let’s make a plan around that (eg. limit contact with people who trigger you, don’t watch the news if you know the news tends to make you feel bad, etc.)”.

i also think if you don’t find the idea of check-ins appealing, you can also do this retrospectively so at the very least even if you find it difficult to accept your anger, you can validate your emotions. let’s say you got angry at someone, you can ask yourself the basic checklist questions like; when’s the last time you eat? drink? sleep? any physical discomfort? all of these do contribute to our mood. maybe the coffee machine broke that day & when it happened it didn’t make you upset but it is one thing that didn’t go the way you expected so it’s another drop on the tolerance meter. & then you’ll find that wow of course you lost your cool: you didn’t sleep, your body aches, a customer was being a bit difficult even if not hostile, a lot of little things add up and then the neighbor just had to mow the lawn when i’m trying to sleep. like idk if i were you i’d lose my shit too. did the neighbor deserve it? no. could i have responded “better”? yeah but i get why i’m upset.

which brings us to the second part of titrating: mood regulation. this is a whole other thing i can get into but the gist is accepting & validating what your mood is right now (eg yes i’m angry & it makes sense as to why i’m angry — even if the situation you’re not in makes sense like the scenario above, your anger comes from somewhere. maybe you don’t even know why you’re angry but that anger is still valid. you can say: ok i’m angry right now idk why but i am and that’s okay.) then process it with whatever method works for you. trial & error. counter to what i mention about the anger log: you don’t always have to know the reason behind your anger to process it.

some activities to process anger & if you’re simply asking how to deal with anger when you feel it once you’re alone: movement helps. exercise no matter how low intensity it is still works. walking. venting to yourself on a voice note then deleting it as a symbol to delete the anger can also work. punching a pillow. squeezing a stuffed animal. screaming to a pillow. screaming to the void. needlepointing. knitting. plonk keys on the piano. crying is another option. that’s all i have for today.

now once you’re in a better mood and headspace & more equipped with skills, you can relax rule no 1 of limiting contact. ideally i’d also suggest doing some somatic work to rewire your nervous system but that’s a whole other post.

ps. sorry i get a bit sassy & humorous at the end with the scenario. i wanted to get this out asap but it’s 4 am and i am running on 2 hours of sleep. i hope this answers your ask.

[yanderecandystore]

Could you please do a fanfic for a male version of Yandere! Lady Dimitrescu (from Resident Evil Village game) with the reader.

I really like the Resident Evil franchise but I'm too lazy to know what the hell is happening in the older games XD I'm so sorry about that-

I loved watching playthroughs of Resident Evil Village (can't buy the game ;-;), but I felt like it was a bit empty, idk- I felt like the lords weren't really explored enough.

Also the Duke is the best husbando in the whole game- Fight me! >:3

TW/Tags: GN = Gender Neutral, I normally forget to properly name it when it's gender neutral, most of the time I just say "reader" // maybe ooc // lazy genderbent, I'm terrible with names // size difference // servant reader // mentions of gore/cuts/bruises/blood and deaths (and torture- I'm so sorry-) // reader gets hurt // mentions of vomiting

It's Dinner Already [Yandere!M!Dimitrescu x GN!Reader - Short Fanfiction]

It's dinner time already, unfortunately for you, of course.

It feels almost like a routine at this point- Which in a way, it is! You always take care of your tasks during the day, while dreading the inevitable time for dinner to arrive again.

Everyday, at this exact same hour, you and the other servants would prepare a meal for Lord Dimitrescu and his lovely… Sons…

As someone who has started "working" for their family only a month ago, you can positively say: Starving in the cold woods next to your village would have probably been a more merciful death than the ones you have witnessed at this place. You weren't as accustomed to such brutal executions at your village, actually you hardly even witnessed so much death, at least not so up close.

When you came here, you didn't expect to be instantly comforted and treated with respect- You were a commoner looking for an possibility to thrive in a noble's house, you were basically an easy target for any entitled selfish lord to easily belittle you and make you work for them until your hands would turn to dust. Yet nothing could have prepared you for such an odd situation.

Vampires. Monsters. Fiends if you were bold enough to insult them. You weren't exactly welcomed as much as you were snatched in and now forever trapped inside this castle. You can still hear their laughter… Their insane expressions of pure glee, the way they have bursted into maliciously laughing at your pain as you screamed for help trying to open up their door again and be free from that nightmare.

The chase didn't last even a second, they stabbed your legs with their scythes and brought you deeper inside this hellhole, as you cried your eyeballs out. The sons had brought you back inside so their father could take a look at the "intruder".

An absolute titan amongst the mortals. His height was only a sick reminder of how much power he had over the castle, over his sons, and now- Over you.

He may not have been as massive as he was threatening as you remind him to be, but at the time you were just in awe of his height considering you have never seen someone as tall and as mighty.

Then again- You have never seen vampires as well. Were they the same vampires as the books you've read as a kid? You weren't so sure of it…

You were hoping that if you begged for life and for forgiveness for having disturbed their peace, that they could spare you and let you go back to your village. Sadly enough, you commented on how you were only trying to look for a job as a servant.

You probably shouldn't have given them ideas, but it's too late to think about your mistakes now, however.

The sons begged to see your blood spilled, yet Lord Dimitrescu was merciful enough to grant you your "wish", as he said.

It has been a month ever since you were trapped inside and forced to work as a miserable little servant, and even if you didn't suffer the worst forms of punishments that they had in-store for you, you couldn't help but fantasize about just running away and never turning back.

You're so tired of this castle, of the smell of carnage, of the undeserved and over the top punishments, and especially of the people who would subjugate you to such things.

But at last, it's dinner time already, and you can't keep them waiting.

You feel your hands shaking as you walk out of the kitchen and into the dining room where the masters of the castle were so graciously waiting for you. You know what they're waiting for- But you can't let them distract you, for those that commit accidents are faced with fates worse than death.

Although you would rather do this process quickly, you can't afford mistakes to happen, so you take your time to set not only their meal in front of each one but to also pour "wine" into their glasses. You do all of this without looking directly into their eyes, only bowing down to each one and saying "excuse me"s in what they would call a "decent tone", as the smell of their disgusting beverage starts to irritate your nostrils. If you didn't know the main ingredient to Sanguis Virgins is, you probably wouldn't have this immense disgust over it, but right now just the thought of it makes you want to gag.

Only villains could so easily drink blood, and still make a living out of it.

Your internal thoughts of pure hatred against this whole situation almost completely blinded you to the fact that they were eerily, very quiet.

….

On most nights they would be talking with each other while occasionally making comments about you or your presence. Obviously they were all pretty nasty comments that they somehow expected you to back it up in some way or another, it's when they try to insert you into their conversation that makes you hate this occasion so badly, but it normally ends as quickly as it begins.

But as you are pouring wine to Lord's Dimitrescu, you notice that they haven't said a single thing while you were there. You stop what you're doing as you realize that they were silently observing you this whole time, and as you look into their expressions you come to think that maybe you have messed up-

Somehow, in some way or form, you may have messed up- And the fact this mistake could cost your head only agitates your already very worried mind.

….

A small moment of silence continues before the middle son, Cassandro, starts to chuckle in an almost innocent way- As if he was a kid who just said a bad word for the first time- And as he bursts into sudden laughter, Daniel leans towards Bello and loudly whispers:

"- I told you, they do this every time." To which Bello only replied with:

"- It's almost like hypnosis in a way."

The three sons were mesmerized by your ability to trap yourself in your own mind. They're probably aware that you do this as a defensive mechanism but they still find it comical in a weird way. You feel yourself get more tense as you look up at Lord Dimitrescu and see him staring back at you, with an unreadable expression across his face.

Before you could come up with an excuse to whatever you may have caused to disturb their dinner, the Lord himself spoke.

"- How inappropriate. As my sons, you three should know better than to laugh at our servant's airheaded mind-"

And as he said that, their smiles begin to disappear and be replaced with frowns and a bit of shame as they become stiff at their father's words.

"- And how inappropriate of you, too. To be so distracted in the presence of your masters, that's quite rude don't you think?"

But as he continued their bodies begin to relax once again as they realize he wasn't focusing on them- He was focusing on you.

Words have completely disappeared from your vocabulary as you start to think that maybe you won't be able to see another day after their meal is over. You try to mumble some possible responses before getting interrupted by him once again.

"- It's very rude, so very rude in fact that I think we deserve some answers. What were you so distracted about? What were you thinking that could have possibly taken over your small little head?"

Right now, he was sounding a bit condescending, thankfully not as angry as he would have been with the other servants right about now. Every little mistake was used as excuses for punishments- And if you were walking on thin ice before, right now you are one-step closer to breaking this entire lake and getting yourself killed by the freezing temperatures of the water below you.

Thanks to your luck (or maybe lack thereof, depending on how you see this) Daniel came to "your rescue" by coming up with an excuse for you.

"- Maybe they were hungry." He said without any indications of it being a joke or a lie- As the youngest yet craziest of the bunch, he always had that weird "naive yet dangerous" energy coming from him. He was naive enough to make that statement when it's very clear that you actually despise being near them, but he still was a son of Dimitrescu.

You know better than to underestimate any of these people.

The Lord didn't seem completely convinced as he side eyed Daniel who was blissfully eating his meal without acknowledging his dad's glance or his brother's looks of disapproval.

Without a warning you were pulled closer by your wrist and forced into sitting next to the Lord, who made a sign for another servant to bring you your food. This… Doesn't feel right at all, you're waiting for the worst to come yet you don't feel like you can ever prepare yourself enough for what they have in store.

"- M-My Lord- This isn't needed, I'm fine. I'll just continue my duties, if you can excuse me-" You plead, while trying to get up from your chair.

"- Oh but what host would I be if I didn't take better care of my guests? Poor thing, you must be starving if you can barely serve us wine-" And as his tone gets progressively more sarcastic and a bit louder, you can hear his sons snickering from the other side of the table, but you can't see them since you can't take your eyes away from him.

You're worried that if you look away for just one second, that you may not be able to see ever again.

"- It's so sad when one of our guests feels hungry- What's worse is when we are also very, very hungry."

"- Thirsty, even!"

"- Oh, I can feel my throat drying just at the thought of such misery!- Our dinner seems to be ruined."

You hear their whispers, you hear how they are clearly joking about this- How overly dramatic they're being over something so miniscule as you just- Ignoring them.

Let me remind you this is all because you refuse to look them in the eyes, that you refuse to give them any satisfaction for the heinous things they have done! You've seen so many people get hurt inside this castle only for their sick and twisted thirst and entertainment.

"- Indeed, my boys. My appetite is ruined, though dinner is not over yet-" Lord Dimitrescu spoke as he looked at his sons clearly enjoying your inevitable pain, but before he could continue he turns himself to you again, putting a hand on your arm and saying:

"- Wouldn't you agree?" Loud enough so that his sons could hear it, but soft enough to send the tiniest shivers down your spine.

"- …!"

"- No, no- Please, not again!-" He wouldn't dare do this, would he??

But before you could react he had already done it, you barely noticed how fast he had grabbed that knife to slice your wrist- His hand firmly gripping your arm as he made a deep enough cut so that your blood could be easier to access.

It somehow hurts just as badly as the first time his sons have stabbed your ankles and dragged you across the floor- At least you're not bumping into things like before, and even if it's a deep cut it's not as big as it could be if he used his claws to actually do this.

Oh, oh those claws- You almost thought he would use them on you… Those were something else. You can't remember exactly what happened, and why it happened, but you remember seeing him use those on another servant who may have crossed the line at some point.

Well "crossed the line"- More like "casually inconvenienced him". Lord Alcino may act like an incredibly high noble but he acts so childishly and in such an egotistical manner that you are surprised he can even have a castle like this in the first place! You don't remember what the servant has done to be so cruelly dismantled, but you don't doubt that it was for a stupid reason!

You miss that servant actually- Probably the only person who you actually talked with, and the first one to actually taught you how to do your job… You two could have been friends if he didn't intervene.

You briefly remember those moments before getting to experience the most weird sensation of all- Having your bloody cut be licked and sucked on. It hurts and it stings in a way that not only makes you want to cry but to also gag at the thought of you feeding this monster.

You refuse to look at him even in this scenario, you refuse to see him feeding off your blood… Sometimes you wish you were just as poisonous as some species of frogs, poisonous enough to make his mouth burn so he can experience a fraction of the pain he causes to others.

You tried fleeting away, you tried getting up and moving away but his grip on your arm only helped you in getting closer to him- You have your eyes closed as your only option is to cry and muffle your agony.

But as always, he is not satisfied with you just ignoring him. This was supposed to be a lesson, yet you're clearly avoiding your teacher as best as you can- But not today, little flower, you're not getting out of this so easily.

This is the first time he ever got to really taste your blood, as normally you would be behind the other servants while trying to learn how to please him, the only moments where he gets to see you is when it's dinner time, but oh- You're just so cruel!

Escaping inside your own little head while he has to content himself with just your image. Your presence is very much appreciated around this hour, little one-

He has noticed this before, of course, but it was only when he noticed his son's curiosity over the way you behave around them that made him organize this little trap. He didn't have everything planned actually, his plan only involved getting to this moment no matter what- And oh boy, has luck been on his side!

Your blood tastes better than expected of a commoner, your delicate and fearful whines of pain are just as delightful but what really gets him is this tough persona you try to convince everyone you have- You despise him, and it's clear to see why- But he knows his charms will probably work on you one way or the other.

He gripped your face trying to make sure you'll get to him in the eyes as he has a taste of you. Absolutely delicious, especially after you so gracefully "ruined" their dinner.

His sons were just watching as they continued to drink from their crimson glasses. They were just enjoying the show, as everything seems to easily amuse them- Their father was just showcasing how they were so much better than the common folk, and they have no other option but to take notes and to remember what they have to do if they ever feel ignored by the servants in the castle: Show who are the true masters of this place.

None of them were really interested in drinking from you, considering how all three seemed to recognize how their father has taken a liking towards you. No one would dare mess with their father's prey.

If you had enough strength in you, you would start vomiting as soon as this has started, but the more he takes from you the more you feel like you can barely stay conscious.

He wasn't supposed to take so much, at least not so soon- He wanted to just take a sip but he can't deny the fact he would rather drown himself in your blood than to let go.

He sighs, as he notices that you're slowly getting less and less aggressive, getting more and more tired as he drains you from this cut.

You're not unconscious yet, just barely stable enough to understand what's going on.

"- Sigh… Now that was a decent enough meal." He can't praise you for being tasty, can't have you being cocky around him.

"- Here, since I'm done here I'll take you to the servant's living quarters- And because I'm so kind I'll make sure that wound is safely secured and cleaned, so here- Come along now."

And as he stood up he offered you his hand so you could get up yourself, but you don't have enough energy to walk yourself to your room, thankfully you're already ready to go to bed and wish to never wake up again.

And as the nightmare never ends, he decides that if you are going to be difficult then you leave him no choice but to carry you there. How much has he taken from you?? Jesus, he should learn some self-control before doing this again- The absolute brute that he is.

Your vision may be a little screwed over because of the lack of red cells running through your body at the moment- But you have a weird feeling that you two aren't heading towards the servant's living quarters, as you feel like you two are quite literally going in the opposite direction.

Oh but it's fine- Right?

It'll be fine. Surely. After all, he already took what he wanted from you, and he doesn't seem to need more so- You probably won't have to worry about anything right now, dinner time is already over, you can finally relax now….

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

So I'm sick again- Sorry y'all, I just have a horrible immune system and I really don't understand what is wrong with me-

I'm sorry if you didn't like this boo :(

[icyxmischief]

I honestly cannot stand the Loki fandom on tumblr anymore. This is the most toxic, hateful fandom I've encountered in a long, long time. I don't know how you've managed to stay for so long, but I've always enjoyed your content and wish you the best of luck going forward here. I don't think I've ever been so disappointed or outright ashamed of a fandom before, but this series has really brought a whole lot of ugliness out of Loki's. And it's such a shame, because it wasn't always this bad.

Friend, it makes me so sad that you feel this way. I know from negative experience in other fandom spaces what you're going through. It's really painful because we come to fandom with an earnest piece of ourselves that we want to share, project or INject, into characters who resonate with us, for any variety of reasons. This means each of us has a very personal, individual, and sometimes fever-pitched stake in how our "comfort character" is portrayed in canon.

This fandom angst derives from a couple of logical fallacies which I wanna spell out here, and from which, I hope, you can free yourself, in order to remain in a psychological space where you can still enjoy the things you love. <3 No really. I am a 38-year-old, successful professional, I have been around the block with fandom discourse and "grown-up real-world" intellectual discourse, and I am telling you, THIS is how I've "lasted this long":

1) Fallacy One: "Canon is the "most real" version of characterization." No. We don't even have to go into "Death of the Author, baybee" or Reception Theory or any of the other stuff in 20th and 21st century media crit to refute this. Simply put: you experience the media. The media exists in a wholly fictional realm anyway. The only difference is money/resources and breadth of audience. Your experience and, say, Kevin Feige's, or Kate Herron's, are all equally "real." Your Variant of the Sacred Canon (I DO think they're being that meta with the fans in the Loki series, yes), if you will, deserves to exist as much as the one Tom Hiddleston acts out on screen. You have a right to the Loki that exists in your head. 2) Fallacy Two: Seemingly opposite but often entwined with Fallacy One, as a defense/coping mechanism against Fallacy One: "My version is the 'most valid' version, and departure from my version equates lack of authenticity or effort, or, most dangerous of all, moral/ethical inferiority." No. We all have the right to the Loki in our heads. Now this one is trickier, admittedly, because the people who gravitate to characters like Loki tend to share his experience with social Othering/marginalization and trauma. That means that if you tell them "you're wrong, and stop getting in my face and being so aggressive," you could be accused (indeed, perhaps rightfully) of tone-policing someone who identifies with a marginalized group (racially, in terms of ability, in terms of gender identity or sexual orientation, etc). The best thing, therefore, for you to do is acknowledge that your readings of the "text" (here, a tv show) differ, and that you respectfully decline to discuss the matter. Even if it rankles you, don't engage. These people have a very personal stake in the media and in essence, it's kindest to let them depart to be angry in their own space.

3) Connected closely to the above, “What we condone in fiction equates what we condone in reality,” God, no. Much ink has been spilled by more eloquent writers on this, so I won’t expound. But don’t go there. Don’t fall for that. Lol. It leads only to misery. 

Habits I would encourage, to avoid Big Fandom Wank:

1) When you see content you don't like, especially spoken in an incendiary or absolutist manner, block or unfollow. Do not engage directly. Vent about it in your own space if you must, or better yet, in private, to trusted friends. If you engage, which...sometimes it IS worth it to do so, if something has real personal significance to you as a consumer of that media, then be braced for people to be rude or even abusive, because human beings, especially in internet spaces, are messy emotional creatures who leap to conclusions without gauging for nuance. There is disagreement over different and valid interpretations of content, and then there is just being unpleasant on principle.

2) See advice in Fallacy Two re avoiding tone-policing.

3) Find your people and curate your dash strictly. This can be ten people or it can be two. Make a close-knit small group in a private space for all your sharing of ideas. Make sure these are people you trust, who, when you spend time consuming the media with them, make you feel better, not worse.

4) Unfollow liberally. Block liberally. You don't owe anyone your time, energy, or, especially, happiness. People will accuse you of cowardice or "running away from a grown-up debate." Let them. It's pitiable, in perspective. They're insecure and sad and they need to say manipulative things. But you know better, don't you? You're just preserving your peace of mind.

5) If you mess up, go quiet for a while, take a break from social media, and it will blow over. I promise. Delete anon hate (and know that you can block the sender, even an anon, on Tumblr, too!).

--------

Friend, thank you for your kind words. I'm so sorry you're so sad. I hope I see you here again someday. <3

Anyone who needs a boost can reblog this advice, btw.

[cadyrocks]

I feel somewhat comfortable blaming this on the way the internet strips nuance away from things. A lot of very sensible things (e.g. "women take a cold, defensive posture as a defense mechanism because of the ever-present danger of a man mistaking friendliness for flirtation and not wanting to constantly deal with that shit, and this is a result of how we as a society look at gender roles and the patriarchal assumptions baked into them") lose all nuance and connective tissue, and you end up with... well, ideas that lead to this kind of neurosis.

Like, you say this:

No, the worst thing that could happen is that I could contribute to a patriarchal society that believes that all women who dress or look a certain way are sexually available, forcing women to deal with constant unwanted sexual attention whenever they try to simply exist in society.

And yeah, that would be bad. But... like... there are ways to ask people out that aren't skeezy or unpleasant; I'd argue that it happens all the time. It's not self-explanatory (speaking from experience here, I had to learn this stuff the hard way and sometimes I still fuck up), but it is something you can learn to do.

What's being demanded here isn't a constant shame of one's sexuality, or that you feel shame every time you feel attracted to a person of the opposite sex. You, as an individual, are not the patriarchy. You just need to be aware of it and account for it in your dealings. There are a lot of little things I do on a daily basis in this vein - things like "intentionally making space when trying to start a conversation, so that they don't feel cornered" or "not starting a conversation with someone in the train who busy with other things" or "finding compliments that aren't about physical attributes"; things like that. Hell, A.R. Moxon described a similar dynamic in a recent substack post:

When I run trails, I sometimes encounter people in twos or threes but mostly ones, and sometimes, as you might expect, some of those people are women.

I’ve seen pictures of me when I’m jogging; I’m 6’2” and 230 lbs. and even if I’m trying to smile, exertion turns it into a scowl. So, I do my best to seem as non-threatening as possible on the trail. I don’t know how good a job I do, but I try to give people as much of their own space as I can, and make a little unobtrusive cough from a dozen yards back if I’m coming up behind so as to not suddenly startle somebody with my sudden presence, and to offer friendly but very brief acknowledgement if I come upon somebody passing the other way, avoiding any extended eye contact that might be considered aggressive, and I just generally try to give off subtle indications that I will not be a threat, or even an encounter that they will have to negotiate and deal with.

This is not a big deal for me to do, by the way. I happen to know I am not a threat in these moments. I also recognize that nobody else knows this about me.

You are not the patriarchy. However, we live under patriarchy, and I feel like we have a moral responsibility to understand what that means and how it affects other people, and in some cases to adjust our behavior for the comfort of those around us.

Given what you describe, though, yeah, I can imagine you could end up with some pretty nasty views of male sexuality. You're not alone; Scott Aaronson has mentioned the same kind of thing. Hell, one could argue that this kind of view is pretty central to certain deeply flawed essentialist beliefs (think TERF shit). But I don't this level of shame and fear necessarily follows from these ideas. I'm sorry that it led to that in you.

(I do think it necessarily follows from the strawman version of these ideas spread by misogynists, like, say, for example, what the OP is doing, but that's another discussion.)

It's hard.

A necessary consequence of acknowledging the messy, unfair realities of life is a loss of innocence. Needing to think about things you didn't have to think about before needing to confront one's own complicity in systems of oppression; needing to find ways to cope with those systems in ways that aren't immoral. It can be hard, but what's the alternative? Pretending that the patriarchy isn't real? Retreating into the bubble of ignorance peddled so aggressively by those who are quite fond of male supremacy? This is a common response, because none of this is fun. It can lead to a very predictable backlash (example 1: Gamergate; example 2: OP's bullshit) from people who don't want to confront their complicity or change their behavior. The response from them is often to deny the problem, because if it isn't a problem, they can go back to being innocent. Innuendo Studios did an amazing series on exactly this dynamic, "Why Are You So Angry?". I can't recommend it highly enough.

But becoming frozen and paralyzed with fear and guilt isn't a healthy response either. It doesn't actually do anything beyond making you miserable. I don't know how to fix this problem; I just know that the answer involves a better understanding of these issues, not shoving them into a box and pretending they aren't real.

A big reason MRA/Andrew Tate stuff is appealing to so many normies is that it's *significantly* more logical and rigorous than the queer theory stuff that's suddenly become mandated by most institutions.

Now, of course, I'm not saying I believe it. All I'm saying is a young person today is presented with two options: the first says that biological sex is fake and that were it not for oppressive social structures humanity would default into a genderless mass in which everyone looked the same and have no discernable preferences in regards to sexual attraction. The other says no, actually, that's complete bullshit.

Oh, and also, the now-mainstream side is very openly disdainful of young men and male heterosexuality in particular, to the extent that it's perfectly normal for young men to be told that their very existence is the cause of all the world's problems and they will never be able to cleanse themselves of their evil.

Gee golly I wonder why they'd listen to literally anyone else?

People have a natural aversion to ideas that are very obviously insane. Most people have some degree of dignity, or at least a lack of burning self-hatred. It takes a very specific form of prolonged conditioning to make anyone stupid enough to fall for this shit, and I'm sorry but there's just not enough English majors out there to make your little project socially viable.

[justasimplesinner]

hello, i just found your tumblr😊😊 i would like to ask for a scenario where Eddie from Arkham games has been working non-stop for days and his s/o starts to get jealous since his attention goes all to batman ❤ Fluff pls~🥰 (Sorry for my bad english)

this stinky gremlin i swear, i don’t know if i want to punch him or kiss him

dumb bitch Arkham!Eddie overworking himself AGAIN:

– You're doing it again, Edward. – you sighed at his hunched back, fingers skimming over some parts on the workbench near you, but he never even budged, never acknowledged your presence.

Because of him overworking and neglecting himself, his spine was starting to take shape of one of those curly questionmarks he doodled on every aviable space. It was concerning, to say the least...

– I'm disappointed. – this one struck. You knew this one struck. But if pressing on his soft spots was the only way to get his attention, you didn't have a choice.

– Disappointed? – he may have been snorting, he may have been laughing at you, but the subtle way in which his body immediately froze after you words didn't escape your trained eye. After all those years, you knew what made him tick. – Who are you to tell me you're disappointed? Do you seriously think I'd care for-...

Ah, there went the defensive mechanisms of his - denial, insults, feeding his own ego to recompensate for any moderatively hurtful comment directed at him. The whole package. Despite how he prided himself in being an enigma, he was awfully easy to read.

Looking at it, you could understand why some of your friends tried to convince you this was a toxic relationship. Who knew, maybe they were right. But you knew something they didn't - you knew Edward Nigma for all he was, all his faults and strengths, but most importantly, you knew he was but a child trapped in a man's body.

When children threw tantrums, nobody called them toxic - why should this be different? What with Edward's stunted emotional growth, he had little to no control over his feelings and their outbursts. But especially, he had little to no control over what he was saying when they happened - not to say you were never hurt by his spiteful words, but you knew better than to take them to heart.

You wouldn't be here, with him, if you did. And he knew that damn well - he knew damn well that if you didn't care for him you wouldn't put up with his bullshit, and yet, despite how grateful he really was, you never seemed to get the recognition you truly deserve.

Not from him, at least - his henchmen, though... that was a whole different story. There was a reason most of them called you "Mom" behind Edward's back.

– You promised. – maybe it was just as childish of you to cut in with this as it was for him to make a scene over nothing, but if you let him go on, you'd be sitting here for another hour or so. 

– In the first place, you shouldn't believe in promises. The world is full of them-... – you were sure he was about to go full Paulo Coelho on you and quote the entire thing if you'd only let him. There was no chance at blowing his own horn that this man wouldn't take.

– So you're calling yourself a liar? – you mused instead, walking up to him to lay your hands on his shoulders - which almost immediately lost some of the tension, mind you – What happened to being the "man of your word"? I distinctly remember you giving me a whole speech, and call me foolish, but I was under the impression you're the type of man to practise what you preach. – pointing out his mistakes like this was satisfying on a petty level, you had to admit that much. No matter what he said, he'd be only digging his own grave and you both knew that. You left him with no room to wiggle, no way to escape.

You weren't stupid, despite him often saying that - he wouldn't pick himself no bimbo or himbo, after all. And in times like these, it was clear he hated you for it.

– You're manipulating me into giving in. – he accused with a pout, crossing his arms, and it took everything you had in you not to laugh then. Nothing but a child, indeed...

– Whatever it takes to get you to bed. – your murmured sweetly, leaning down to his ear, but every intention of placing a kiss under it died once the smell of sweat, grime and motor oil reached your nose – And a shower. Not necessarily in that order.

He rolled his eyes as you scrunched up your face - good lord above, you'll have to visit more often because this man couldn't take care of himself anymore. The only thing he really cared about now was Batman - his humiliation, his downfall, his surrender to the great mind of Edward Nigma, The Riddler, The Ultimate Boss or whatever it is Ed called himself nowadays.

Watching him spiral down into madness over the years really took its' toll on you, but it made Edward need you more than ever. He couldn't even take a bath by himself, it seemed.

– Please. – begging was your last resort, but like you said - you'd do anything to get him to rest. Besides, you knew that making him feel in power was a huge weakness of his - he'd figure out a way to bring you a star from the sky if you'd only said one sweet "please".

And hearing him sigh in resignation, feeling his back straighten and press harder into your hands, you knew you won him over.

– Only because you asked nicely. – he grumbled laying his palms flat on the surface of his desk, preparing to get up. Of course, not before you stole a grateful kiss from him. Good boys deserved rewards, after all.

You'd lie if you said you didn't enjoy the way a blush crawled from his neck up to his ears. No matter how many years passed, this dork still blushed every time you kissed him and it must've been the most adorable thing you've ever witnessed.

– I was serious about the shower. You stink.

You laughed at hearing his agonized groaning. There was no getting out of this one.

***

Despite some minor difficulties, like Edward barely being able to support his own weight, let alone wash himself, you considered the shower a success. After a good scrub and a clean shave, you had your handsome riddle-man back. With triple bags under his eyes and a hairline you were starting to worry about, but handsome nonetheless.

– Are you hungry? – you asked, cupping his cheeks and smiling at the smoothness of them. God only knew that terrible stubble of his was like needles to your skin... But, instead of a proper answer, his head fell onto your shoulder heavily as he leaned almost all of his weight on you.

– Bed. – he moaned and you couldn't help the laugh that escaped you as you patted his still wet hair condescendingly.

Seems you'd have to re-schedule a warm meal to another time. You'd make him something in the morning. Or afternoon, considering it was well after three in the morning and once Edward fell asleep, there was no chance of waking him up for at least twelve hours.

– Of course, baby, c'mon. – you chuckled, tugging him out of the bathroom and leading the way to his office. He had a fatigued sofa bed for when he was caught up with work - which was most of the time. Didn't mean he used it, though. He was the type of man to work himself into exhaustion and fall asleep right where he's standing, only to complain about back problems to you later.

It was a shame he didn't use the sofa more often, too - it was almost unbelieveably comfortable for something that costed less than a decent meal.

– Go on and lay down, – you encouraged, watching as he all but fell onto the sofa – I'll go tell the boys to-... 

It was with surprising strength that he pulled you back harshly, apparently not minding the way you literally tumbled into him as his lean arms circled your form and forcefully rolled you over so that his head was laying comfortably on your chest - his favourite pillow of all.

– Or not. – you huffed, rolling your eyes at him as his grip around you only tightened and he nuzzled his face into your t-shirt. Nothing but a big man-child...

– Don't ever stop. – he murmured, so low you barely caught it, once his breathing synchronized with yours and your arms hugged him back as one of your hands went to his head to brush through his hair.

– Hm? Stop what?

You felt his arms squeeze you tightly one last time.

– Loving me.

You watched him fall asleep with a smile on your face. Damn this absolute dork... Like you'd ever stop loving him.

[cricketnationrise]

Wouldn’t it be Andoverly?

for day 6 of nurseyweek2021: friendship. also on AO3

_X_

Derek was pretty good at making friends. Usually. But he’d never been the new kid before. Elementary and middle school had been a breeze, his siblings paving the way for him with teachers, and Nursey’s willingness to share crayons worked in elementary school and hockey skills did the trick all through middle school.

Now though, he was all on his own.

His sisters had graduated years ago and Dan had skipped a grade, so he was gone. Derek had been counting on Dan being here more than he was willing to admit to his moms.

If he could just get through this first day of classes, he would be fine. He just had to make it to hockey practice. Derek could handle himself. He could. With a deep breath he left his dorm, ready to face the day. 

WHAM

Or he could just lay here forever.

“Sorry ‘bout that, you okay dude?”

Derek looks up from where he is sprawled on the floor to see a guy with a full mustache leaning over him, concern all over his face.

“Yeah, I think so,” Derek says, managing to sit up, rubbing his head.

“Oh shit, here, let me help you up man.”

Derek takes Mustache Guy’s hand, and is yanked up so powerfully that he almost goes down again.

“Thanks, I’m good now.”

“I really didn’t mean to plow into you like that. I’m glad I didn’t manage to damage your beauteous face. That would have been a real shame.”

“Thanks, I think. Um,” Derek didn’t know if Mustache Guy was hitting on him or just exuberant, so he went on as if the last part hadn’t been said, “Do you know where the Washington Building is?”

“Chyeah! I’m going there myself; we can walk together!”

“Awesome, thanks.”

“So you’re a freshman? Or a transfer? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before,” Mustache Guy says.

“Yeah,” Derek says, “A freshman.”

“That’s cool, man. You doing any sports? You’ve got serious muscle under that uniform.”

“Um, I play hockey. I got recruited actually.”

“HOLY SHIT DUDE! I’m on the team, too! Welcome, man! Defense, right? Call me Shitty – that’s my team nickname.”

Shitty is off like a shot, jabbering away about the team and how exciting it is that Derek’s there now, already talking about the schedule and fuck those Shattuck guys seriously, bro.

Derek interrupts the flood of information, “Your nickname is Shitty?” Derek asks, “How awful are the guys on the team if that’s your nickname?” he asks, aghast. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“Nah, its chill bro, I go by Shitty actually. My family are a giant bag of racist bigoted assholes and if they weren’t paying for me to go here and for college, I wouldn’t go home at all. But the name they gave me is truly awful. My initials are BS. Get it? It’s a giant fuck you to the jerks who tried to make me as conservative as them. Jokes on them, even the teachers call me Shitty, or Mr. Knight if they’re feeling formal. That might be a defense mechanism on their parts though, since I refuse to acknowledge my actual name.”

Derek is feeling cautiously optimistic about this guy after all that. No one who was that aware about his own family would be an asshole to him on purpose. He has a good feeling about this guy.

“Well then, hi Shitty, I’m Derek. Derek Nurse.”

“Oh hey, you must be Dan’s little brother! Good dude,” Derek smiled – at least people had liked Dan, that would help. “It’ll be weird not having him here for graduation. Nice to meet you. I’m gonna call you Nursey unless you have any objections,” Shitty says.

“Nope, I’m good,” Derek grins, “much better than my last nickname.”

“Let me guess, ‘Big D’,” says Shitty.

“Yup. Not a great amount of creativity in my middle school,” Derek says.

“Well, come on Nursey, don’t want you to be late on the first day! I’ll tell you all about the team on the way.”

Derek smiles to himself as he listens to Shitty talk as they walk towards a cluster of old brick buildings. Even if he doesn’t get close to the other guys on the team right away, it seems like Shitty’s already adopted him.

_X_

He was already regretting answering his phone.

“Nursey. Nursey Nursey Nursey Nursey Nur –”

“Oh my god what do you want, Shitty?!”

“Come play shinny with me and some of the guys! One of the townies’ dad built a rink in the backyard!”

“Alright! I’m in – give me five minutes to finish up this writing assignment.”

“Righteous! See you outside your door!”

_X_

Me: Can you come over?

Shitty: Of course dude

Want me to bring anything?

Something wrong?

Me: anxiety attack

red gatorade

Shitty: oh shit

omw

try to regulate your breathing till I get there

grab Tigger too

_X_

“What am I gonna do when you graduate, Shits?”

“What do you mean, bro? You’re gonna light it up, that’s what you’re gonna do!”

“Shitty…”

“I’m serious, man. You are mad talented on the ice, so you’ll probably be bumped up to second or even first line. Your poem was selected as a freshman for the school’s literary magazine. People are always asking me to bring you places – they want to hang out with you!”

“But you won’t be here. What if they don’t like me as much when you’re not around?”

“Impossible my dude. You’re great all by yourself and you’ll settle in in no time. Anyone who doesn’t like you when I’m not there aren’t smart by default. You’re a popular guy, you’ll have good friends after I graduate, I promise. And I’m always a phone call or text away.”

“Thanks, Shits.”

“Got your back, man. Now. Help me figure out where I’m going to college. Harvard, Yale, Samwell, Princeton, Brown. I need your pro/con skills. So far all I have is not New Jersey.”

“When you’re right you’re right. I’ll grab my fancy pens.”

_X_

“Nursey! Representing Andover on that Taddy Tour! What up, bro?”

Nursey whipped his head around at the shout of his name. There he was – Shitty hadn’t changed one bit. Well. His hair was longer since he didn’t have uniform requirements to meet.

“Heeey! Shitty! Knew I’d run into you eventually. Man, Samwell’s pretty sick.”

He was already planning on enrolling, but having Shitty here sealed the deal. Shitty had done so much to help Nursey feel comfortable at Andover three years ago. Nursey had missed him like crazy when he graduated, but they’d stayed in touch over the next few years. Shitty was always down to chat, but Nursey was really looking forward to hanging out with Shitty again in person.

The last three years at Andover hadn’t been bad – but there was always a presence that was palpably missing, at least to Nursey. Now that he was here, chilling with Shitty again, a weight came off his shoulders. Shitty’s got his back. Always.

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Tony Stark Is An Emotional Man - My Unpopular(?) Take

So, I’m rewatching the MCU - because of course I am - and I just realized something watching The Avengers for the first time in probably 10 years.

While everyone believes Tony is a prick - and don’t get me wrong, he is 60% attitude in a small package - until he saves the damn planet; the statement he gives to Banner about the Hulk saving him is very heartfelt. He opens up about his own condition with the shrapnel, which is a rare moment of him being openly vulnerable - especially in the earlier phase of the MCU. He is being genuine, and he is trying to make Banner see the positives and understand that perhaps, the situation isn’t as bleak as he’s been thinking.

Tony is trying to provide help, to comfort Banner; not for his own gain but because he recognizes himself in Banner, in spite of their very different ways of handling their inner demons, and their wildly differing personalities. Because he knows what it’s like to lose your way and your self worth, and he wants to see Banner regain some sense of himself the same way he has.

It’s nice to see the kind side to Tony, and for him to expose it willingly to help a fellow team mate - and eventually friend - accept himself and his inner struggle. Tony does not get credit enough for the fact that he always did have that side to him, he just didn’t know how to show it. Even his jokes and snarky sarcasm get less “mean spirited” as he evolves, and grows as a person.

I feel like Iron Man 2 coupled with The Avengers (and of course Iron Man 3 added onto that) are a perfect portrayal of how Tony’s more outward sense of caring for people, despite his awkward sense of socializing, was already beginning to shine through the cracks.

To me, Tony Stark is by far the most compelling character because while I am not entirely like him, I recognize so much of myself and my own hardships. It’s never too late to reinvent yourself, and Tony is the perfect metaphor for that. He even directly likens himself to a phoenix in Iron Man 2, although played for laughs at the Stark Expo.

But not only that, later on in the movie when Steve insinuates that Tony is not a hero, that he would never sacrifice himself on behalf of another; that he fights for himself alone, and tells him he's basically nothing without the suit - you can see it's hurting him. Tony never really holds eye contact unless it's worth while; unless it's getting to him and requires his full attention coming from someone he truly trusts, unless it means something. You see him keep his eyes off of everybody in social situations before he knows them or they have earned his respect; you see him avoiding getting in neck deep, avoiding and brushing off comments on his distant persona.

But that insult right there; from the man his father would rave about, that's taking. You see the pain in his eyes, you see the fact that he's being torn open. You see that he's brought right back to who he once was, reliving the guilt of every mistake he ever made. All because of Steve's judgmental, misguided perception of him. Tony hides his true self; hides his suffering, and his internal grappling with his shame and guilt over every problem and death he's directly or indirectly caused. The fact that Steve Rogers - of all people, as the revered Captain America - cannot see through his surface disguise is really getting to him. I believe Tony had assumed Steve would be superhuman, and he's struck by the realization that Steve is no more human than he himself is. He has imperfections, and flaws, and jumps to conclusions.

And the fact that it is Steve, of all people, making these assumptions of him and taking these jabs at him makes it all the worse. You need only watch for Tony keeping eye contact throughout the verbal onslaught to know it's hitting home; and to know that Tony feels, Tony knows this is what people all initially think of him. He had just hoped that somebody as subjectively righteous and morally good as Steve would have the ability to see through the facade. The fact that he doesn't, and that he doesn't hold back on his opinion, is what hits the hardest.

Another point is when Fury informs the remaining team of Coulson's (faked) death. Tony doesn't look at anyone, he sits turned completely away from the conversation. You can see he's close to losing it, and if he were to speak, if he were to look up, were to make any sort of eye contact directly - he would crack. That's one thing I love about RDJ's portrayal of Tony; the fact that he is so terrified of showing his vulnerable side in front of others, even when he is grieving or blaming himself for any mishap. He feels like he has to be the strong one, like he has to keep it together. Not for himself as much as for everyone else - because if the unfeeling, arrogant Iron Man breaks, how are any of the other team mates going to make it?

If Tony of all people reveals he takes it harder than almost anyone else present, how are they going to see him as the same man? I love how it is only later in the MCU, that he exposes this side of himself more willingly and freely - like in Endgame where he mentions how he lost “the kid” while referring to Peter. He not only maintains eye contact with Steve as he admits that, he chokes up. This same theme is prevalent between them in Civil War when Tony asks Steve to lay down his guard and hand over Bucky, “because it’s us” - which is a testament to the fact that Tony has now accepted Steve as a friend and ally, and this betrayal of his hard earned trust is breaking his heart. But this early on, none of this has become a valid option to him yet. So he keeps it inside; refusing to show his true colours.

And in this moment, what does he do when it gets too much? When he's required to speak up, to acknowledge Fury's mention of The Avengers project? He ups and leaves. Because if he speaks; judging by the eyes alone (which is yet another credit to Robert) he's going to tear up. And hence, he walks out to get it under control, to reil himself back in. It’s a habit he throughout the franchise will begin to display less and less; as he learns to be more comfortable with the team as friends, as well as openly displaying his own emotions.

We see another side to this later when Steve approaches Tony alone one on one; and Tony initially attempts to make quips about how Coulson shouldn't have gone alone, how he was an outgunned idiot. Steve cuts straight to the core, and Tony snaps. You see him nearly tear up, you see how upset he truly is deep down and how he was only doing his best to play it off the only way he knows how. But as soon as he is spoken to, is forced to make an assessment, to actually talk about it; to look Steve in the eye and defend himself - that's the exposed vulnerability that is the real Tony Stark.

Behind the snarks, behind the facade, behind the charade of the arrogant, nonchalant prick he’s been trying to make the world see him for. He's as human as he could ever be; and I believe this is also the first time Steve notices that there is more to Tony than he had presumed. He too, had assumed Tony is too wrapped up in his own ego and lavish life resume to care for the smaller man. But here, he sees that Tony feels, Tony sympathizes, and Tony is deeply traumatized by the fact that he - as he feels - allowed this to happen. He sees that Tony believes this is on his conscious.

Tony's glassy eyes and emotional turmoil betray him, and even though he jumps right back to his intellect and brains as a safety net and a defense mechanism - addressing Loki's plan to hit them at home and split them apart - this is the first time Steve is exposed to Tony's determination, ability to assess and deduce the situation, as well as his belief in doing the right thing (another theme seen later in Age of Ultron regarding Tony’s creation of Ultron himself, as well as in Civil War where Tony is adamant that the Sokovia Accords are the right path to take to pay for the critical mistake Ultron turned out to be.) And as they assemble, you're struck with the realization that this has been enough of an eye opener for Steve to realize that there is more to Tony Stark than meets the eye.

And who is first to the tower, leading the charge if not Tony?

And despite his blind faith in his own skill and ability to stall Loki just long enough; there's the epitome of the courage Tony possesses. He knows that without the suit, he has no fighting chance. He knows Loki could snap his neck in the blink of an eye. And still, he never backs off. Indeed, there is an underlying death wish or at the very least a sense of him subconsciously feeling he deserves and is fated a grim deminse - but it does take unprecedented bravery to put yourself in such clear danger.

Tony Stark could be called many things; but a coward is not one of them. Sure, he does have the untested suit on hold, but he did not know 100% it was going to work as planned. He was counting on it, but you know a part of him knew it was a long shot and might not work out in the end. The suit could have been faulty, Loki could have cracked his head open; the cavalry could have been running late. Still, Tony gambles with his life and luckily barely comes out on top.

At last, we have the finale. What can be said about it, except the fact that it shows exactly who Tony truly is? He knows he's going to die - indeed he doesn't - but he is intent on that, he is accepting death and welcoming it. If it helps save the world, if it will keep Pepper and everyone he loves, everyone he knows; everyone alive safe.

Here, the decision from the first Iron Man to actually show us Tony's eyes and face behind the mask is a godsend. Seeing as RDJ is an actor who communicates so much of his emotional range with his eyes only; we are given an easy access to see everything Tony is experiencing flash through them. We see the fear, the pain, the uncertainty; the acceptance of the inevitable. We see his eyes convey the jumbled mass of conflicting emotions speeding through his mind, we see how he finally just relents and gives in to what he thinks is going to be his time of dying. His final moments.

And he has made them worthwhile, he has already achieved what Yinsen begged of him in that cave in Afghanistan - he has made his survival count. He has saved numerous lives, and if his death is what it takes - so be it. Cue the parallel to Endgame. Hell, even Age of Ultron has elements of this as previously mentioned; although that one was on Tony himself, and his irrevocable fear and flaws as a human being. However, here the team sees Tony's will to sacrifice himself firsthand, for the first time; and contrary to Steve's initial assessment that Tony would never put his life on the line for anyone but himself - he does just that.

This is what makes this movie so powerful.

Sure, it builds upon every team member’s arc; even Fury's. But it is Tony who proves himself above all; who shows the team what we the audience already knew. That he is a hero, that our past does not define us. That Tony Stark feels, that he knows right from wrong although he's still stumbling blind half the time - just like the rest of us. And it proves to Steve - to the entire team - that he is not merely the selfish, arrogant asshole only sticking up for himself. He is a man, albeit a flawed one, who cares deeply. Who feels, who mourns, who appreciates life and the people around him; and who is - behind the barrier he's placed between himself and everyone else to avoid getting hurt - extremely insecure. He is fearful, apprehensive, sensitive, and well aware of his shortcomings.

And Tony Stark is, first and foremost, a good man.

Repost from my previous blog.

[raguna-blade]

So carrying on the shared symbol thing with persona games, here’s a fun one that probably needs more time in the oven but hey, can come back later with later revelations

So, here’s one that technically shows up in the first game but doesn’t really become a thing until (I am assuming, i still need to actually play the first few and finish most of them but whatever) Persona 3

Evokers! Also known as guns. Specifically hand guns, but I think that’s the least important detail when one of the big symbols of your game is shooting yourself in the head to summon mythic figures.

So Evokers. In game, and as per the wiki, they are supposed to function by more or less...making you face mortality and the fact that you’re going to die for real.

By simulating shooting yourself in the face. It’s a good thing that the Kirijo group already got their mad science comeuppance because man, that’s kinda...

But hey, the logic and rules at play here do seem to be consistent across the games. To Summon a persona requires, apparently, a huge amount of stress and or trauma to activate properly, and the Evokers are a fast way to do that that isn’t, comparatively anyway, super duper traumatic. It’s free artificial trauma for everyone that is comparatively less permanent.

Which...Well I don’t believe that for a second considering SEES is one big trauma center. I don’t think there is a single person in that group who is trauma free really. Nobody is free of it, even the dog.

I mean maybe the protag, but they come off as super depressed to me.

But for the moment let’s accept that as true. If i’m wrong i’m wrong, but I think i’m right and i want to get to the juicy stuff.

So given evokers function by applying trauma directly to the soul to summon yon persona, I think it’s obvious then what guns are SUPPOSED to represent right?

Trauma. But not just any kind of trauma no. Remember, Evokers are supposed to basically be going Hey Trauma But For A REASON. To Summon a Persona. A persona which is used to protect yourself from something (Shadows technically, but A persona is a mask used to face life’s struggles as the games are so fond of reminding us.)

So, Guns are Trauma Turned Towards Protecting Yourself from...something. My understanding of psych stuff is you know, layman, but basically it’s an active self defense mechanism. Or at least turning that pain on outside hurty things.

So if this holds true as a consistent and shared symbol going forward, we should expect that everyone who uses a gun is both

A: Traumatized in some manner.

2: Actively Defending themselves possibly by literally using that trauma against things.

Which i’m sure is totally a healthy thing to be doing. Has to be. Can’t not be right?

I can see no possible way in which using your trauma like a club against the world can possibly backfire on you.

SO!

Who uses guns in the series going forward.

In Persona 4, We have two for sure, maybe a third. That is Naoto, Adachi, and Maybe Dojima (I assume he HAS a gun, but I don’t think he’s ever shown using it. I’m going to assume for the moment this is true as fits the analysis, cause it fits well enough, but if he actually pulls it out ehh)

Persona 5 has uh...literally all of the phantom thieves. Technically not morganna, but if you think a slingshot isn’t basically a fire arm, well sure technically but also you can absolutely kill someone with a slingshot don’t get it twisted. But yeah, all of the phantom thieves and ESPECIALLY Akechi, since he uses a real one. Well, sans Futaba, but we’ll get there.

And do these individuals demonstrate being both traumatized AND using that as some kind of defense mechanism...?

yeh.

So start with P4. Now compare the other persona users in 3-5, the group in 4 is actually really well adjusted. Like yeah, you have some elements of stress and being an outcast and elements of weird harrowing stuff happening to them sure. I mean if nothing else they’re in the middle of a murder mystery with a serial killer in town, that’s stressful for anyone, let alone the weird supernatural shit on top of it, and then there’s the more mundane stressors.

But...Uh...Largely, they’re handling it pretty well actually. Protag was pretty alright moving to town and seems to get along with people well. Yosuke had the dislike of being in town but he had friends, he wasn’t really hated or anything. Chie is pretty alright, Yukiko is stressed but not exactly freaking out, Kanji has some shame going on however you want to frame that i’m told it reads different for japanese audiences though it’s not mutually exclusive, Teddie DID in fact have an existential crisis but that’s not really the same thing i think, Rise is hella stressed, and then there’s naoto who uh.

Kid’s got some problems. They’re also the only one who uses a gun So Hey First stop.

So depending on how you want to read it, Naoto is either dealing with some trans issues or just aggressive and unending misogyny given their profession. Personally while i can see the naoto is trans reading, the game doesn’t explicitly come out with that as the issue, while it DOES with the misogyny so I’m going with that. If you do think it’s more that than what i’m going with, you can easily sub it in I think since from what i’ve heard on the subject suggests it very much CAN be traumatizing dealing with that in society....And also because it’d still feed back into the misogyny thing so it comes back to that anyway.

Regardless. This is a thorny enough issue really, so i’ll strive to not fuck up but please forgive me if I do cause it’s not intentional.

What do we see with Naoto? They’re a genuinely skilled, talented and experienced detective, and at a really young age. Their skills are undeniable really, and they’ve got acclaim and real accomplishments under their belt.

They are also, apparently, belittled constantly because they’re read as female and that is apparently far far more important than their skill. Because of that they’re belittled, talked down to and dismissed purely because of that.

And Naoto is fucking tired of it. So much so that they do everything in their power to present as male and believe they should straight up just...cut out whatever lady aspects are there and just go full dude.

Which here you get two really radically(?) different readings depending on if you fall on the Naoto is Trans and so fucking tired of the misogyny vs Naoto Is fucking Tired of the misogyny and so damn desperate.

In case A, Naoto genuinely believes they’re a dude, and genuinely believes duding it up will solve their problem....But they’re rejecting that part of themselves actively, and refusing to acknowledge it at all. That’s a problem for him, if only because actively rejecting a part of yourself is by no means a healthy thing, especially when it keeps getting brought up constantly in your line of work (I can only imagine how much this would suck to be dismissed because people think you’re a girl when you’re a guy but also you’re denying that you’re a guy and recognize that even if you were outwardly a guy they would STILL dismiss you as a girl even though you’re not. Just typing that out is...yech.)

In Case B, you have a still tired of the dismissal, but also they think they radically need to change their body and gender just to get anywhere in the world which is egregiously fucked up because you know. She’s good at her job! Why should she HAVE to be a dude to get anything done? It’s fucked up.

But they’re a gunman! So...i mean i guess it’s obvious what the trauma at play here is, it’s gender related regardless of how you slice it and how is it used...? Naoto disguises (or “disguises”) themselves as a guy, actively using the thing that they’re being traumatized by to fight back against the world in some way.

I mean as thorny as the issue is in the reading it, the outcome is at least simple enough under the shared symbols thing.

Ok, but what about Adachi...? Welllllllllllllllllll

Adachi is definitely traumatized I think but it's not in the kind of way that's sharp and specific. I'm cribbing a bit off of [https://youtu.be/8qG8Mqe_1v8] with their description of how Adachi reacts to the Scoobies calling him out.

To summarize and or paraphrase, it's not that there's a specific thing that broke Adachi down. It's that he's trapped in a job he hates, or at least without the possibility of improvement. He's shoved in a backwater town when he's a city boy. He feels ignored, he doesn't like the people around him very much, he's got basically no money, he has no significant other, he has to just keep going and existing day in and day out and it's...

God it's so fucking soul killing.

It's not like his childhood was better apparently, in that it basically was a prelude to adult hood but also unlike then, he didn't have the supposed promise of do well in school and get cool shit that was summarily broken.

So what's a guy who's made to feel worthless, made to feel like a nobody, made to feel utterly disenfranchised, and has actual evidence to support some of this (keep in mind the reason he got reassigned did involve him screwing up somehow, though I don't think it's explained what or how) going to react when given the ability to act out with no consequences, or seemingly?

Well, I imagine that you would see them do some fucked up shit really. We've seen people in real life do things just as bad if not worse, and the exact way he wields his trauma is well...sadly understandable to anyone.

Though another interesting shared thing, which I neglected earlier and MAY share into the Gun Imagery is a sense of isolation. Which...Actually. Actually may track. Evokers are used by well...ritualistically killing yourself, which is for all the harm it throws out to everyone connected to you, is also a very solitary act. And in both cases here, the characters are in a very real way killing their true selves in order to deal with the world (In adachis case by presenting a fake version of himself and in Naoto's case by actively rejecting a part of themselves however you want to spin that one)

This does raise a question of the SEES gang having elements of isolation which off hand I want to say yes that's the case across the board, and only by coming together do they win but I also legitimately cannot recall how it plays out beyond the minimal We're The Only Ones Capable of Dealing With This thing which isn't quite the same thing. The ritualized killing yourself still stands so that's still in play really, and i'll keep an eye on it going forward.

I should probably ALSO keep an eye on the uh...Suicide aspects. Even looking back at Naoto and Adachi they have elements of it, although more figurative than literal. Both very much have a life is over thing related to their careers and where they end up when first introduced, so it's not an unreasonable call though the strict actual read of suicide suicide is...Hmmm...

Well I suppose Adachi's chunk of the world is accessed through the noose room if I recall, so that might not be quite as empty a connection, while Naoto's secret lab thing may not be quite as on the nose it does focus on a destruction of self in some way given the way a lot of those secret labs go about doing things in those shows.

That is, there's generally one of two outcomes. Either the Evil Org creates a mindless/corrupted pawn to use whatever their powers/abilities are for the organization (see every monster of the week) OR they create a hero/renegade warrior that uses those very same powers they were imbued with against them....Which suddenly makes me wonder if the the ambiguity of if Naoto's transness vs woman in male spaces thing is intentional in regards to how to read that section. If so that's actually clever as hell because then either way you want to read it the literal what's going on with their shadow (body modification either to become their true self and the rejection of that or to be able to actually be respected for their work and the implied destruction of self that's going on there) it reads as this is bad so...Kudos.

Anyway, off topic, maybe another day.

All this said, this leads to Dojima who SHOULD have a gun and probably does, but...never uses it that I can recall, not once. Doesn't even show up with a gun if memory serves.

It's not that he's not traumatized. He most definitely does have some shit kicking around what with the dead wife, disconnect from his daughter and all that, but he never really...weaponizes it does he? He never turns it on others, never uses it to isolate, none of that. Which is interesting because as a Cop I think we can safely say he SHOULD have a gun of some flavor right? That does seem to be the vibe, and yet he doesn't freak out. The reason why is heartfully straightforward though.

Nanako. He can't exactly revel in his hurt and lash out at folks with it. Like yes, he's not winning parent of the year at the start of the game by a long shot, but frankly emotionally distant and neglectful after your wife died but still trying (failing but trying, critically, the trying) is not the worst spot to be in, no way. And he takes to reorienting things quite well once he get's the additional stability in his life Yu and (at least in part) Adachi.

Which, really, is what also ended up saving the SEES members. Not Yu, but the fact that they managed to form genuine connections with each other that let them get past the hurt and not be taken up and swallowed by it. It's why Adachi ended up going the way he did because he really DIDN'T forge those connections, and because of the whole everything he couldn't really get out of that loop and fix himself up.

I mean Izanami's game basically threw two whole ass people into the deep end of their problems but this ain't about her right now.

So ok, that's the group from 4 and right now this is feeling pretty consistent.

So let's get to the group that has literally every party member carrying with The Phantom Thieves.

So...again, to bring it back, Guns symbolically here are weaponized trauma right? They're using that to strike back against what's threatening you, often by using it against them.

Now, there are variances with the phantom thieves for sure, and the most relevant and DIRECT one is that all of them, every last one, is an outcast of some flavor from the social norms, and this has screwed with them something fierce. Now it's not as apparent or visible in all cases, but I'll get into specifics as we go down the list, but I want to say this at the top because it fundamentally comes down to Because Of this outcast status, this particular form of trauma, they became the Phantom Thieves, and in doing so struck back against the society that hurt them, with the intent to inspire those like them.

Well not Akechi, but his specific issues at least nominally align I guess.

Anyway. I won't go into as much detail here, but I feel it's worth pointing out that their Phantom Thieves Personas are probably the cleanest way to point out how they go about weaponizing their various more personalized traumas to protect themselves and fight back.

Joker: Accused of a crime he didn't commit, sent to a city away from his family and friends, said to be a violent felon...Like it's not exactly brought up in the game in part because he's a silent protag but Joker absolutely had his life ruined. Like full stop, his world fell apart over night, not because he did something wrong but because he tried to do the right thing. And then Kamoshida happened which basically took boyo from being merely fucked over to losing what little he had left (where what he had left was a friend of a friend of his folks taking him in and shoving him in a drafty attic)

And then from said trauma he created the well...Joker Persona. Someone who emphatically is a criminal, the kind of guy who is actually pretty ominous when you consider the knife,gun and dark outfit combo making him look like some kind of assassin. That he helps people is probably a small miracle really.

But by the same token, it's blatantly clear the persona that he pretends at school is not his true self either. He has to hide himself, make himself look small and innocent and as unthreatening as humanly possible. He's not, by any means but...

Morgana: Imagine you wake up one day and you remember maybe your name, a few random bits of information, and nothing else except that you were (probably) a human and now decidedly are not. That's...Rough man. It's just rough to deal with and it's awful, and then you just keep getting hit with that fact over and over and over again. Mona's pretty straightforward, but it tracks that they would make themselves out to be the cool collected sort that they do (even though they botch it nigh constantly). If you can't remember anything about yourself, make yourself out to be the coolest smartest most talented type right?

Ryuji: He literally had an authority figure not only mock his family situation, he straight up broke his leg, killed his dream of running track, ostracized him from his friends and peers, put more pressure on his mom. He was reduced to a thug and his response to that was, apparently, let me be a (diet) delinquent then. It's not like he did anything bad really but he certainly stopped giving any kind of a shit to the world. His attitude got turned up for sure. This got more emphasized with the Actual Skull persona as a phantom thief, where he's far more intimidating, outright hostile and violent (A bat and a shotgun? yee)

Ann: I mean there's the obvious sexual assault, her friend attempting suicide, etc, but i've seen it pointed out that a good chunk of Ann's problems are also based in the fact that she's white in japan, so basically she straight up has to deal with racism too. It's why she's considered the sexy one for example (girls like her are easy you understand) so it's...well. How the game handles (or doesn't) that aside, the persona she ends up developing first off a very blithe sort of vibe to how the world views her (seen in her confidant arc) before ultimately gravitating to having more active control over her image and consciously choosing how the world will view her instead of them making the choice themselves.

Yusuke: Abusive parents (which is damn near a theme with the phantom thieves. Families being broken or Abusive which is hm) who actively stole his work, and he knew about it. It very clearly messes with his art and his relationship to this thing that he loves, and even after knowing how his adoptive dad was abusing him and other students and making a mockery of art...To which he actively throws himself into Art EVEN HARDER than before, as a dedicated fuck you on the subject. Actually straightforward, which is perhaps weird for Yusuke, but hey they can't all require deeper reading.

Makoto: Makoto's deal is a bit more complicated but boils down to She's tired of having all these expectations pushed onto her and dictating the exact kind of person she should be. Always the good girl, always kind and elegant, soft spoken, I mean she knows aikido and is supposed to be good with it. Which is why she turns that around is basically Lord Humongous, albeit less jacked dude in bondage gear and more Badass Violence Biker. Just let it all out and take no shit from anyone ever. Again straightforward enough.

Futaba: Now...Here's a weird one to say because it's...She doesn't have a gun. I mean we could probably make a fair enough statement, if an absolutely buckwild one, that she does not at this point have a trauma. Or at least, not one that is weaponized. Because well...Her issues were very self focused. She thought her mom killed herself because of her, and that almost made her (futaba) kill herself. That's not a great place to be, but it's not like she ever takes her dead mom issues out on the world. She doesn't even really take her extreme social issues out on the world. If anything she pretty much...Has them and kind of deals with them quietly.

I suppose you could say that her weapon of choice is the computer. It's no gun, obviously, but unlike everyone else up til this point she also doesn't really...hide herself. There's no fake persona (in the not summoned beings of myth and story) that she presents to the world. She's decisively genuine about everything, and pretty much the only difference between her and her Oracle persona is neat goggles yeah? Which makes her an interesting pair with Maruki who we'll get to later as another gun not haver.

Haru: Kind of a complicated one, though also kinda straightforward. She's ostracized from her father and finds the abuse that he's laying down on the people who work for them abhorent, which is bad enough, that kind of realization that your life is built on the suffering of others. There's also the uh...It's not strictly this because arranged marriages are very much business affairs more than romance, but the way it's portrayed definitely reads as her dad selling her which is you know. Not...ideal, though her specific reservations there seemed less the arranged marriage (it's business she get's it) but more the dude was an creep and also again the abuse. The family motto being betray anyone to get ahead (paraphrased to hell and back) also suggests some not so great things really, though her bond with her dad did seem to be genuinely strong, which is why her reaction is tada heroine of justice.

Which, I just realized this and I gotta point it out, actually lines up MARVELOUSLY with Morgana and Zorro. Wealthy Individual who see's the crimes and evil deeds of the world and decides to mask up and fight the crime they cannot contest with their unmasked face, warring against the system that enriched them at presumable cost to themselves because it's the right thing to do? Beautiful. Probably should look into that more. But yeah.

Sumire: I mean...I mean she basically straight up says I think I was second best to my sister in everyway and then I got her killed and her reaction to that was Let Me Be My Sister and well...yeah that's exactly how she dealt with her trauma, albeit with a little bit of magic help. And Perhaps most notably, this is almost the most explicit demonstration of Evoker Gun Antics because She Creates a Persona (“Kasumi”) To Protect Herself (alldattrauma.exe) by using that trauma (dead sister) against the world (Literally everyone else) it's...Actually a really clean example I think?

Akechi: Last but not least of the gun havers, Akechi who uh...Outcast because of family reasons (single mom, Dad's a creep) in a way that just...We don't actually ever get the details I don't think, but the way he reacts to it I think makes it clear that his whole life was basically a string of kick this kid while he's down, keep him outside the system, and of course the persona he ends up creating, both of them, end up being one the charming charismatic prince who seeks justice and a bloodthirsty lunatic, neither of which accurately reflect his true self I don't think. Aspects of it sure, but not completely. If pressed, I would say that the Akechi we see in the Third Semester is probably the closest even though he's probably a dream Akechi, being someone who does have a distinct judgement for what is right and wrong but also, critically, can and will shoot you in the face cackling as his plans come together. Rather like Joker actually, which is appropriate given their mirrored trickster roles, and the general shape of their outcomes (both get their smuggery on when things go to plan)

Anyway, the way he reacts to being forced to live an outcast is as mentioned, let me get back into that system, let me be part of it and all that.

And last but not least

Maruki: Now...He doesn't have a gun. It doesn't quite match up with the symbol thing which I think at this point is established enough that it's probably some kind of thing, but what I find interesting is that...he fits MOST of the criteria right? Definitely has a trauma that shaped how he reacted to the world and yet, it's not weaponized right? It doesn't well...evoke a different persona from him. It's not weaponized to protect him and that seems odd right? He ends up with a Palace right?

Sure. But I want to go back to what i'm proposing the Evokers Represent.

Trauma, A Destruction of the Self (Suicide literal or figurative), Isolation, and weaponizing your trauma to protect against the world...And he only actually tracks to the Trauma part of that. He IS hurt for sure, no question. He is fighting back against the world in his own way for sure, what with Azathoth and his mind whammy, and I would say that the nature of it is directing how he's doing things (no more pain for anyone yeah sure)

But where it falls apart, and actually DOES line up with the guns as metaphor for those things mentioned, is that he doesn't really Isolate. He doesn't present a fake self to protect himself. He doesn't destroy an aspect of himself to protect himself. No, he's extremely upfront that “No this is bullshit, it should change, fuck this noise, I'll do what I can with what I can and oh hey godlike power now I can help everyone”

Which cool, except that apparently in the Stay in Maruki's world ending he kinda fades into the background, which suggests the self destruction but no, not even then really. Like I know I made a bit of meta about him obscuring himself and kinda fading away as a person, but I don't think it's strictly meant to be get rid of yourself so much focus on the message and not the messenger. You can throw your mask away. No more pretending. You don't have to hurt anymore. As the song goes.

And it's worth pointing out that, in comparison to literally everyone else on this list, Maruki is unambiguously a healthier person mentally by a long shot. Shady antics with Sumire aside, He genuinely wants to help people, he want's them to be better the right way ideally but if he had the means to do it of course he'd just hot delete those deeply traumatic and life shattering pains that they couldn't overcome. Then he does get that ability. And Then he does do that.

Anyway, the ramblings on long enough, and I kinda feel i'm drifting, but yeah. Think this is another symbol that tracks (I probably wanna check out Persona Q and Q2, but what I know on those does have it break down a bit but they're also not mainline games so I'm not sure how to square that so....)

[psychovigilantewrites]

Chapter 12- The Dark King

Word Count: 10, 700

Ao3

TW: Mentions of rape, abuse, violence

A/N: Thank you guys for your kind comments and support so far! I really love the enthusiasm and your responses! 

I also wanted to share these amazing fanart!! 

by @nessieusagi​ 

by @milas-imaginarium​

I think they’re so lovely and it makes me so happy seeing all of this!

Masterlist

Ko-Fi

The first thing you felt when you woke up the next morning was the burning soreness between your thighs.

You winced when you reached down to touch your tender folds. Your labia minora was slightly swollen, and you felt something sticky. You withdrew your hand to see dark red oxidized blood.

You got up from bed, flinching as you walked to your bathroom to wash up. After a quick shower, you head out but paused when you caught your own reflection in the mirror. There were bruises on your waist and your hips, a double crescent shaped marking around your left nipple- you hadn’t even realise he bit you there in the heat. Your eyes then darted towards your neck, taking in the dark spots that had formed on the surface of your skin.

“Fucking hell,” you muttered.

You were a fucking mess. Anyone who saw you would immediately know what you were up to the night before. Even washed and clean, you could make out your slightly swollen lips.

You reached for your makeup bag and started covering up the visible remains of the assault you welcomed- before pausing in realisation.

Mother was quiet. She hadn’t made a single comment about how dirty you were.

And you didn’t feel dirty either.

You saw your own lips quirk up in a smirk as you craned your head to expose your neck even more to dab on concealer. You had just finished getting dressed when you heard a knock on your door.

“ Hey, you up?” you heard Dick’s muffled voice from outside.

You didn’t bother to reply, but went to open the door for him.

You stared at him, as he stared at you.

“You look like shit,” you snickered, then stepped aside to allow him inside.

His eyes were red and puffy, with dark circles underneath them. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days and the fact that his complexion was gray and pale added on to the “looks like death” look.

“I feel like shit,” he groaned. You sat on the chair near your desk as he helped himself to your bed.

“Are you okay?” he frowned in concern.

“I’m fine. Why?”

“You’re walking funny,” he narrowed his eyes at you.

Shit.

You had tried to walk as normally as you could, but you were naive to think that you could have fooled Dick.

“Oh!” you feigned realisation, “My foot hurts a bit. I think I twisted it yesterday when I ran up the stairs.”

Fuck.

Another blunder.

It wasn’t a half truth, it was a straight up lie, and you knew how good Dick was at detecting lies. Judging from the tightening of his lips and the scrutinizing pause, he saw straight through you. You remained silent for a few moments. Then-

“So, Bruce told you, right?” Dick changed the subject, “How did you take it?”

You relaxed.

“I didn’t know him,” you reminded, “So it was more like a surprise to me, you know? I didn’t think it was possible. Then everything just made sense. Like, mind blowingly. The shit he said to me, the familiarity with the gadgets and my uniform, the kidnapping.”

“It killed him, you know?” Dick brought up, “Bruce, I mean. When he saw those bruises Red Hood- no, Jason- left on you. He probably didn’t show much, but Alfred called and told me how badly he took it.”

Suddenly, you were hyper aware of the hickies you currently had hidden on your neck, as if they were burning into your skin.

“Well, that was Todd’s plan, I suppose,” you shrugged. It still felt weird to talk about him in the context of the present.

“It worked,” Dick nodded, “Bruce was messed up. You’re his daughter after all.”

You didn’t know how to respond to his sad smile, so you changed the subject.

“So did you yell at him?” you smirked, “For keeping it a secret for so long?”

“Yell at him? I punched him,” he revealed.

“In the face?” you gasped.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he muttered, looking away.

“How long will you be staying?” you asked.

“I’m taking a week off work. If nothing by then, I’ll go back, but will continue to drop by as much as I can.”

“Anything last night?” you questioned.

“No,” he sighed, “We tried to look for people to interrogate, but it wasn’t our luck. We’ll try again. We’ve been checking out Bruce’s safehouses as well since he never removed Jason’s security clearance so he could be using one of them. So far nothing, though.”

You felt like a dark mass inside of you was eating you up, drowning you in guilt and shame.

While they were out desperately looking for Jason the night before, you knew exactly where he was and who he was doing.

“You’ll find him eventually,” you offered, “And when this stupid suspension is over, I’ll be there to help as well.”

“Yeah,” he hummed, “Jason… I want to help him. Save him. He’s angry, and you know what? I get it. I get why he’s pissed.”

So Dick got it?

He got that it was your fucking fault? That you were Jason’s replacement?

He got why Jason fucking hated you?

Dick must have noticed the change in your expression, because he quickly added, “I meant Bruce. How Bruce let Joker go.”

“Yeah, I got that,” you recovered, “It’s fine.”

“Sure, Bruce beat Joker up and all that, but I felt that Jason was always the type to think that the ends justify the means. He valued the intentions more than the action itself-”

“I said it’s fine, Dick,” you cut him off.

“And of course it does not in any way justify what he did to you-”

“Dick,” you grit, “It’s fine.”

He looked at you warily.

Or was it pity?

You didn’t need or want his fucking pity.

“Anyway,” he got up, “Breakfast?”

“Sure,” you followed suit, willing yourself to not grimace at the shooting pain between your thighs that you had forgotten about.

The two of you made your way downstairs to have breakfast in the dining room, table already set by Alfred.

“Bruce?” you asked Dick, wondering where your father was.

“He’s been in the cave the whole night,” Dick frowned as he took a seat across from you, “Hadn’t slept a wink.”

“I see,” you acknowledged, while you piled your plate with bacon and eggs.

“So,” Dick started with his mouth full, “Where did you go last night?”

“Did Alfred tell you I went out?” you narrowed your eyes.

“Mhmm.”

You immediately started to get more cautious.

“I went to see someone,” you casually told him, trying your best to lower your heartbeat.

“Oh, was it that guy you were seeing?”

“Yup.”

“You never told me his name.”

You swallowed.

“Carter.”

“Carter?” he snickered.

“What’s wrong with Carter?” you feigned a defensive stance.

“Nothing wrong,” he tried to stifle his laughter, “So is Carter the reason why you’re walking funny?”

You did not expect that.

You were going to gasp in shock, but you had food in your mouth, so you ended up choking on it and going into a coughing fit.

“Dick!” you hacked violently, eyes streaming with tears.

“What?” he guffawed, “Oh, God. Are you okay?”

“Why would you say that?” you reached for the glass of juice.

“I need to know whether I gotta have a stern talking with some guy,” he laughed, “It was an honest question! Come on, I’m your brother.”

“Even more reason not to discuss these things!” you grimaced.

“Hey, if you’re old enough to do it, you’re old enough to talk about it,” he said smugly.

“It’s none of your business,” you protested, blushing furiously.

But the universe was a bitch.

Against all your luck, your phone that you had set on the table dinged.

You looked at Dick, and he looked at you, mischief glinting in his eyes.

You had been Robin for a long time, and while your reflexes were good, it still wasn’t as good as Dick’s.

Before you could reach for your phone, Dick had lunged for it, snatching it away mere moments before you could react.

“Dick, give it back!” you panicked, jumping across the table to catch swipe it back, causing a commotion.

He stood up tall, keeping the phone out of your reach.

“Oooh, Sexy Hunk From Library, huh?” he read out the notification on your lock screen. You put in a mental reminder to change your settings later.

“Thought of my proposal?” he read out loud, skipping away from you.

Fuck.

If Jason sent anything else, he’d expose himself.

“Proposal?” Dick continued, “What proposal? Did he ask you to marry him?”

You could tackle him. You couldn’t beat Dick but you could perhaps make him drop your phone.

“Or,” he gasped, “Is he into BDSM? Fifty Shades of Grey stuff? He’s getting you to sign a contract, isn’t-”

“How about instead of distracting yourself and using humor as a coping mechanism for your obvious grief and anger, you come to the terms and accept the fact that it was your fucking little brother who kidnapped and sexually assaulted me?” you spat with venom.

You saw the moment Dick registered your words, the way his smile fell, his teasing eyes darkened, his jaw clench and his back stiffened.

Dick had never looked at you the way he did then, and suddenly you felt small in his presence, the way Batman had always made you shrink away from his excessive aura of authority that he projected while he scrutinized you.

You felt like a dark veil covered the sun, and wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole as he looked at you with dark eyes.

“Dick-”

“You’re right,” he grit, “Thanks for the slap in the face.”

“I’m sorry-” you tried.

“Clean up the mess you made,” he cut you off before leaving you alone with spilled juice and bacon bits on the floor.

You were never the clingy type.

You never really missed anyone because you never had anyone to miss. The maids and nannies in your childhood home rotated frequently so that you couldn’t get attached to them. Looking back, you were sure your parents did it on purpose.

It was only when you started giving full trust to your new family that you knew how it felt to miss someone.

And it had always been Dick, since you had gotten close to him and he wasn’t around much. You always had a good relationship with him, and he never once got angry at you or looked at you the way he did.

And now, it was Dick you had hurt.

But frankly, you didn’t care.

Because he deserved it.

***

It wasn’t like Jason was hoping for you to agree, but it was part of his plan so he couldn’t help but hope.

At least, that’s what he was telling himself.

He was sitting at his dining table- the fact that he owned a dining table sort of made him pleased with himself- cleaning his guns.

It took you almost an hour before you finally replied his text.

When Jason heard the ding, he looked to his screen to read the notification.

I’m still thinking.

He frowned, then put his gun down. He wiped his hand stained with grease and gunpowder residue on his bare chest, leaving a trail of gray on the surface of his skin before picking up his phone to reply.

Think faster. he simply sent.

He saw that you immediately started typing back.

These things take planning, Jason. I need to make sure no one can identify me if I were to go out with you. It’s not the matter of whether or not I can decide, it’s the matter of whether or not I’m capable of eluding Batman once he sees a surveillance footage of me with you.

Jason smirked. Evidently, you were agitated.

He liked that.

He liked agitating you.

You’re a smart girl. You can figure it out. he replied and went back to cleaning his weapons when you didn’t text him back.

Two hours later, his phone dinged again.

Fine. Where do we meet?

Jason smiled widely at his success.

Meet me at 7th Dillon Avenue, Coventry. I’ll be in the alley between the old tailor shop and a thrift store. 11pm sharp.

Noted.

Oh, and babygirl? he sent again.

What?

Put on that lip gloss you always wear. he replied with a kissing emoji he knew would get under your skin.

***

I don’t exist for him.

I don’t care what he thinks.

I don’t want to please him.

You repeated to yourself again and again as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, the tube of clear lipgloss you always wore held tight in your shaking fist.

After knowing he wanted you to wear it, you were suddenly torn between putting it on or not. You didn’t think something as stupid and simple as that could drive you up the wall.

You were frowning at yourself, at how idiotic you were being.

You were already ready, wearing a tight black suit made from Kevlar thread underneath black armor, your hair out of your face, and steel toed combat boots on complete with black leather gloves you usually wore during winter. The only weapons you were bringing were a pair of escrima sticks strapped to your back, your grappling gun strapped to your upper thigh, and a small knife strapped below it. Your belt only had smoke bombs. You were ready to leave, except for the lipgloss.

You groaned, and smacked it on anyway, hating yourself silently for listening to him.

You left your phone in your room, because you knew that Bruce could track your movements with it and deactivating your GPS and whatever bug he used would be more suspicious.

You managed to sneak past Alfred and head to the garage, thankful that both Bruce and Dick were already out, and chose the most normal looking motorcycle available and slapping black duct tape on the number plate to cover it up.

You thought about how your core would just sting while riding a motorcycle. The pain between your legs had lessened, but it was still sore enough to make your movements odd and stiff.

You left the manor with your heart beat racing, thinking of how you were betraying the man who took you in and loved you.

The man whom you called your father.

The streets in Coventry were dark and empty at that time. The only shops that were open were a couple of empty dodgy bars and convenience stores. You and Batman sometimes would patrol the area because it was such a perfect place for crime to happen. For some reason, it was so empty that even criminals hardly ever targeted anyone in the area save a few residents.

You hurriedly zoomed into the alley that Jason had told you. Both the tailor shop and thrift store were closed. You immediately saw him leaning against a black, sleek classic car, helmet resting on the hood. It was your first time seeing him as Red Hood after discovering his identity.

And the image ignited a fire in your belly.

You parked next to him and switched your engine off, taking off your own black motorcycle helmet.

You walked towards him and stopped a few feet away, arms crossed.

He looked at you, up and down. Then-

“Very homemade. I like it. Black suits you better,” he drawled. “You’re packing light tonight.”

“I had to be careful,” you reminded him, “I couldn’t take much weapons. He would have noticed.”

“I didn’t know you used those,” he nodded at the escrima sticks on your back.

“Dick taught me how to use them,” you explained, “My fighting style is too rigid- Bruce would recognize it if he saw me fight next to you. I’m not as familiar with the escrima sticks, so I haven’t developed a style yet. It could throw him off- hopefully.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, and started walking towards you. You refused to budge. He came close to you and grabbed you by the hips, pulling you close against his chest.

Your breath hitched, but you willed yourself to not show any sort of reaction.

“And this?” he breathed, hands snaking up your waist, rubbing the material up and down, “Kevlar armor?”

“Zylon,” you mumbled, ignoring the growing heat between your legs, “It’s six times stronger than Kevlar.”

“And he wouldn’t notice this go missing?”

“It’s stored away,” you huffed, “It’s more like a bulletproof vest rather than a suit. He wouldn’t miss it. Not the way he would miss the tech he used on the Robin suit.”

“Impressive,” he whispered, his warm breath fanning your face. He started caressing your cheek gently. It could have been a romantic gesture, but for some reason you thought that it was more threatening. “You’re even wearing contacts to change the color of your eyes. See? I knew you were smart”

“That’s a given,” you scoffed, looking sideways. Anywhere to avoid his eyes, though he was wearing a red domino mask with white lens. “Why do you even wear a mask if you already have a helmet?”

“Why did you wear your lipgloss when you had no obligation to listen to me?” he smirked, his thumb pressed on your shiny lips.

You slapped his hand away and looked at him in defiance as you put on a black bandana over your nose and mouth, tying it behind your head to give you a sense of protected identity.

He chuckled, and let you go.

“This is our rendezvous point. If anything happens, we meet back here. Now hop in,” he walked towards his car.

“Why can’t I take my own vehicle?” you demanded.

“Because I want you next to me,” he grinned, and put on his helmet. The minute it rested on his head, you saw it activate, the white glowing eyes switched on and you heard the very soft sound of his electronic breaths.

You frowned.

It was state of the art tech. You knew it must have had additional features like night vision and zoom lenses, not unlike the one you owned. You wondered where or how he had procured it.

“If that’s your only reason, then I’m taking my bike,” you defied.

He was already going to enter the driver’s seat when he stopped midway. He turned to look at you, and for some reason, it made you shudder.

In a flash, he was already behind you, taking your arms to incapacitate you and slammed your front onto the hood of his car.

He was unbelievably fast- you couldn’t believe that they were human reflexes. It must have been a result of the Lazarus Pit that Bruce briefed you on.

He bent over you, a hand in your hair forcing your head down against the warm car.

“Don’t get too cocky, baby girl,” he cautioned, “I still don’t trust you enough.”

You had to admit that the vulnerable position you were in sort of made your pussy clench.

“Fine,” you conceded, “I’ll go with you.”

You felt the pressure disappear and heard the car door slam. You grumbled and rubbed your cheek, before following suit.

Just because you knew it was Jason, you had let your guard down. You forgot how unstable he actually was. You made a mental reminder to be more cautious of his mood bursts.

You slammed the door shut. The interior of the car looked just as sleek as the exterior, with black leather seats- the passenger and driver’s seat were joined together- and an old school cassette player with nothing playing. The car was spacious and looked like a collector’s car. Again, you were left to wonder where he got it.

“Where are we going?” you asked, looking out the window, trying to avoid how sexy his arms looked when he gripped the steering wheel.

How could arms even be sexy?

“We’re heading to iClub,” he stated.

“On Verne Avenue? The one owned by the Ibenescus’?” you frowned, “They still a problem for you?”

“Big operation. Proud family,” he huffed, “International business. Yes, they’re a problem. They’ve been trying to hide it from me, but my men say they’re still active.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

You felt uneasy.

“Just have a little talk with Victor,” he shrugged, “He’s in charge of the operations now after the Patru Fatri, and the cousins. He’s more distant from the main family, but an Ibenescu nonetheless.”

“Well, I hope the club doesn’t check IDs,” you mumbled jokingly to yourself.

To your surprise, you heard Jason bark out a loud laugh. It was an odd sound coming from the voice scrambler inside his helmet.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he rested a hand on your lap, which you felt almost burn, “You look way over 21.”

*** What Gotham lacked in security, it made up with entertainment.

Theatrics.

Its affinity for producing and attracting bizarre individuals always made for good dinner discussion. You just never thought you would be on the side of the crazies.

Jason had parked a couple of blocks away from the club. You recognized the area, as it was just a lane away from The Black Bass Bar, where Jason had decapitated the cousins and put their heads on spikes.

The two of you walked towards the club.

“Listen here,” he started, “This isn’t your area of expertise. You do exactly what I tell you to do. You don’t open your mouth unless I say so. I’ve worked hard to earn fear from these people and I’m not going to let you fuck that up for me. Understood?”

“Whatever,” you huffed.

You noticed how the bouncers started getting nervous when they saw the two of you approaching. They had started to sweat and fidget, trying excessively hard to focus on filtering the going ins and outs of guests.

“Red Hood, sir,” one of them nodded and let the two of you inside. The moment you stepped in, you felt like you were immediately deafened by the loud techno music that was playing, and blinded by the flashing bright lights.

You noticed how many of the customers recognized Red Hood, and flinched away from him, avoiding eye contact. Their gaze would linger longer on you, curiosity in their eyes.

The both of you squeezed past the sweaty dancers on the floor, and towards the VIP area on the other side of the club.

Seated on the long suede purple sofas were three men, each with at least two women on their arms. The moment they saw you approaching, they immediately went rigid.

Red Hood simply strutted to the area and you followed behind him.

“Ah, Red Hood,” the man with straw hair that was slicked back and navy blue shirt that he had left unbuttoned, revealing his hairy chest, greeted. “Take a seat, take a seat! I see you have a guest with you, as well.”

“Victor,” Red Hood nodded, sitting on the chair. He crossed his legs and spread his arms across the back of the sofa, lounging comfortably. He looked over to you and nodded to his side, silently telling you to sit.

You obeyed, though less relaxed than Red Hood. It was slightly quieter at the VIP lounge, but you still had to strain your ears to hear them speak.

“Can I get you a drink, my friend?” Victor offered, “Maybe something for the lady?”

“You want anything, princess?” Red Hood turned to you.

“No, thank you,” you grit.

You hated that he was calling you pet names while in the presence of a crime lord. It was humiliating, and made you feel like you were just an accessory to him, not unlike those hardly dressed girls that were on Victor’s side.

You noticed one of them.

He had his arm wrapped around her waist, but she looked extremely uncomfortable. She was blonde, wearing a black dress with a plunging neckline, and didn’t look that much older than you. Even with the layers of badly applied makeup, you could tell she had eyebags and dark circles, perhaps maybe even bruises on her face.

“Angelica,” Victor called a girl from the other end of the sofa, “Come here give my friend some company.”

The girl called Angelica had tanned skin and exotic features, and was a brunette with curls that hung to her hips and was wearing a body hugging deep purple glittery tube dress. She came to sit on Red Hood’s other side, snuggling up close to him and started rubbing her hand on his thigh, and whispered something that you couldn’t hear.

And he just let her.

You clenched your jaw.

No, you couldn’t be jealous. It didn’t make sense for you to be. Yet, the sudden tightness of your chest said otherwise.

You saw Red Hood angled his face slightly towards you, probably to see your reaction.

You couldn’t see it, but you somehow knew he was smirking.

“So what brings you here?” Victor asked, trying to hide his nervousness.

It was the first time you met with an Ibenescu face to face. You thought that they would have a thick accent, but Victor sounded just as American as you and Red Hood.

“I was just wondering how things were going on your end,” Red Hood shrugged.

“Things are going excellent,” he replied, “As you can see, the club is doing great. People are enjoying themselves.”

“And the drugs?” Red Hood brought up.

“Ah, straight to business, like always,” Victor chuckled, “We’ve sold almost all our stock this month. You can come by and get your share of profits any time.”

“Who are your clients?”

“Local distributors, as well as some international ones,” he explained, “With explicit instruction to avoid dealing with the underaged, of course.”

“And how can you be so sure they’re listening?” Red Hood demanded.

“You know us, Red Hood,” he boasted, “The Ibenescu Family is one of the most powerful families in Gotham. Our name is very well known in the underground. We have people everywhere. Our operations span from the Americas, to Europe, to South East Asia.”

“And which operation did you come from, sweetheart?” he addressed the girl next to him.

She looked at him with shock, gaping like a fish out of water.

“Angelica here is from the Philippines,” Victor answered for her, his voice grittier than normal, “She migrated to find work. I provided for her. Isn’t that right, Angel?”

“Y-yes, sir,” she stuttered, “Mister Victor has been very good to me. He gave me a job when others wouldn’t. I am forever grateful for him.”

You frowned at the way she recited those words, almost like she memorized it from a playcard.

“The American dream, as the say,” Victor continued, “My family are very familiar with it. We are immigrants that came a long time ago, and America provided for us. I wanted to do the same for others.”

“Did you now?” Red Hood hummed.

“Of course,” he nodded aggressively, “But enough about me. Who is this ravishing lady you have here? I have not seen you before, my dear.”

You looked at Red Hood, who nodded subtly once.

“I’m V,” you made up on the spot.

“V?” Victor repeated.

“For Vendetta,” you finished.

You heard Red Hood chuckle next to you.

Victor raised an eyebrow, “Well, my dear, you must be special to my good friend Red Hood, here. I didn’t think he was capable of laughter. Where did he hide you all this while?”

“Ah, you see, Victor,” Red Hood cut in, “I did not hide her, because she isn’t mine to hide. V here is her own person, who happened to become partners with me for tonight. People only hide property, and women aren’t property, am I right?”

There was an unmistakable threat in his voice.

“Of course not,” Victor agreed, “I respect women.”

Suddenly, there was a tension in the air as the two men looked at each other.

Then, Victor started laughing.

“You’re too tense, Red Hood,” he boomed, “And you should trust your associates more. Especially the ones who sacrificed their entire industry for you.”

“Sacrifice, huh?” he said softly. Then, Red Hood turned his body towards you, scooting closer to your side. He let his hand rest on your thigh.

“You got my back, baby girl?” he whispered into your ear.

“Yes, but I’m not killing anyone,” you whispered back, “And you shouldn’t either.”

He ignored you and went back to Victor.

“Victor,” Red Hood said, “I’m feeling a little… Restless tonight. I want one of your girls.”

You clenched your jaw.

“Oh?” Victor widen his eyes, “Finally taking up my offer! Of course, of course! Pick anyone of my lovely ladies.”

“I want that one,” Red Hood pointed to the blonde Victor was obviously possessive over.

“Elena?” Victor started laughing awkwardly, “I’m afraid she’s not available, Red Hood. But you’re welcome to choose anyone else. Angel here is very popular.”

“No,” Red Hood insisted, “I want your Elena.”

“That’s not possible,” Victor denied, annoyance on his face, “Elena is only for me.”

“Well, since you respect women so much, let’s hear it from her, huh?” Red Hood teased, “Elena, sweetheart, would you keep me company tonight?”

Elena’s eyes were wide and terrified. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. You felt bad for her and wondered why Red Hood was putting her in such a difficult situation.

“I-I-I’m v-very sorry,” she squeaked. You could hear her thick Romanian accent. “I o-only serve Mister Ibenescu.”

“What, this clown?” Red Hood scoffed, earning a glare from Victor, “Unlike him, I’m sure I can give you a pretty good time.”

“S-sorry,” she stuttered, “T-that is not possible.”

Red Hood kept silent.

“There you go, the woman herself said it,” Victor commented, “And you’d want to respect a woman’s wishes right, Red Hood?”

“How old are you?” Red Hood asked softly, ignoring Victor.

“T-twenty-four,” she replied.

“You don’t look twenty-four,” he hummed, “How long have you been working with Victor?”

“Two years,” she automatically responded.

“I see,” he nodded.

You could tell she was lying, about both her age and how long she worked. And you knew Jason caught on as well.

Jason leaned back, taking out his gun from his thigh holster and casually dumped it on the low rise table, clinking against the glass bottles and shot glasses.

Ibenescu tensed up, and then there were about fifteen men who pointed their guns at the two you. You were about halfway standing up, reaching for your escrima sticks when Red Hood caught you by the shoulder to stop you.

You frowned at him, then sat back down.

You noticed that the music had suddenly stopped, and everyone in the club was silently looking, worry in their eyes and preparation to take off if anything were to get out of hand. You guessed that these sort of things happened frequently, and the club probably had a system for when it did.

“Relax, will you?” he growled at everyone, “Was just getting a little uncomfortable there, Jesus Christ.”

Victor nodded at his men, and they set their guns down. The music continued to play and the customers continued to dance as if nothing had happened.

You now knew what he was doing.

From the very beginning, he already planned out what he was going to say and what he was going to do in order to prepare for an inevitable fight. Based on observation, he knew that Elena was Victor’s favourite and that he would not let anyone touch her, so he provoked him by asking for her.

Asking Elena her age and how long she worked was also a calculated and pivotal move. Since both you and Red Hood could tell when someone was lying, the fact that she was indeed hiding what seemed to be minor information told volumes that she wasn’t supposed to be by Victor’s side, meaning that she wasn’t there by choice, and you could assume that she was trafficked.

From there, he confirmed his sources that Victor had not ended his human and sex trafficking trade, and had reasonable reason to attack.

And by putting the gun on the table, however he relaxed he seemed, was a massive power move. He showed that he wasn’t afraid of being unarmed- though, you knew he was probably packing more than one gun. Tactical wise, when Ibenescu’s men showed themselves, they also showed their numbers to you. You now knew where they were, what weapons they used, and how many of them you needed to take down.

You smirked to yourself underneath your improvised mask. You knew already how smart and strategic he was based on how he conquered the underground in only just a few months, but seeing him act in the flesh, you truly appreciated his brain.

“It almost seems like you’re scared of me, Victor,” he drawled, “Are you?”

“You did kill members of my family,” he mumbled.

“It was their fault now, wasn’t it?” Red Hood shrugged, “I told them to stop. They wouldn’t. Now, if you’re not as stupid as they were, Vic, you wouldn’t have to be scared, am I right?”

Red Hood leaned forward towards Victor, resting his elbows on his knees and tilting his head sideways.

“With all due respect, Red Hood, they were not stupid,” Victor argued, “They were simply protecting the pride of our name.”

“And how about you? You’re not protecting your family’s pride?”

“I prioritize my life over pride,” Ibenescu admitted, “And I respect you as Gotham’s Dark King.”

Dark King? What the fuck?

“Dark King,” Red Hood repeated, laughing lightly, “Got a nice ring to it, don’t you think, princess?”

He elbowed your side playfully.

“A bit cheesy for my taste,” you grit.

“Aw, the missus doesn’t like it. To be fair, I think it’s cheesy too,” he stated, “But you know what I don’t like even more, Victor?”

Victor frowned at him in question.

“I said,” Red Hood snarled, “You know what I don’t like even more, Victor?”

“W-what, Red Hood?” Victor sputtered.

“People who lie to me,” he growled.

In a blink of an eye, with the speed you had witnessed earlier and many times before, he had managed to stand up, reach for the gun on the table, jumped across and stepped on Victor’s chest who was leaning in panic against the sofa, and cocked the gun towards his head.

All before you could even register his initial movement.

The fifteen men aimed their semi-automatics at Red Hood, prepared to gun him down.

The music had stopped, and from your peripheral vision, you saw the crowd were ushered to the exit in chaos.

“If your men don’t put down their weapons, I’ll shoot,” Red Hood looked down at Victor.

“What is the point, Red Hood?” Victor defied, “You would kill me anyways. I might as well try to take you down with me.”

Red Hood paused for a moment. Then-

“Baby girl?”

You nodded. “Got it.”

The first person you attacked was the one pointing his gun to your back.

The sticks felt unfamiliar, yet refreshing.

You managed to knock him out before he could shoot at you, but by that time others were already pulling their triggers. You locked your next target.

You ran at him and slid on the floor, taking his knees out and simultaneously pushing him into the next person whom you used your stick to hit directly at the centre of his head.

But you could sense a gun being aimed at you, and you dived behind the sofa to use as a shield. You heard glass shattering around you, and on the floor you found someone’s dropped mobile phone. You reached for it, and with aggressive force, sent it spinning through the air and hit the culprit in the eye, blinding him.

You came out of hiding and lunged your sticks at his throat.

You spun around to grab the neck of a semi-automatic and directed it upwards, causing bullets to spray across the club.

Your ears heard nothing but ringing for the next minute.

You pounded onto the guard’s chest using your sticks, and ended the attack with a blow to his temples.

You had counted five, so you reacted quickly to lock on your next target, but when you came out of your adrenaline induced tunnel vision, you noticed everyone else were already lying on the floor.

During the time you knocked out five men, Red Hood had already killed ten.

And now, he was left with a sobbing, begging Victor Ibenescu who was on his knees on the glass covered floor.

“What should I do with you, Vic?” Red Hood drawled, “I’ve already gutted your cousins, put some of them on display. And it was a pretty display, wasn’t it?”

You approached them.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a whimpering Elena who was in a fetal position against a toppled over sofa, terror in her eyes.

“P-please,” Victor stuttered, “I promise I’ll shut down the operation, for real this time!”

“I don’t give second chances, Vic,” he told him, “Now I’m just thinking about whether I have the time to skin you alive before the cops show up.”

“Red Hood,” you called out, “You don’t need to. The cops are already on the way- hell, Batman is probably a couple of minutes out. We should leave.”

“And leave him here unpunished?” he jabbed the gun into Vic’s head, causing him to recoil from the heat of the muzzle. “I don’t think so.”

“Red-”

“Elena!” Red Hood barked, “Come here. Now.”

You saw Elena struggle to get onto her feet and limped her way to you.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Red Hood asked, “Should we leave him for the cops to find and deal with, or…”

He looked over to her and gently took her hand, handing her his own gun.

“Do you want to kill him?”

You gaped at Red Hood, just how Elena was.

“M-m-me?” she managed.

“Yes, you,” he confirmed.

“You can’t possibly make her-” you started.

“Don’t you think she’s the one who should decide what happens to him?” he cut you off.

Elena still looked shocked, and held the gun as if it was going to hurt her.

“Hey,” you approached her slowly, “You don’t have to. Once the police come, they’ll take him away and put him behind bars for the rest of his life. You don’t have to be scared anymore. They’ll help protect you.”

The poor girl was shaking so bad, you were worried she might set off the gun accidentally.

“No,” she whispered.

“Elena-” you tried.

“No!” she shrieked at you, causing you to stumble slightly back in surprise, “You- you don’t know. He do things to me! Again and again! He took me. I thirteen! Now I eighteen! No!”

You were utterly speechless. How could you reply to that?

She held the gun properly now, with two hands.

“He made me kill baby. Two times!” she sobbed.

Your heart broke.

She shuffled closer to him.

“Elena, my dear,” Victor started frantically begging, “You’ve always been my favourite. I’ve always treated you well, haven’t I?”

“No!”

BANG!

You heard Victor let out an inhuman screech.

Elena had shot him between the legs. Next to you, you heard Red Hood chuckle.

She pulled the trigger one last time, and crumpled onto the floor at the same time Victor did.

You wanted to approach her, comfort her, anything.

But Red Hood beat you to it.

“Listen to me,” he growled to get her attention since she was sobbing hysterically, “Are you listening?!”

She nodded.

“When the police come, you tell them that I made you shoot, alright? You tell them that I said I would rape you then gut you alive if you didn’t shoot him. You understand me?” he shook her.

“Y-yes,” she hiccuped.

“Repeat it. Tell me what you are going to tell them.”

“R-red Hood say he rape me and kill me if I no shoot,” she bawled.

“Good,” he nodded, “You did good, Elena.”

He then turned to you. “Let’s go.”

The two of you quickly rushed to the exit. You were just about to leave the club when-

“W-wait!” Elena called out, “Red Hood!”

He looked at her.

“T-thank you.”

He left without saying a word.

***

You were being really quiet in the car.

Jason thought that you were still shaken over what had happened.

Sure, maybe you saved people from being mugged or raped, and perhaps even some trafficked girls in the past.

But he was sure that those girls didn’t have the option Jason graciously gave Elena.

Jason thought that you were probably thinking about what those girls you saved in the past would have done if they were granted the same choice.

He sped up, hands gripped tight around the steering wheel. His body was still buzzing from leftover adrenaline, and he was itching for something.

An illegal car race. A good old fashioned hand-to-hand combat with somebody who could keep up with him. Hell, even a nice and long jerk off session.

He was bothered by the silence, despite being alone the whole time before this.

He put in a cassette and AC/DC started blasting through the speakers. He saw you jump at the sudden noise.

Somehow the ride back to the rendezvous point seemed longer than expected.

“Why do you still have a cassette player, and cassettes?” you spoke for the first time since the club.

“I’m old school that way,” he jested.

You ignored him and continued looking out the window.

That annoyed him.

Fuck, why was he so fidgety? Why did he want your fucking attention so much?

He felt like that kid in kindergarten who pulled on the pigtails of the girl he liked.

Finally, the both of you were back in the alleyway.

He turned off both the music and the engine, and took off his helmet. He combed through his hair with his hands and tossed the helmet in the backseat. He saw that you had taken your mask off as well, but hadn’t made a move to leave.

So he just sat there with you in silence, unsure of what to do or say- like a fucking idiot.

Fuck.

You were driving him crazy.

Thankfully, you broke the silence.

“What did your sources say about the Ibenescus’ still trafficking girls?” you wondered.

“There was a recent shipment of girls from Philippines, Thailand, Russia, and India,” he explained, “Only the Ibenescus’ would still have the guts to carry out the operation. Like Victor- may he rest in peace- had said, the Ibenescus’ are powerful. They have an international business they just can’t afford to sacrifice.”

“But since Victor is dead, someone else would just take his place,” you frowned in the dark, your outline illuminated only by the single dim street light from outside.

“And I’ll keep on killing every single one of them,” he grit.

“But like you said, it’s an international operation,” you argued, “Even if it was just the States, you can’t possibly stop every single operation under the Ibenescus out there.”

“Just like however much you and Batman patrol at night, you can’t stop every single crime, right?” he sneered.

You remained silent.

“It’s the same fucking thing,” Jason insisted, “Except that Elena got her justice. True and proper justice. Or are you telling me she made the wrong call? That she shouldn’t have shot his balls off and killed him after he raped her for years and made her abort her baby twice?”

“There must be some other way,” you muttered.

Jason was annoyed at how stubborn you were, but frankly he understood.

Because that’s what Batman did. He brainwashes you into thinking that his way was the only way.

“What if I told you that one fifth of the trafficked girls were aged below twelve?” he said softly, “What if I told you that the Ibenescus’ have been providing the elite pedophile rings with children? Would you want there to be some other way?”

You looked at him, shocked.

“Elite pedophile ring?” you gaped.

“Batman didn’t tell me either when I was Robin,” he grumbled, “It’s either he didn’t know about it, or he kept it a secret from us. And knowing him, I doubt it’s the former. Weren’t there days where he insisted on being alone?”

You frowned, taking in everything Jason had said. He was proud of himself. Just after a few hours with him, he could already see your resolve faltering.

“As long as I can clear Gotham of sex trafficking, as long as there are less girls like Elena here, and as long as there are no more children involved, I’m satisfied,” he continued, “That’s what I do. I give out justice and fix things. I know most victims like her don’t get the opportunity to get closure the way she did, so I’ll be the one to make that decision and carry it out for them.”

“Oh, so you’re supposedly Gotham’s savior, then? A fucking Angel of Death or something?” you answered sarcastically.

“Didn’t you hear Vic?” he chuckled, “I’m the fucking Dark King.”

You scoffed, and crossed your arms, still looking outside.

“You were pretty good with the sticks,” Jason commented, changing the subject. “Though definitely not as good as Dick.”

Fuck, why was he still talking to you?

“I don’t usually use them,” you shot him a glare that Jason thought was more cute than threatening, “I usually use Krav Maga.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with your subpar fighting skills,” he smirked.

“That’s not fair,” you huffed, “The Pit gave you peak human abilities. You can’t compare yourself to me.”

Of course Bruce knew it was the Pit that revived Jason.

“Baby girl, I was much better than you when I was Robin,” he poked.

Why was he teasing you like this? Flirting with you like he was normal?

Joking with you as if he wasn’t planning to hurt you?

“I doubt it,” you pouted.

Even in the dim light, Jason could still make out the shiny traces of lipgloss that were still left on your lips.

Before he could stop himself, he reached out a hand to your chin, and pressed his thumb against your lips, sticky from the lipgloss.

He saw the way your breath hitched in surprise, the way your eyes darted from his eyes to his lips, the way you gulped.

“Why do you like my lipgloss so much?” you spoke, lips brushing against his thumb.

Fuck.

“Because, baby girl,” he drawled and scooted closer to you, “Ever since day one, I kept on imagining your shiny, wet lips around my cock.”

A small gasp escaped your mouth.

Which made his cock start to fill up.

“Want to make my fantasies a reality, princess?” he smirked.

“Why would I?” you whispered, “I don’t owe you anything.”

“It’s not about owing me,” he came closer, now rubbing his thumb all over your lips, smudging your lipgloss, and picking up some of your spit. “It’s about helping each other out.”

He gripped your waist with his other hand, rubbing up and down through your armor.

“Didn’t you like last night?” he purred, gripping your thigh. He noticed how you easily spread them wider apart.

“Didn’t you come all over my cock?” he forced his thumb inside your mouth, hooking it at your lower teeth and forced your face closer to his.

“Didn’t you wear your lipgloss anyway just to get my attention?” he smirked.

He had expected you to pull away, or even bite his fucking finger, but to his surprise, your lips closed in on his thumb.

And you started sucking.

All while looking up at him with your innocent, puppy dog eyes.

And for some reason, even though it was just his one fucking thumb, he felt like he was being consumed by the warmth and the wetness and the fucking softness of your mouth.

Jason was in trouble now.

Because you had started swirling your tongue around his finger as you sucked.

Jason couldn’t hold back his groan.

And from the delight he saw you in your eyes, he already knew what type you were.

You were the type to get turned on by his pleasure, his approval, his praises.

Typical Robin complex.

“Baby girl,” he breathed, “I’m not going to come unless you do the exact same thing but with my cock instead.”

He smirked when you gave him an irritated look, but then-

“Ow! Fuck!” he snatched his hand away.

You fucking bit his finger.

Again.

And this time you were looking at him with complete smugness.

“Oh, you’re in trouble now, princess,” he growled. Then, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged you to him roughly, forcing his tongue in your mouth as he kissed you violently and grabbed your tits which were still covered by all your-

“Fuck, why do you wear so much fucking armor,” he gasped.

“Because I’d like to actually live in case I get shot,” you shot back at him.

Jason glared at you. He usually loved your attitude, but somehow he felt really irritated by you that night. You weren’t as snarky and confident the night before. Obviously you were less nervous, and less afraid of him.

He needed to change that.

In a flash, he pushed you hard against the locked door of his car, earning a shocked gasp from you. He crawled over to you , engulfing your body with his own.

It was hard to move in the car, but the compact setting made Jason feel like he was trapping you in a cage.

He put his hand around your neck and squeezed lightly while he attacked your mouth with his own again. This time, his kisses were less pretty.

He bit and nipped at your lips, your tongue, forcing both of your teeth to click together.

He could hear you panting hard, and moaning into his mouth, sometimes letting out soft whimpers.

“You trying to sass me, baby?” he breathed over your face, lips brushing against yours. He increased the force of his throttle.

“You forget who’s in charge here?” he whispered, appreciating the way your mouth just fucking fell open.

“Who’s in charge, princess?” he growled.

He saw your eyes roll upwards, your lids fluttering close, and felt your thighs squeeze together.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Were you getting fucking turned on by his choking?

“Y-you,” you said in stuttered breaths.

“That’s right, baby,” he let go of your neck, causing you to gasp for air.

Then, Jason leaned back against the door on his side, and parted his legs.

He was glad the Impala’s seats were joined, without any annoying bumps that parted the passenger and driver’s seat. It allowed more room to move around.

Once he saw you catch your breath, he patted to the spot between his legs.

“My cock ain’t gonna suck itself,” he smirked.

He could see the fire in your eyes as you came over to him, bent on all fours. You laid on the seat on your belly, your mouth close to his cock that was borderline becoming extremely painful.

He had to wear protective cups while he worked, which meant that getting an erection was excruciating.

He tilted his head in curiosity when he saw you stare at his thigh holsters, biting your lower lip.

“You see something you like?” he teased.

Your gaze snapped back at him, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. You ignored his question and started working on his belt buckle.

Once they were off, you impatiently pulled his pants down, but was puzzled when you saw his jockstraps.

He almost laughed when he saw the confusion etched on your features.

“They’re just like normal briefs, baby, but with extra protection,” he winked, cupped his junk, and gave it a little shake to make a point.

“I- I knew that,” you fumbled, and went to hook your fingers in the elastic waistband. You brought them down with some difficulty, as they were tight.

But Jason enjoyed seeing you struggle, so he let you figure it out.

And boy, the look on your face when you finally took his cock out.

He hissed at the relief when his cock slapped back onto his lower abdomen when it was free, but your expression made him chuckle.

“Did- did I really have that inside me last night?” your voice went up an octave.

“Inside you, and outside, and inside, and outside,” he gave you a shit eating grin.

“Very funny,” you glared, but gulped again at the sight of his erection, “Jeez. No wonder I couldn’t walk properly all day.”

“And I assure you, every single time I fuck you, you wouldn’t be able to- ah, fuck!” he got cut off by the pleasure that suddenly shot up his spine when you gripped his shaft hard.

He looked at you and saw you gave the same cheeky grin back.

Fucking hell.

You bent down, and gave a small experimental lick at the tip of his cock. He could see the way your eyebrows knitted together, how your eyes were so full of fucking contemplation. Like you were thinking of a strategy to make him come undone.

You started lapping your tongue a few more times over the head of his penis before taking the tip into your mouth and started sucking softly.

Jason groaned, and then reached his hand to tangle into your hair. Not to control your movements, not to show you how it’s done, but just because he needed to grip something.

From the tip, he saw you let your saliva drool down his shaft, making it glisten. Then, you sunk down and took more of him in. You got too ambitious, because you went down too fast and then he felt you gag around his dick.

“Fuck,” he grunted as he felt your fucking throat try to push him out, “Take it slow, baby. We have all night.”

You released him from your mouth and gasped for air, a string of saliva connecting his tip to your mouth, tears streaming down your face, eyes and nose red.

Shit.

It was a fucking sight, alright.

“I-I’m sorry,” you sputtered, “I wasn’t sure- I don’t- it’s my first time.”

And holy hell, did Jason’s heart flutter at your innocent apology.

“It’s okay,” he wiped the tears from your cheeks like he was your lover, like he fucking cared. “It feels great when you gag on my cock, but you don’t have to take it all in at once. Here.”

He pushed your head back down to take him in rough, but not too rough.

Jason needed to be a little forceful, a little violent with you. He needed to hide the fact that you sucking on his cock for the first time didn’t flick a switch of emotion within him.

“You take in as much as you can,” he panted, “And your hand can do the rest.”

He wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft.

“So when you go up,” he pulled your hair to guide you up his length, slick with your spit and his precum.

“Your hand follows your mouth,” he gripped your hand and moved it upwards as well, following the motion. “And don’t forget to suck.”

He saw that you got the hang of it pretty fast, and soon, Jason was groaning and moaning, and tugging at your hair.

He fought hard to not cant his hips upwards and start fucking your mouth. He fought hard to be considerate, to not hurt you, to not give you too much of what you could handle.

He didn’t want a repeat of the night before.

Yet, the fire in his belly and the dark voices inside his head told him to grip your head with both his hands and fucking use your mouth like a toy.

But, no. Jason was in control. And he didn’t want that. Not tonight.

He saw that you were watching him as you bobbed your head in motion, and he knew you were enjoying the sight of him. He felt vulnerable to you, open and exposed.

He hated that feeling. The shame of being laid out like that when someone was watching him-it made him feel small and guilty.

But the shame and humiliation and guilt was what made the whole thing more enjoyable.

Soon enough, he felt the familiar feeling of his gut tightening, his toes curling in his steel boots.

“Stop,” he rasped, pulling you away.

You looked at him with worry in your eyes that made Jason almost come anyway.

“I- I was close,” he explained.

“Isn’t that the point?” you smirked.

“Wanna fuck you first,” he murmured.

Then, you started blushing.

“Uhm, it still hurts a lot from yesterday,” you answered sheepishly, biting your lip awkwardly.

It reminded Jason of how you were with him the first time he met you at the library, how you were shy and a blushing mess, when you didn’t know his identity. It seemed so long ago, and for the first time, he wished things could go back to being that way.

“Fine,” he gruffed, “Come back down here, then.”

When you started sucking on him again, he added, “Didn’t know you were so weak. Thought you’d be used to getting thrown around by now.”

It really wasn’t fair for him to say that, and he knew it was hurtful.

But he wasn’t the good guy in this story.

You shot him a glare, and then popped his dick out.

“Jason, my mouth was around your cock when you said that, and if I were to accidentally bite you, well,” you retorted.

“You wouldn’t do that, baby,” he chuckled.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because, princess,” he drawled, and forced you to continue sucking, “My cock- ungh- is your favourite part of me, isn’t it?”

And as if you conceded, admitting he was right, you started to suddenly increase the pace. Filthy wet sounds filled the car as Jason heard the sound of rain in the background, and noticed that the inside of his windows had started to fog up.

Your warm, wet mouth consumed him whole, and he felt his balls tighten and tighten.

“Baby,” he gasped, “I’m gonna- I’m gonna-”

Despite his warnings, you still went on, as if you were determined to finish your job.

He groaned loud and long as he spilled his cum inside your mouth.

He felt you fucking drink it up.

Fuck.

When he was done blowing his load, you were giving him soft, gentle licks on his now sensitive cock.

And you then you sat up and smiled proudly.

“You waiting for me to give you a candy, or some shit?” he snickered, “Or a gold star?”

“Maybe you should,” you huffed and crossed your arms, sitting back properly in the passenger seat.

Jason put his pants back on, and sat up as well.

But then he noticed you squirming slightly, your respiratory rate fast, small pants escaping you. You were clenching your thighs together.

He smirked.

He reached out and caressed your cheek with one finger.

“Want me to help you out?” he offered.

“I’m fine,” you said, “I’ll deal with it later. I should go back soon. What time is it?”

“Almost two,” he glanced at the dashboard clock.

“Batman and Nightwing are probably just leaving the club by now,” you said out loud, “I’m sure they’ll keep on patrolling, though. Unless they got a clue.”

“Clue?”

“Yeah,” you hummed absentmindedly, looking outside at the rain.

You remained silent for a while.

Jason hated the silence.

Then-

“It’s your face, by the way,” you started.

“What?”

“Your face. My favourite part of you,” you avoided Jason’s eyes.

Jason was taken aback at your confession.

Why would his face be your favourite part? He had scars all over, eyebags and bloodshot eyes, and he was pretty sure his nose was more crooked than average.

“You’re good looking,” you said as if you were mad.

“Well, you’re not too bad yourself,” Jason blurted before he could stop himself.

You blinked at him in surprise.

Fuck.

He fucked up.

He wanted to punch himself.

What were the two of you doing? It wasn’t like it was a fucking date. It wasn’t like he cared about you that way. It wasn’t like he wanted you all to himself, and never let go.

Fuck.

He was done being the charming, kind, gentleman Jason Haywood.

So why was he still acting like he was?

***

“Where were you?” Dick demanded when you opened the door.

He was still in his Nightwing uniform, sans the mask.

“What?”

“Alfred said you weren’t around, and you left your phone at home,” he persisted, “Where did you go?”

“I got some junk,” you pointed to the big bag of junk food on your bed.

“Alfred said he noticed you weren’t around at midnight, and you only just got back an hour ago. It took you almost three hours just to get junk?” he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Fine,” you conceded, “I went to see Carter.”

“Why did you leave your phone?”

“I forgot, okay?” you exasperatedly flailed your hands. “I’m grounded from patrol, not from going out. What’s the big deal?”

Dick frowned at you.

Your heart was beating so hard you were afraid he could hear it.

“Where did you meet him?” he continued to interrogate.

There were no more room for half truths.

“Robinson Park,” you answered, “We spent some time in his car. Lost track of time. And- you know what? I don’t even need to tell you all of this! It’s none of your business, Dick.”

“There was someone new with Jason tonight,” he stated.

Fuck.

“Someone new?” you repeated, tilting your head in feigned curiosity.

“A girl,” he continued, “She’s skilled.”

You frowned. “Who is she?”

“Eye witness said she calls herself V,” he told you, “She uses escrima sticks and a form of arnis and silat hybrid.”

“Hmm,” you pondered, “And? Is she someone you and Jason knew?”

“We’ve been wondering about that,” he muttered.

Your eyes widen.

“You think that was me?!” you shrieked.

“You tell me!” Dick retorted.

“Why, Dick?” you shouted, “Why?”

“You were out for god knows how long and suddenly Jason has a girl with your knowledge of martial arts at his side?” he snarled, “What else am I supposed to think?”

“One, fucking anyone could learn martials arts!” you argued, “Two, I was out with Carter yesterday as well! There wasn’t anyone with Red Hood yesterday!”

“Red Hood wasn’t seen yesterday,” he debated, “And you haven’t even shown me a picture of this Carter you’re seeing. What’s his last name? Where is he from? You need to tell me. You need to tell me the truth.”

“I am,” you grit, “You need to figure out your bullshit, Dick!”

“What?”

“I get it, okay,” you sighed, and sat down on your bed, “Jason, your brother, he betrayed your trust. He’s angry at Bruce, but why didn’t he come to you?”

Dick simply looked at you.

“You trusted Jason when he was Robin, as family,” you explained, “The way you trusted me. And now that trust is destroyed, you’re questioning me as well.”

You looked at him with a sad smile.

“I’m not like Jason, Dick,” you tried to convince him, “I’m me. I’m your sister. I have no reason to hurt you or Bruce. I love you both. Okay?”

Dick stared at you, and you saw tears pooling his eyes.

That made your heart sink to your stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he blinked away the tears, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you got up and hugged him. He hugged you back tightly, pressing his cheek into the top of your head, “I love you, Dick. I’ll help you guys out with this, okay? I mean, I know I’m not as good as either of you, but I’ll try.”

“Yeah,” he sniffled, “Thank you. Can’t wait for you to get back in uniform.”

“Me too,” you replied, holding back your own tears while you thought about how fucked you were.

[flatfootmonster]

(I have been in a writing funk so I wanted to put some stuff that I've been writing out there so ya'll know I'm fucken trying...)

Skin

Every notion I hold that brings some imagined form of embarrassment he bypasses. Even in this, in our skin. He’s seen me bare, ran a cloth over every part of me without having any effect on his stoic exterior. Strong arms held me, calm words soothed—and I let them. Mostly I’m unfazed by our bareness if I don’t dwell on it. 

My feet have grown complacent with the foundation that we’re discovering. breathing easily as we lay here—sheets, towels, and skin. It’s quiet for once. Seconds and minutes seem to sparkle like dust in the evening light. We could be anywhere, as long as we are like this there’s peace and contentment. 

It’s just us. 

I’m getting used to this and I know that’s dangerous, but my grip seems to have loosed on control. I stopped fighting the tide. 

Rolling onto my side, facing him, I close my eyes. I want to capture this moment and the white of the sheets that seem to be a surrender. His gaze rests on me, warm like the long fingers of sunlight as they reach across the floorboards. There’s a gentle huff of laughter before the book he was reading is placed on the floor, his glasses clink as they follow suit. Then he shifts. I know without looking that he’s mirroring me and I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. 

“Are you tired?” 

“No, just resting.” 

He hums, deliberating. “Do you want me to go?” 

“No.” My response is Instant. It wasn’t really a question that needed to be asked. Surely?

There’s a long pause, like he’s hesitating over which direction to take. Before words arrive, his fingertips brush gently across my forehead, before tracing along my temple and sweeping behind my ear—pushing hair from my face. My breath deepens, an uncontrollable reaction to the touch. 

“I thought sometimes that I’d made it up,” he says quietly. His hand drops to the sheets but not before fingertips skim along my jaw so lightly that it could have been an accident. 

I don’t know what’s different. He’s already undressed, bathed and towel-dried me and his hands are always gentle. Yet there was no intent behind his touch except care. In that barest touch I can feel something different. Perhaps I’m projecting but it almost feels like need; touching me for his own sake as well as mine.

Mouth dry, I don't want to open my eyes—let alone speak—in case this spell winks out. I could have it all wrong. “Made what up?” My voice is rougher than before and for no good reason. 

“How everything feels with you.” I do look now, but his gaze searches me as his fingers had. “I could never work out what it was. Whether you were this angel that had no urges,” he grins, amused at his own humour, “or whether whatever it was you felt with me, it was enough—intimate enough—that you didn’t need more. Even if maybe you wanted more. But whatever it was being with you has always been different from anything else.” 

I’m not sure if he wants me to specify who I am, or how I feel, but the heat rushing up my chest and into my cheeks is probably enough to answer. “I just wanted to keep you safe.” That’s my roundabout way of answering appearing once more. But it’s true. 

“So, a sexless angel it is?” He teases.

I snort, rolling my eyes before holding his gaze. “No. I jerk off like everyone else,” I state in defense, jaw firming stubbornly as he laughs. 

“You do? I find that hard to imagine.”

“Then don’t.”

He pauses, chewing his lip. I know he’s about to push imagined boundaries in the way his nature dictates. “Now I’m curious. What do you get off to?” 

I want to make a joke about what curiosity did to the cat but there’s always been transparency between us. As hard as it would be to talk about this anywhere else, I can do it here with him. “Just porn—regular porn. Blow jobs, orgasms; nothing special.”

“Nothing special,” he murmurs, half in thought and half amused. Before he continues his thought his hand is at my face again, this time stroking over one eyebrow and then the other. It sends goosebumps over my body. I barely manage to keep from shuddering. “But when you close your eyes—no porn—and it’s just you and your hand, what do you think about?” 

This is a little more personal than porn. My own private thoughts, the fantasies that involve me. His finger is drawing a pattern down my arm. The flush in my face has done the opposite of fade. The urge to deflect is almost as strong as my desire to talk—to him about anything, everything...

“It’ll sound dumb.”

“No, it won’t.”

I sigh. It will, no matter what he says. “Mostly it’s not anything sexual: touch, nearness, safety, acceptance, love.” All things relatively easy and yet things I’ve been without all my adult life. The slight lift of his eyebrows prompts me on, unbelieving that that’s all there is to it. “Of course it’ll be in a scenario where something is happening but it’s more about what they say, how they feel—about me,” I stutter out. 

His hand pauses, lips parted. What I said shocked him perhaps, in the very least it gave him pause. What had he expected me to say? “So you gave me what you wanted for yourself?” And now I have to take a moment to digest. I hadn’t thought of it like that. “Nearness, safety, acceptance, love…” he trails off, leaving the list unfinished. Perhaps touch isn’t something he wants to acknowledge, although he’s never flinched when I’ve held him. Maybe he’s nervous about stating that part, as unlikely as it seems for the Ash I know and for the way he freely reaches for me. Perhaps dancing around that point is for my benefit.

“I guess we all love in the way we want to be loved.” 

The smile that spreads on his lips is warm, soft, it makes my body tingle. His hand lands on mine, a gentle grip secures it and brings it to his mouth. One soft kiss is pressed to my knuckles. The battle is easily lost; a shiver runs through me. It’s the first time he’s kissed me, disregarding necessity in another age. It should feel strange or new but intimacy has always been a fine line between us; blurred boundaries that were never firmly in place. 

Is this how he wants to be loved? With kisses and touches? 

I’m not brave enough to ask, but my body is willing enough to respond—embarrassingly so. I roll onto my front, burying my face in a pillow. Maybe he won’t notice—I hope he doesn’t because I don’t want to pollute a candid moment with something carnal. All he does is shift closer, my hand is against the cotton once more but his fingers are threaded through mine. 

“What about you?” I mumble into the pillow, attempting to shift the spotlight from me. 

He snorts a short laugh, breath teases the bare skin of my shoulder. “Do I jerk off?” I hum a yes, opening one eye to peer at him. That half-smile he’s wearing says that this conversation is as amusing as it is left-field. “Yeah. It’s a thing that needs doing every now and again—like stretching, I guess.” 

It’s my turn to laugh. “Like a mechanical process?”

He shrugs but everything about him says he’s at ease sharing. I never doubted that we both felt free with each other, but reassurance never hurts. “I guess. I dropped the shame a while back. But it’s still a blank screen—behind my eyes. It’s difficult to explain.” 

“I think I get it.” Relief pours into me knowing the shame is gone. I’m grateful once again for the safety net he found. I won’t pry at the ground covered, not in any detail, but the progress can’t have been easy. There’s not much to be done for the regret that it could have been me that helped, despite knowing that’s ego talking once more. Sometimes we aren’t the person to help. Accepting that is hard but he’s here, still the same Ash that I loved but evolved. Free. He could fly after all. 

There’s a lull, but he’s still pondering. Whatever it is brings a half smile to his face and piques my curiosity. “What?” Ash’s focus adjusts, it’s back to me and now he’s humming a questioning sound like he’s trying to pass off my question. “What are you thinking?” 

“If I told you it might embarrass you.”

I don’t know if I could be embarrassed anymore than I currently am, given that my hard-on hasn’t budged. And I’m pretty sure he knows what’s going on—why I turned to press my hips against the mattress. I was always transparent to him, yet it hasn’t disturbed him. He hasn’t pulled away. “It won’t.” 

The words are considered before they’re spoken. “I’m learning something new.” His gaze is inquisitive once more, as are those long fingers—the index runs a path down the bridge of my nose. “I always loved your honesty, the truth in your expressions.” He pauses and touch drifts to my shoulder, skating slow patterns over my pebbled skin. Heat is effortlessly coaxed to the surface. “And now I’m learning how you react to the way I touch you. It’s so honest—pure. You don’t hide and you’d never ask for more. Yet just this,” his hand drifts to my spine, running half way down my back and pushing the sheets lower before it retraces it’s steps and lingers at my nape, “just my hand or my words, and you feel so warm and fluid. I don’t have to try and it does something, and that does something to me.” There’s a pause but I stay silent. He adds softly, like it means nothing at all when it’s probably the most profound thing anyone has ever said to me, “It’s beautiful.” 

I try to swallow but it’s impossible. I have no idea what to say. I want to find some reproach in his assertion that he doesn’t have to try to turn me on, but the admission takes precedence. He finds me—us—beautiful, like this? Flushed and receptive? 

“Something?” I ask. It’s about the only thing I can find to say, to specify exactly what that means for him. 

His grin says he understands, one of those glimpses of rare childishness shines through—I adore it when it shows. His hand stops it’s coaxing to push against my shoulder playfully. “You know what I mean.” Then another soft kiss is pushed to my knuckles. “And there’s nothing wrong with asking—FYI,” he adds before he flops onto his back. His gaze stays locked to mine—waiting for my reaction. 

He’s always inspired bravery in me—by presence or memory alone. 

We love how we want to be loved; his fingers and lips have both caressed me. And he beckons me to ask. I know what he wants me to ask and I want to ask it. 

His chest is open and inviting, and after that weighty confession, it’s my turn to move my feet. Shifting on to my elbows, I inch across the short distance between us, his fingers dance up my back, idly toying with the hair at my nape again. There is enjoyment and pride dancing in his eyes, they’re wider now though with that something: anticipation and the want that lay beneath his fingertips. 

How long have we been waiting for this moment? Now I just have to find the words to ask. For once my obtuse instincts are absent. “Can I kiss you?” I whisper. 

If Ash was a cat, I'm pretty sure he'd be purring. His answer doesn’t come in words. Turning on his side, towards me, suddenly we are nose to nose—bridging an impasse that I want to both last an eternity and end immediately. The tip of his nose nudges against mine playfully, then his head tilts. Every inch of me trembles and a low sound escapes my lips before our mouths find each other—a soft, fleeting press. 

Soft. He is so soft...

[makorragal-312]

Void (Part Eleven)

"I know this might be the wrong time, Lance. But I think we need to talk."

"Yeah, we do."

Lance took a deep breath as he did his best to maintain eye contact with Allura. Every single fiber in his being wanted to look away from her gaze, hoping to avoid her almost hypnotic blue pupils so that he wouldn't be susceptible to this guilt-ridden trance. But he knew that that was impossible. Where's the fairness in keeping all of his thoughts and emotions away from her while she remained none the wiser? He knew that this day was bound to happen eventually, but he just wished he had been the one to make the first move. Lance couldn't help but to feel almost bombarded with this turn of events. The only thing he could do now was let out a heavy sigh.

"Where do you wanna start?" Lance asked somewhat tiredly, hoping that the whole floor would swallow him whole. Allura could only give the recovering paladin a pitiful expression before she began to speak, her gaze slowly turning firm.

"I feel that the beginning would be best." Allura spoke firmly. Lance nodded in acknowledgement. He extended his hand toward the princess, prompting her to continue.

"Lance, I'm starting to get worried and a little bit frustrated. Ever since we came back to Earth, I felt as though things started to change between us. It felt as though we had gotten closer, especially since you were there for me at my most vulnerable. When you first asked me to go on a date with you, I'll admit that I was somewhat...reluctant. But once I went and witnessed the way you acted with your family around you, it felt as though I truly belonged somewhere." Lance's eyebrows furrowed at the statement, but the princess didn't take notice.

"But then after dinner, things just...shifted. You started to become jumpy and almost panicked. And it seems to have reached a point where you've started to ignore me." Lance shifted his gaze downward as he shifted awkwardly.

Damn, she's perceptive.

The princess couldn't help but to curl her hands into fists.

"Are you?" she asked anxiously. The red paladin rubbed his hands together nervously as he stayed beneath her gaze.

"Y-you're not wrong." he replied quietly, his frame shrinking in on itself as if he were being encased in a small, tight box. Shame overtook him as he heard Allura let out a heavy sigh, something he didn't want to hear. The last thing he wanted was to make the Altean feel as though she was someone to be avoided. He lifted his gaze once more as the princess slowly crossed her arms, almost as if she was trying to shield herself from the revelation's blowback.

"Why?" Allura whispered desperately. Lance released a quiet sigh as he stood from the window ledge.

"Look, Princess. I never wanted to avoid you, believe me. That was my last intention." Lance started. He proceeded to rub his arm awkwardly as he shifted from foot to foot. "It's just that...so many things have been going on with me and I've just been trying to maintain a grip on it, y'know? I've just been trying to make sense of it all." Allura's brows furrowed in confusion at the statement.

"What is there to make sense of?" the princess inquired. Lance felt his breath hitch in his throat. Honestly, he couldn't understand why he was hoping she would leave things at that and the only conclusion he could come up with was that he was being way too damn optimistic for his own good. He already knew deep down that wasn't going to be enough for her, so why the hell was he so surprised that he wasn't? The young Cuban was so lost in his thoughts he didn't register the feeling of Allura's hands on his shoulders.

"Lance. Please just talk to me." Allura quietly pleaded, her somber eyes piercing their way into Lance's memory. It didn't take long for the red paladin to feel a newfound chill creep its way through his body from where her hands laid. He might as well have been encased in a block of ice from how quickly the freezing sensation overtook his entire core. A stark contrast from the overwhelming heat he had been feeling for the last few weeks. It took everything in him not to recoil from her touch.

"I-It's not that easy, Princess." Lance answered somberly, grabbing Allura's hands and removing them from his shoulders. He closed his eyes tightly as he finally turned away from the princess, back facing her.

"There are so many things that I need to figure out. And I need to do it alone."

"Like quiznak you don't!" Allura shouted, agitated. Lance felt himself flinch at the princess' shout. Honestly, he had expected this. "Lance, whatever you're going through you don't have to do it on your own! We can talk about this!"

"No, we can't!" Lance exclaimed.

Allura was taken aback, stumbling back a couple of steps. She hadn't meant to upset him again like she did the last time she came to see him, but she wasn't going to allow him to push her away. She quickly regained her composure and stood up straight, waiting for Lance's next words.

"Allura, I know that you think this is something that you can fix but you can't. No one can. Not you, not Shiro, not Keith. The only one who needs to work things out is me. Which means I gotta do it alone." Lance let out a chuckle deprived from humor and life. "Besides, this isn't the first time I've been alone."

The confession took the princess by surprise.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked in alarm. The red paladin let out another humorless chuckle before turning back around to face the princess.

"Exactly what I meant. While you and everyone else was doing their thing, I was always relegated to the side. I mean, come on! Pidge and Hunk did the tech stuff. Shi-He did the leader stuff. Keith was doing his Blade stuff. I couldn't do what they did, so all I could do was stay in my room and play video games all day. Hell, you and Coran even popped up in my room that one time! What was I going to do? Walk right up to you to tell you how lonely I was?" Lance asked, clearly agitated from having to recount his time back in the Castle of Lions.

Allura's eyes widened in disbelief. She felt her blood run cold as she took in Lance's words.

She did remember.

She did remember visiting Lance's room with Coran, wishing to experience what it was like to have a milkshake from Kaltenecker. She remembered him urgently pressing the buttons on his controller as he tried to focus on his task on the screen. She had honestly thought that he stayed in his room on purpose, not wanting to be bothered with anyone to just play away to his heart's content. She never expected the reason to be as heart-aching as this, and she was none the wiser. Allura's gaze flickered to the floor before looking back up at the red paladin. She took slow steps towards him as she reached out and grabbed his hand.

"You can now."Allura finally replied, gently squeezing his hand.

"Lance, I'm so sorry that you were alone. But you don't have to be. Pidge and Hunk are still here. Keith and Shiro are back. It's as if everything is falling back in place. And, you should know that you can come to me." she finished, a hopeful smile slowly creeping onto her face. Lance felt his chest clench at her last statement. And not in a good way. He slowly shook his head.

"No, Allura. I don't know that." Lance said firmly, a hint of sadness laced in his voice. Allura's eyes widened in shock as she was once again taken aback, releasing her hold on his hand. Was she truly that unreliable or unapproachable to him now?

"W-why don't you know?" Allura stammered. Lance groaned as he ran his hand through his hair. The longer this conversation continued, the more annoyed and agitated he felt himself become. He just wanted this to be over and go back to his dorm and pretend this never happened. But that dream is becoming less and less of a reality.

"It's just...sometimes I feel like I can't talk to you. And mainly because you're you. You're the princess of Altea who's focused on defeating the Galra and I'm just a boy from Cuba who ended up flying a mechanical lion in an intergalactic space war. And to top things off, we've been butting heads. You literally got mad at me for not agreeing with you about leaving the armor!" Lance exclaimed, annoyance finding its way to the surface. The Altean's confused gaze hardened into a defensive one as she felt herself grow irritated.

"Must we talk about this again?" Allura asked in exasperation.

"Yes, because it proves my point. You didn't like that I was the tiebreaker for us leaving the armor and you just walked away from me without saying goodbye! Almost as if I'm not allowed to have a differing opinion from you. And to add the cherry on top, you got mad at Keith and blamed him for me almost dying! It was like the Galra reveal all over again!"

Allura's voice caught in her throat. Not only did Lance bring back up their fight, but now he was bringing up how she was after Keith revealed his heritage, a mistake she has been trying her hardest to avoid and regrets deeply.

"T-that's different!" Allura replied, her voice raised.

"Barely! You're mad at Keith for something that was completely out of his control and instead of just talking to him, you go out of your way to treat him like the bad guy! And I know you remember what I said to you about that, right?"

Allura gritted her teeth at the memory.

_______________________________________________________________________

"You went too far, Princess."

Allura turned her head quickly to find Lance, standing in front of her. He had his arms crossed somewhat tightly as he looked at her with an expression that consisted of exhaustion and...disappointment.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You know exactly what I mean. I saw everything." Lance answered, annoyed at the question.

He had been walking down the hallway heading back to his room when he saw Keith leaning against the wall, looking at his knife. But before he had a chance to go and talk to him, Allura had come out of nowhere, snatching his knife from his hand and accusing him of plotting against the team. The Cuban boy could only stand dumbfounded as the woman he had feelings before tore down his teammate in front of his eyes, not holding anything back as she tore him limb from limb with the fangs that spewed from her insults. Keith, on the other hand, could barely get a word in as he tried to talk her down. Things only got worse as Keith was finally able to retrieve his blade from her grasp, only for Allura to push him away from her afterwards, saying that she didn't want to be 'touched by a filthy Galra like him.' Lance's eyes widened in horror as he saw Keith's entire frame deflate and heard his exhausted sigh as the red paladin walked away from the princess, presumably back to his room.

Allura crossed her arms at the revelation and averted her eyes from Lance's gaze. He wished that he hadn't seen what had transpired, but she was hoping he could see her side of things.

"Lance, you don't underst-" the princess started before she was interrupted.

"I understand perfectly. I just saw you attack Keith for no reason!" Lance shouted angrily. "I'm sorry, Princess, but this has gone on long enough!"

"I didn't attack anyone! He put his hands on me!"

"Because you took his sword! He wasn't trying to hurt you, he was getting something back that you took from him! The only person who did any attacking in this situation was you!"

"Me? I-I was just protecting myself!" Lance could only scoff before walking closer to the Altean.

"Do you hear yourself? Protection from Keith? Are you serious? You know that Keith would never put his hands on you, especially unprovoked!"

"You can never tell with the Galra." the princess spat out, venom laced in her voice. Lance could only shake his head. How could she not understand just how far she was taking things with Keith? He totally understood her distrust of the Galra considering everything she went through. But going out of her way to berate and alienate his teammate for something completely out of his control? That was something the blue paladin couldn't sit on the sidelines for, not anymore.

"So that's just it? One trace of DNA and you just forget everything that Keith's done for you?" Lance questioned, frustrated at the princess' behavior. "That's all it takes for someone to become a monster to you?"

"Am I not allowed to feel what I feel towards them, Lance?" Allura asked harshly, sending Lance a pointed look as she huffed and crossed her arms. Her gaze startled the blue paladin for a quick second, but didn't deter him from trying to get his point across.

"Yes! Towards Zarkon! Towards Haggar! Towards everyone who follows their beck and call! But not for those who oppose them! Whatever feelings you have towards them shouldn't be aimed at Keith!"

"And why not? He didn't find a problem with keeping the truth from us." Lance tilted his head in confusion at the statement.

"What are you talking about?"

"If Keith cared about my feelings or the team, he would've disclosed this information to us! Instead he just left all of us in the dark to blindside us!" Allura argued. The blue paladin could only look at the Altean incredulously as he tried to let her accusation sink in. So far, he wasn't doing a very good job as every fiber in his being wanted to scream into the cosmos at just how bad this situation was. He already hated arguing with the woman of his dreams, but the fact she was being so unfair and prejudicial made things harder. And it certainly didn't help matters that she actually thought that Keith knew about his Galra bloodline beforehand and clearly didn't get the memo.

"What?" Allura asked angrily.

"Allura. Keith didn't know he was Galra either." Lance answered quietly, tired of raising his voice in what felt to him a losing battle. The princess's expression, while still holding her anger, was now displaying complete confusion. Lance held his hand out as he continued to explain.

"Shiro told me everything. Keith didn't know he was Galra until after the trials he did at the Blade's base, which was the same day they came and pledged to join the Coalition. So if anything, he was just as blindsided as you were." the blue paladin confessed. Allura widened her eyes. She had honestly thought that Keith knew of his bloodline the entire time and that he had no choice but to tell the truth. A small part of her started to feel guilt, but she pushed it down, refusing to acknowledge her erratic conspiracies and behavior.

"Okay, maybe he didn't know who he truly was at the time. That still doesn't excuse the fact that I have to deal with this new information and the Blade of Marmora while it seems Keith has already accepted it" Allura stated weakly, before finally retrieving her strict persona from earlier. Lance settled into the silence that permeated the air for a few seconds before speaking up.

"You don't think Keith's been torn up about this?" the blue paladin asked sadly, thinking about how Keith acted earlier when Allura snapped at him. The way he didn't attempt to fight back against her words saddened Lance immensely. Yes, he still somewhat considered the red paladin his rival, but that didn't mean he liked seeing him sad all the time from the moment he dropped the truth bomb on everyone. Allura furrowed her brows slightly before he continued.

"Princess, do you have any idea how Keith must have felt? Don't you think a part of him was scared, almost horrified at the fact that he was Galra? Don't you think it was killing him to know that once the truth came out you were going to react the way you are now?" Allura could only stay silent as more pangs of guilt continued to strike her nerves the more Lance scolded her, causing her to look down at the floor.

"I know that Keith is the type of guy to keep things to himself, but regardless of what you think or feel about him, he's still human. And even if he's making an active effort not to show it, he's probably afraid and sad. And because of the way you've been treating him, he probably feels more alone than ever." Lance lamented. The princess exhaled through her nose as she closed her eyes, as if trying to block out the incoming onslaught of guilt and shame from Lance's words. She believed she had every right to act the way she was. She doesn't trust the Galra after what they did to her home and her family and now one of her own paladins is part of that race. She's allowed to have her suspicions about him. But Lance was making it fairly difficult to believe that.

"And do you know what's the worst part?" Lance's question pierced through the Altean's thoughts as she looked at the blue paladin, prompting him to go on.

"Despite all of your cruel words and actions, he doesn't stop you. He lets you say what you want to say and he takes it all, no matter how much it might hurt him because that's who Keith is. He respects and cares about you enough to let you berate him and bully him even if he doesn't deserve it because he knows the reason why." Lance finally finished, slowly letting the tension ease from his shoulders as he finally relinquished everything he wanted to say. He stood anxiously as he waited for the princess to respond. She merely shrugged at him.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Lance." Allura replied, her voice monotone. Lance gave a shrug of his own.

"I don't expect you to say anything, Princess. But I do want you to think about how you've been treating Keith because whether you like it or not he's the paladin of one of your lions and you need him. And if I'm being completely honest, something tells me that Keith never told us, you would be treating him normally like before. I'm not telling you to disregard your feelings because at the end of the day, they are valid. But I want you to look and see if you're willing to separate that hatred away from any Galra that would be willing to fight alongside us in the future, and that includes Keith." Lance spoke softly. Allura was about to interject into Lance's plead, but he beat her to the punch.

"And please, Princess, don't say that you won't be able to do that because of Keith being Galra because Coran went through the exact same thing you did and he still treats Keith the same way he did before the truth came out." Allura stood in shock, mouth agape. She couldn't help but to feel blindsided at the mention of Coran. She had been so focused on herself and everything else that she had assumed that Coran had felt the same way she did. But clearly she was wrong. She was so lost in thought that she almost didn't register Lance walking by her in the opposite direction, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Where are you going?" the princess asked hurriedly. Lance turned his head to her, a determined look on his face. Allura couldn't help but to recoil at his gaze, feeling as though she was a little girl being scolded by her father.

"To make sure my friend is okay. And one more thing."

Allura stayed quiet as he spoke.

"You may be the princess of Altea, but you're not always right."

_______________________________________________________________________

Allura sighed as she finally managed to get through the memory in its entirety.

"Yes, I remember." she replied. Looking back now, she couldn't help but to hate herself for what she said. If she was being completely honest, it was because of Lance confronting her that she was able to move past her feelings and apologize to Keith for how she treated him.

"But you see my point, right?" Lance asked as he crossed his arms. Allura nodded in response as she sighed.

"I do." the princess replied quietly. Lance could sense the guilt coming off of the Altean as he tried to ease it.

"Princess, I'm not bringing this back up to hurt you. I'm just trying to get you to see that we're not gonna agree on everything and you shouldn't be mad at me for that.'

"Lance, I didn't mean to get upset with you." said Allura, trying to apologize.

"But you did. And then when I ended up in the hospital, you got upset with me and Keith." Lance stated, remembering their argument that day.

"And you told me I was wrong." the princess acknowledged, rubbing her arm nervously. "Because that's who you are, Lance. Whenever I'm upset about something, you always find a way to talk me down." Allura slowly grabbed Lance's hand once more, looking into his blue eyes lovingly as a heartfelt smile made its way onto her face.

"Lance, I need someone like you in my life." Allura confessed. Lance felt his stomach churn at the confession. This moment once again became one of the instances in which the red paladin should consider this a win. He should be doing backflips just at the thought of Allura needing him. But at this moment, he wanted to run out of this room and never look back. The Cuban boy couldn't help but to smile sadly.

"No, you don't." Just as quickly as it appeared, Allura's smile fell at Lance's words. She could feel the fear flowing through her veins.

"Princess, I'm not the person you need. I'm the person you want." Lance stated, feeling himself get more and more drained as he spoke a truth that could no longer be contained.

"That's not true!" Allura panicked.

"Yes, it is. We have completely different goals. You're trying to save your people. I'm trying to stay alive and get home to my family. You need someone who can be on the same page as you and can talk you down much better than I possibly can. Someone with a similar goal in mind. Someone so much better. I can't-"

"Yes, you can!" Allura interrupted. "Whatever needs to change between us, it can be done! You don't have to be that boy anymore! Quiznak, you're not that boy anymore! You're a strong, capable, compassionate paladin who put his life on the line for me time and time again! My pr-" She widened her eyes in horror at what she was about to say while Lance seemed too stunned to speak, though he was making an active effort not to look so.

"Your what?" Lance asked dejectedly. It was the princess' turn to let go of Lance's hand, lowering her gaze to the floor. Her guilt was immeasurable as she heard Lance let out a sigh

"I'm not him, Allura." the red paladin stated somberly.

"I know that. So many things have changed." the Altean replied, slowly looking back up at Lance. She felt her stomach twist and turn in shame as she took a good look at his face, which showed nothing but defeat and hurt. And she knew that if she was a few steps closer, she could determine whether or not there were actual tears in his eyes ready to spill over.

"Yeah, they have." Lance turned around once more away from the princess. "There was a point in time where I thought that if I just played my part long enough and continued to stand by you that you would notice me. Maybe even fall in love with me. But instead, I had to sit back on the sidelines and watch you get close to someone who I knew would hurt you and the team, but you chose him over me."

Allura's heart fell to the pit of her stomach as she suppressed her gasp.

He knew?

"Y-You know?" Allura squeaked, her voice straining due to her anxiety. Lance quirked one of his brows quickly, slightly dumbfounded at her voice.

"Of course I do. I saw the way you looked at him. You never looked at me like that." Lance chucked sadly. The princess quietly exhaled in relief, but that didn't stop the guilt she felt from continuing to consume her. She didn't want to be responsible for all the pain Lance was feeling, but in a way she was. He has every right to how he feels towards her now. So why does she not want him to leave her alone?

"Allura, when we were in the park together near the tree, I told you that I would follow you across the universe if that meant helping you find a family. And I meant that."

No.

"I want you to be able to go out there and find where you belong."

No.

Quiznak, please no.

"But you'll have to do it without me."

And almost in an instant, the princess felt her heart stop beating. He was going to leave her and she knew he meant it. She stared at the red paladin as she watched him shrug and heard him release another empty chuckle.

"And I know what I said and how I said it. But like you said, things are different now. When you heard me say that, you probably thought I meant it in the romantic context I always use it in. But that's not true. I mean, at one point it would've been like that. But not anymore. Allura, I know what I'm going to say next might hurt you and it won't be something you want to hear. But I-" Lance swerved backward to face the princess once again, but his upcoming sentence was halted.

It was halted...by her lips.

The young Cuban felt his breath hitch in his throat as Allura pressed herself close to him, her lips already weaved into his as she clung to his jacket in attempt to keep him where she wanted. He knows that he should be cherishing such intimacy. But he wasn't that lovesick boy anymore. He was a young man who needed to figure things out for himself and already knew that this was something he didn't want.

He did not want to be kissed.

Not like this.

And not by her.

He didn't have time to think as he recoiled away from the princess' yearning mouth, covering his own with his hand as he gasped for air.

What the hell just happened?!

Allura stood confused, her hands still in the position from when she was gripping his jacket during the kiss. She had honestly thought she was finishing something that he wanted to start. She had thought he wanted this for so long. So why was he reacting like this?

I don't understand. Now he doesn't want to kiss me? I could've sworn he would like this.

"W-What?" she asked, gobsmacked at his reaction. She couldn't help but to slowly grow offended at him and the newfound confusion that continued to plague her once more. Lance continued to stand in front of her, mouth agape as he struggled to talk and could only tremble, Allura clenched her fists as she groaned in annoyance at the situation they were currently in.

"Quiznak, Lance! You have feelings for me, don't you?" Allura exclaimed, causing the scared young man's eyes to enlarge.

She knew?!

"Lance, for the longest time, I brushed your feelings to the side. Even when Lotor came onto the castle, I didn't heed your warnings about him and ignored your feelings until it was too late. I'm even ashamed to admit that before I learned the truth, Lotor and I...shared a moment. But then everything came out and he broke my heart. Betrayed my trust. Almost had us killed. And just when I thought everything was crumbling around me, you were there to pick me back up. And I guess somewhere down the line, I realized just how important of a place you make in my life." Allura finally finished, trying to catch her breath after releasing such a sincere confession.

The silence in the room was deafening as Lance had finally recovered from the shock of the kiss. He could feel his mind racing as he tried to absorb everything that Allura had told him. When he thought about coming clean to Allura, he wanted it to be a simple conversation where he had just let her down easy. Not necessarily confessing to everything he thought and felt, but just that he needed more time to himself and that he couldn't see himself having a romantic shift in this one-sided relationship. He didn't know there was going to be mentions of the past, desperate pleads, and an unwanted kiss. The red paladin was already struggling to hold himself together throughout this entire conversation, but the cracks were starting to make their way to the surface. And Allura's confession might be the blow that causes him to shatter.

"Allura, will you be honest with me?" Lance asked cautiously, trying to keep himself together. The princess nodded eagerly.

"Before the truth came out and you were with Lotor, did you know that I loved you?" Lance watched Allura's face carefully. He was hoping for the shocked look in her eyes. The quick shake of her head in disagreement. The disgust in her voice at the mention of his name. The denial of such a sad reality.

He was looking deep in her vibrant pupils for something.

Anything.

And then he found it:

Regret.

Lance felt his heart drop as he registered the grim expression on Allura's face. He couldn't not notice the way she bit her lip and moved to clasp her hands in front of her, her shoulders going in on themselves the way a turtle would hide in its shell. The answer was clear: Allura knew he was in love with her...and she still chose Lotor. In a way, he had already had a feeling she would choose the prince over him regardless if he had romantic interest in her. But that didn't stop the feeling of sadness and betrayal that he felt. In that moment, he started to wish that he had been consumed by the smoke. That his lungs would turn to molten rock so he could burn from the inside out, letting the fire inside make its way through him as he became nothing more than a pile of ashes.

Allura grew more anxious with each passing second as Lance stayed silent, seemingly processing the information. Just as she was about to ask if he was okay, the red paladin took his first steps. The Altean held her breath, awaiting to see what he was going to do with her, only to feel distraught as he walked around her, heading to the door. She turned around quickly as she attempted to grab onto his arm, getting him to stop.

"Lance! Please wait! I can exp-" She was unable to finish her sentence as Lance shrugged her off of him, keeping his gaze ahead of him as he walked out the door, not bothering to look back as the door closed behind him.

Allura stood frozen in place, her arm outstretched like she was still trying to grab onto something. She felt herself start to breathe heavily as her hand shook before she retracted her arm, her other hand holding it to her chest. She couldn't believe what she just did. What she just said. She used the last of her energy to call out for him, but nothing could come out.

No.

The Altean placed her hand over her mouth as she continued to tremble. She let out a shaky exhale before she dropped to her knees as she began to cry silently. All the anger, sadness, confusion, and regret flowed out of her with every tear that glided down her cheeks and every hiccup that erupted from her throat.

I lost him.

_______________________________________________________________________

Any sense of control Lance thought he had was lost as his feet carried him through the Garrison hallways. With his body on autopilot, he let himself get consumed with every single thought that plagued him.

It was over.

Things won't be the same between us again.

Allura kissed me.

And she broke me.

Lance could feel his lip begin to tremble at the last part. All this time since they fought Lotor. All that time since the Castle of Lions had been destroyed. All this time since they've returned to Earth, Allura knew that he had feelings for her. She knew how much he loved her and she chose Lotor. But of course she did. Who'd want to be with someone like him when she could be with Lotor, right. Hell, even he knew that.

I'm just a boy from Cuba, not a space prince like Lotor.

It didn't take long for the humiliation and embarrassment that he had tucked away for all this time to come back up to the surface. Every pick-up line, every single flirty one-liner, every single stare. All acknowledged in the worst way possible. He can remember every comment or look the team gave him while he was on his lovestruck crusade. And just that quickly, everything with Allura and Lotor playing back-to-back.

The way she gazed at him.

The way she talked to him.

The way he looked at her when she wasn't looking.

The way he'd subtly try to get closer to her.

Pidge and Hunk pointing out his jealousy.

The way they teased him.

The way they role-played Allura and Lotor falling in love.

How Allura and Lotor stood side-by-side.

The truth.

The betrayal.

The hurt in her eyes.

The look of desperation in his.

Her anger.

Her tears.

Her pain.

Her-

Whoosh

Lance jumped at the sound of his door closing behind him. That whole time he had been within himself, his feet carried him back to this room without issue. He turned his head back and forth as he took in his surroundings, making sure that this was really his room and not someone else's. Once he gave himself the confirmation of being in the right place, it was as if his mind instantly regained control of his body as his legs started to tremble and he started to breathe heavily and shakily. He heard and felt the strained and choked noises trying to make their way out of his mouth, so he decided to keep it shut.

He tried to steady himself as he walked towards his bed, aiming to lay there and forget that this whole day never happened. Before he could face plant into the mattress, his gaze shifted to the picture frame on his nightstand. Against his better judgement, his shaky hand reached out to pick up the frame. His lip quivered as he looked down at the photograph of him and Allura. The way his hands were shoved in his pockets awkwardly. The way she rested her head on his shoulder in pure content. The way she was utterly oblivious to the fact of how he was thinking of someone else just moments before and how that same someone is someone he never wanted to lose.

"You truly feel that way?"

"With all my heart."

Lance could barely make out his own voice as he took a sharp inhale and let the first sob emerge from his throat. He could no longer hold himself up as his legs caved in, causing him to drop the picture frame. His sobs continued to rack through his body as he backed himself up against the wall, pulling his knees into chest and covering his eyes with his hand. He was tired, so very tired. He was tired of the confusion. He was tired of the pain. And he was tired of the what-ifs. The red paladin released a heart-clenching scream before gritting his teeth, returning to his sobs and began the process of letting her go.

The last time he walked away from her, he felt relief.

But now, all he felt was pain.

[rachelkaser]

Stay Golden Sunday: That Was No Lady

Dorothy dates a married man and struggles with her conscience. Blanche tries to sell Rose her car.

Picture It...

Blanche interrupts Rose and Sophia’s game of Trivial Pursuit to say she’s buying a new car. She can afford it if she can sell her old car -- and, as Sophia points out, Rose needs a car. Blanche is initially resistant, as she doesn’t like the idea of selling to a friend. But she does come around to the idea and offers it to Rose. Rose initially says the car isn’t her type, but Blanche offers to let her have it on a trial basis for two weeks, and Rose accepts.

ROSE: What the heck? You only live once. Might as well be daring! SOPHIA: Rose, it’s a used car. It’s not a seat on a space shuttle.

Dorothy, meanwhile, enters and effuses about her date with a gym teacher named Glen O’Brien. She’s very excited, though she doesn’t know him very well. Rose relates how she was hit with love at first sight for her future husband Charlie, when they were 7 and 8, respectively. He had a small insurance stand, and Rose bought a policy for her wagon. When it was promptly demolished by hogs offended by the smoked ham she was hauling, Charlie paid for a new one out of pocket. The other three Girls can only look on in bafflement.

Weeks later, Dorothy is with Glen in a hotel room. She’s floating on air with happiness, and Glen professes his love for her. Everything seems to be great -- maybe too great. Dorothy asks him to go away to the Bahamas, and Glen says he can’t do it. His whole demeanor changes, worrying Dorothy. He finally confesses the truth: He’s married. Dorothy is shocked and horrified, accusing Glen of lying to her. He tries to justify why he’s still married, but Dorothy doesn’t listen and storms out.

BLANCHE: Oh Rose, wake up and smell the coffee. An auto mechanic is the last person to take a car to. They only make money if they tell you there’s something wrong with it. ROSE: Oh that’s a good point! SOPHIA: . . . Boy I wish I had a car to sell.

Later, Rose complains to Blanche that her car is making funny noises, which Sophia says sounds like a bad sign. However, Blanche talks Rose out of going to a mechanic. Sophia is amazed at Rose’s naivete, and leaves the room. The phone rings, and Rose initially thinks it’s Glen and harshly tells him off -- but it turns out to be an official from the school district, offering Dorothy a teaching job.

Dorothy isn’t ready to go back to work, as she misses Glen. Rose and Blanche play angel and devil on her shoulders, respectively: Rose thinks she needs to stay away from Glen, as he’s married. Blanche, meanwhile, thinks Dorothy should seize happiness with him, even if it’s not in the most moral of ways. The phone rings again, and this time it is apparently Glen. Dorothy turns him down, to Rose’s approval. Rose and Blanche go into the kitchen, and Dorothy immediately calls Glen and asks to meet him.

ROSE: A motel, Dorothy? A cheap, tawdry, bare-bulb den of iniquity? DOROTHY: We didn’t drive to Sodom and Gomorrah, Rose.

Dorothy returns from her date in the middle of the night and instantly gets defensive when she encounters Rose. She confirms to a judgmental Rose that she and Glen went to a motel. Blanche finds them both in the kitchen, and they continue to argue about the morality of what Dorothy’s doing. Rose is still harsh in her judgement, and Dorothy says at least Blanche can relate. But Blanche can’t: She’s never been with a married man. Sophia enters, having overheard, and firmly tells Dorothy she should have more respect for herself than to be a side piece.

Later, Sophia is rocking out on the lanai to a censored song. Rose comes running in, frantic. Blanche also enters and confesses the truth about the car: It’s a piece of junk, and she was hoping to pawn it off on Rose for full price to pay for her new car. Rose says it doesn’t matter now: The car’s been stolen. When Sophia points out the insurance will reimburse Blanche the full price for the stolen car, Blanche is ecstatic. Dorothy enters and Sophia chastises her again. Dorothy begs her mother to leave her alone, as she’s happy, but Sophia doubts that, especially as Glen isn’t going to leave his wife.

ROSE: Blanche? Was the gist of what you were saying before that you intended to cheat me? BLANCHE: Cheat you? Rose, you just analyze everything to death!

Dorothy is in a motel room with Glen (the same motel room from the last time we saw Glen, strangely), and tells him they need to talk. She says she doesn’t want to be the Other Woman, and Glen isn’t willing to divorce his wife, so the relationship isn’t going to work. Glen continues to try and justify staying in his marriage, but Dorothy says he’s trying to have it both ways, and that’s not fair to her. She tells him she’ll hurt after this, but it’s the right thing to do, and walks out.

Dorothy returns home and tells Sophia, asking if her mother’s still angry. Sophia says she wasn’t angry, just concerned to see Dorothy in so much distress. Blanche and Rose return, and ask if Sophia and Dorothy want to go cruising in Blanche’s brand new car. Dorothy initially says she just wants to relax after the day she’s had, and the other Girls agree. After three seconds of silence in the kitchen, Dorothy’s had enough.

DOROTHY: Boy, this is DEPRESSING. Girls, let’s go cruising. BLANCHE: Hey, I know a place where guys wrestle naked in the mud!

“Another date with Mrs. O’Brien’s husband?”

Episodes that deal with the Girls struggling over moral issues are a thorny one, because Golden Girls can -- and does -- handle such quandaries well. This episode, however, isn’t a particularly engaging one. It’s not a total letdown, as it’s saved by the B-plot and Sophia being the voice of reason for everyone involved.

The whole quandary at the heart of the episode is basically, “Dorothy sees married man, tries to make it work, and then realizes it’s not worth it.” If you want to see a nuanced take on infidelity . . . I don’t know, watch The Women, or something, because that’s not what this is. It boils down to Dorothy realizing that the arrangement is too morally wrong for her, and that’s basically it.

DOROTHY: His name is Glen O’Brien. ROSE: Where’d you meet him? SOPHIA: His name is “O’Brien.” Two-to-one, she met him at a gin mill.

Dorothy realizing that Glen’s absolute refusal to leave the wife he claims to no longer love is incredibly unfair to her is a good moment, but the process it takes to get her there is plotted strangely: She insists, right up until the final moments of the episode, that she’s not going to stop seeing Glen and that she’s comfortable with doing the “wrong” thing for the sake of her own gratification, but then switches in those final moments. Sophia keeps insisting Dorothy’s morally conflicted about it, but she denies this right up until the end. It’s not that I don’t buy Dorothy’s internal conflict -- I just would have appreciated it if she herself acknowledged it at some point before the break-up.

Rose and Blanche representing the different moral stances on the matter is also a little unusual. While Rose is coming at it from the morally correct stance, the show makes her judgmental attitude unbearably smug, possibly to make it a little more understandable when Dorothy ignores her. It’s also strange that Blanche is so insistent that Dorothy continue the affair when she later admits she’s never had one herself and didn’t think a married man would be worth the effort -- oh, and it’s also a little mean that Dorothy and Rose just assume Blanche has at some point slept with a married man.

There’s one omission that’s so glaring by its absence that I can’t help but feel a scene or line was cut somewhere: You’d think that, at some point, Sophia would call Dorothy out on the fact that, as a victim of a cheating husband herself, she should be the last person to try to justify an extramarital affair. Even just a single mention of Stan’s name would have been a very effective way of Sophia getting her point across, but it doesn’t happen, and I don’t for the life of me know why.

SOPHIA: So you started up with your married man again. DOROTHY: How did you know? SOPHIA: I’m the Amazing Kreskin. I was listening at the door. DOROTHY: Oh Ma. SOPHIA: Oh, I can’t put my ear to the door, but you can put your--DOROTHY: Ma!

It’s a shame, because the hypocrisy is what makes Dorothy the perfect protagonist of this episode. Her very first spotlight episode was her tearing into her ex-husband for his blatant infidelity, and yet she’s doing everything she can to justify being the Other Woman, trying to find a way to reconcile her morality with her emotions. It would have made the ending, in which Dorothy realizes that she wants to be better than her ex-husband, mean so much more.

For the record, this episode doesn’t do Dorothy any favors by the way it characterizes Glen. Maybe the actor, Alex Rocco, just lacks the necessary charisma -- when this character comes back played by Jerry Orbach in a later episode, it’s much more obvious why Dorothy is attracted to him. Or maybe it’s just a matter of time constraints: Here the character gets maybe three lines of dialogue before he confesses and starts trying to justify himself, and I don’t know if even Jerry Orbach (or any actor, for that matter) had enough charisma to make that work.

Something about the way Glen is written is just... slimy. While he professes to love Dorothy, his dialogue is just littered with manipulative bullshit. When he first tells Dorothy the truth, she immediately gets mad at him for lying to her, and he says, “I couldn’t lie to you. That’s why I told you.” Dude, you did lie to her -- you dated her for three weeks before you told her you were married! Then, when Dorothy breaks up with him, he says, “Please think about what you’re throwing away,” implicitly making her the bad guy who’s ruining the relationship, when he’s the one who’s creating the problem by trying to have his cake and eat it too.

BLANCHE: What’ll you give me for it? ROSE: Oh I couldn’t buy your car. It’s not my type. I want a car that says, “Practical.” Your car says . . . “Available.” BLANCHE: Well just take off my personalized plates.

I do like the B-plot of the episode, because it does exactly what a B-plot needs to do in a serious-ish episode like this: It adds levity and makes the final scene after the painful break-up funny, so the episode ends on a light note. I mean, there’s no rhyme or reason to Blanche saying she knows a place where men wrestle naked in the mud, but goddamn do I need that laugh by that point.

This is also one of the better episodes when it comes to balancing all four Girls evenly across both plotlines. Blanche and Rose are equally preoccupied with the B-plot, while Dorothy gets the lion’s share of the A-plot. In previous episodes, when this has been the case, Sophia’s gotten short shrift, usually consigned to a handful of lines -- though usually, they’re all the best ones.

In this episode, however, Sophia’s the connective tissue that ties the two plots together, being the rational one to point out the problems with Blanche and Rose’s car loan, and also being the voice of Dorothy’s conscience. It’s also one of the first episodes that really makes use of Sophia as an older mother/mentor figure to the other Girls.

One thing to note is how this episode has been edited strategically for copyright reasons: In both the Hulu and Amazon versions of the episode, they’ve carefully cut around Sophia rocking out on air guitar to a particular song on the lanai, probably because neither company owns the rights to the song she’s singing along to. For the record, it’s “Purple Rain,” by Prince. Here’s what the scene looks like on the DVD release:

I really wish they hadn’t cut this part out of the episode, even if I understand the underlying copyright reasons, since it’s actually very appropriate. “Purple Rain” has lyrics about not wanting to be someone’s “weekend lover” and how the singer “could never steal you from another.” I know that’s not what Prince said the song was about, but with a strictly surface listen, it sounds very apropos to the episode’s story. Also, the part where Dorothy expresses her frustration with Sophia by twisting the volume knob all the way up and blowing out Sophia’s ears is pretty hilarious, not going to lie.

By the way, there’s also a weird subtitle censor in the Hulu version of this episode. Blanche in the opening scene quotes her great-grandfather as saying two things you never sell to a friend are a car and a slave -- “because if either one of them quits working, you’ll never hear the end of it.” Hulu changes that second word to “sleigh,” which I found amusing.

Episode rating: 🍰🍰🍰 (three cheesecake slices out of five)

Favorite Part of the Episode:

BLANCHE: Oh honey, you’ve been hit by the thunderbolt. Love at first sight! It happened to me once. SOPHIA: Once? You’ve been hit by more lightning than the World Trade Center. ROSE: I was hit by the thunderbolt once. SOPHIA: Probably a direct hit to the forehead.

[writingtoheal]

Even In Brokenness

As I sat around listening to the other members of the group speak, I couldn’t help but wonder, how did I wind up here? Most of the others were struggling just to get out of their house regularly, with little chance of support themselves or their family. Their issues seemed so profound, from debilitating anxiety to chronic pain and overwhelming addictions. I, on the other hand, had a full-time job, a decent place to live, and, from all outside appearances, a normal existence.  I wasn’t fighting battles in the here and now like they were. Many of these people were trying to escape current abusive relationships with possibly dangerous consequences. The abuse I experienced ended over 20 years ago and I still wasn’t convinced that I should even call it abuse. They needed to be in this mental hospital to gain their footing and learn new skills to break free from their addictions. I just wanted the nightmares to end. I wanted to go an entire day without a smell or a word triggering a flashback or starting up the video of those events from long ago. What did I really have to complain about compared to them?  I was just desperate to relieve my family from the burden of me and felt with all my heart that my daughter would be better off in the long run if I were no longer on this earth.  

I knew that my actions had led me to this place but I didn’t know what I was supposed to gain. True, I was “protected” but for how long.  I had no expectation that being in this place would bring changes to the underlying feelings that led me here.  I spent a lot of time in the small chapel, praying, writing, and hiding as much as I could. I asked God why this was happening and what I was supposed to do to make it all stop. I asked Him why he chose to preserve my life. I tried very hard to listen but no answers came. I knew that He hadn’t left me but I felt utterly surrounded by darkness. I was too ashamed to open up about the events that had suddenly started playing non-stop in my head. No one would ever understand. If I opened up, they would all know what a phony I was and how I didn’t belong. I desperately called out to God to help me go back to the way it was before. Thinking about those disgusting times in this new way, as abuse, only made me confused and angry, and I just couldn’t take any more. I was fully defeated, totally embarrassed, and irreparably broken.  

I wasn’t thinking about being used by God in that situation. I was begging Him to allow me to just die and more than a bit angry because He didn’t. I fully believe that God is all-powerful and uses all things to work for His good.  But when you’re locked up in a mental hospital, being used by God is quite far from your mind, at least it was from mine. So, I went through the motions, focusing on meeting their goals so I could just get back home. I ate when they told me to, took the medicines they gave me, and spoke just enough during group time to get a check beside my name.  I shared mostly lies and half-truths, but they didn’t know that.  I listened to the others, feeling a mixture of empathy, pity, cynicism, and even anger at the stories shared. Then one day, a young lady joined our group. She was just old enough to be placed with the adults instead of the teen unit. She was loud, crude, and seemed angry at the world. She couldn’t stay out of trouble and was ready to fight anyone who challenged her in any way. Her entire demeanor screamed, “Don’t try me!” For reasons I still struggle to understand, that’s not at all what I saw or heard. From the time she stormed into the room, sat right beside the door, and folded her arms in a big huff, I saw pain, not meanness. As I listened to her brag about beating up some kid over something minor, I heard fear in her voice. I had no idea why at the time, but I felt a sense of connection with this kid. It was like we had chosen different ends of the coping spectrum. She chose to build her wall of protection with anger and extreme defensiveness. If she threw the first punch, no one would ever hurt her again. I chose to throw all of my energy into making everyone around me happy. If I could distract them and do whatever it took to make them like me, no one would look too deeply and see my shame or the ugliness I felt on the inside. Both extremes were just mechanisms to try to cover up the pain.  

As group ended, I walked by her and made a quiet comment that only she could hear, again beyond my understanding at the time. I said, “The world isn’t going to end if you tell someone.” The shock was instantly evident on her face.  She didn’t fire back with the anger that had poured from her during group.  She just stared; mouth open.  I kept walking, still trying to figure out why those words came to my mind and why I felt the overwhelming need to say them to a perfect stranger.  About an hour later, she approached me, eyes wide and searching, and cautiously asked, “How did you know?”  Then I found myself sitting in the chapel, listening as she poured out her heart and shared the story that she had not told anyone else. Each word was so painful yet so freeing.  As the tears cascaded down her cheeks, remarkably, she seemed to grow lighter and lighter.  With each detail, the wall of fury she had built crumbled more and more.  She wasn’t looking for me to “fix” anything, which is good considering that we were both inpatients.  She just needed to get it out and see that, in fact, the world was not going to end and she could survive beyond the horrors of that horrific event from the previous year.  When she finished, the change in her whole person was evident. Her demeanor at group the next day was completely different. She was eager to visit with her parents and even wanted to apologize for her behavior. She didn’t offer an explanation or rehash the details she had shared in that chapel the previous evening.  We never spoke on a private level again and I have no idea what happened to her.  I’m certainly not claiming to have healed her pain with a few words and a listening ear.  That type healing only comes from God, Himself.  I know that she wasn’t really talking to me that evening.  She was pouring her heart out to her Heavenly Father, even if she didn’t fully realize or acknowledge it.    I feel privileged to have witnessed His miraculous healing power.  Looking back, I can now see that He opened my eyes to her pain.  He put those words into my mind and pushed me to deliver His message.  All these years later, I can’t help but wonder if He used that one conversation, sparked by one comment, to dramatically alter her life course. For me, remembering that series of events, reinforces that God can and does use us, even in our most broken state, whether we are open to it or not.

[elleonmybeloved]

A New Muse

Winx Club | Flora x Helia Words:5785 Chapter 1 Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22431853/chapters/53596288

Summary:  Ever wonder what goes on in that freakishly strong poet guy's mind when it comes to Flora? A retelling of the events of their experiences together in season 2 but this time you don't have to guess at Helia's personality.The mind of a teenage guy can be an interesting thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No way dude, Kellthorn is totally winning this. Miran might be at the top of his class, but he’s just a sophomore. Kellthorn’s got two years of experience on him.”

“You obviously haven’t seen Miran fight. He’s got this one in the bag.”

“You wanna bet?”

“Sure. Whoever loses buys dinner.”

“Hah! You’re so on.”

Helia had chosen a seat surrounded by empty space in the hopes of getting whatever peace he could at such a loud and chaotic event as the reopening of the Red Fountain stadium, but unfortunately he could still hear the bickering of some excited specialists from his corner seat.

He hadn’t even wanted to come in the first place, but Uncle Saladin had made him a deal too good to refuse… and well, just about anything seemed worth it in the face of getting a new set of WeiLu brushes. Enhanced with a secret potion formula and made from the finest of unicorn hairs, the kind of elegant and versatile brushwork they could produce was a worthwhile trade for a few hours of mild suffering.

“Yes!! I told you Kellthorn would win. Mmm, I can taste the pricey Italian alfredo already!”

“Aw man, can’t we just go out for pizza dude?”

“Nope. This is what you get for underestimating a real specialist’s strength!”

Helia hid an expression of disdain. What good came of obsessing so much over strength? In his opinion, it was pathetic to take such pleasures in brutish delight. The best this school had going for it were it’s few intellectuals, but they always failed to acknowledge the balance of technology and nature.

The new design of Red Fountain’s campus would be one example of such. Floating among the clouds with the help of technology and magic, but a part of the natural beauty of the sky, floating like a cloud, and gravity’s brush painting the long cascades of water that fell from all sides, like a waterfall.

Not that anybody would notice that.

A flock of doves landed at his feet, cooing on their way down. Pleased, he leaned forward and turned a new page in his sketchbook, trying to capture the grace in their flight. They had such fluffy feathers, like clouds. He made several short, curved strokes, trying to imitate the downy feathers and the soft clouds above simultaneously.

“Hmm…” He was pleased with the overall shape, but he wasn’t sure he had succeeded in what he had been trying to do.

“According to my calculations, this is the best angle to watch the event!”

Glancing up briefly, he noticed a few of his specialist acquaintances approaching with a group of young women he suspected were Alfea fairies. Looks like his newfound peace wasn’t going to last long after all. He went back to his sketch.

“Hey, who’s that ?” He supposed he should have knocked on wood. One of the fairies had noticed him already. Helia pressed his lips together at the subsequent uncomfortable sensation of several pairs of eyes on him.

“Oooh, he’s kind ce-yute… is he a transfer student? I’d remember if I’d seen him before.”

This one’s loud voice grated harshly on his ears. Helia suppressed a sigh.

“That’s just Helia.” From the unamused tone in Brandon’s voice, he made the quick connection of the identity of the loud blonde as his royal girlfriend.

“Helia is Saladin’s nephew.” Timmy never missed a chance to list off the facts.

He almost didn’t hear the next voice. Unlike the others it was quiet and soft, and not easily heard over the ambient noise of the crowd.

“Then he must be a talented specialist. Is he going to be in the competition?”

“Actually no, he’s not a hero.” Brandon was quick to explain. “He goes to art school, but Saladin’s trying to convince him to transfer here.”

And he’d need a better bribe than high quality art supplies to pull that off.

“The problem is, he’s a pacifist, and doesn’t believe in violence.”

“Huh, what a shame.”

He flipped to the next page and began another sketch, not really wanting to hear the usual judgements of how lame or cowardly he “must be” that usually ensued the disclosure of that information.

“Actually, I think that’s wonderful…” The quiet voice was so full of genuine admiration, it shocked him.

Finally looking up from his sketchbook, his gaze raked over the group of girls, searching for the owner of that voice.

“I’d like to meet him and hear his point of view.”

Her shy expression wasn’t hidden by the blonde like she had been the first time he’d looked at the group, nor was the rest of her. For that, Helia was thankful. He would’ve been extremely remiss had he never gotten a chance to lay eyes on this fairy.

Helia took his time drinking in the sight. Her petite form, the deep green of her eyes, the delicate swell of her pink bottom lip, the glow of her smooth caramel skin, and the delicately curled waves of her long chestnut hair that flowed loosely in the slight breeze were enticing. More than those, however, was her posture: graceful yet shy, and the way she wore her expression: open and kind.

It was exactly the kind of raw, gentle beauty he found himself chasing so often in his artwork. Most fairies were physically attractive, but he always found their “pretty” to be boring and repetitive. It was refreshing to encounter something different.

“Sure, I’ll introduce ya.”

Helia set down his brush and shifted his leg in anticipation as Brandon approached, giving the specialist an inquisitive gaze.

“Hey Helia.”

“Hello.”

“These ladies here are my friends. Let me introduce you.” Brandon turned to indicate each girl with one hand as he rattled off their names.

“This is Tecna, and that’s Layla, and-”

“I’m Princess Stella of Solaria!” The blonde chirped enthusiastically as she inserted herself in front of the one girl who’s name Helia was actually curious to know. “I’m actually a big supporter of the arts and-...”

Perhaps it was worth the delay, because the brief flash of disappointment in the other fairy’s eyes at the lost chance to be introduced pleased him. He was glad she wanted him to know who she was.

“-you’re an artist, right? Can you show me your sketchbook?” Helia tuned back in to what the blonde was saying in time to hear what was probably simultaneously the most annoying and most asked question of every artist of all time. As usual, he ignored it.

He stood and gave a formal bow of greeting to the group, coaxing forward his best friendly smile. “It is an honor to meet all of you.”

“With all due respect, Helia, why are you drawing on paper?” The one introduced as Tecna asked. “Such a primitive antique. Graphic palettes are so much better.”

He didn’t have a chance to answer as what he assumed was Tecna’s bonded pixie began regaling him on all the specs of such digital equipment. Helia raised an eyebrow and tried to keep his polite smile.

Except the blonde then casually took his sketchbook right out of his hands.

“Wooow!” She gushed, shamelessly flipping through the pages. It was too quickly for her to really be looking at them. “These are greeeaat ! You’re perfect to do my royal portrait.” She gave him a wide, expectant grin as if she’d just given him a great honor.

And then unceremoniously shoved his sketchbook into the hands of the gentle girl.

Stella continued on about having her people call his people or some nonsense, he was only paying attention to the almost reverent way the girl was holding his sketchbook, taking her time on each drawing and turning the pages gently.

Helia was quiet as he awaited her response to what she saw there, curious what she’d have to say.

“Your brush strokes capture the dove’s moment so beautifully.” She sighed, still looking at the drawing. “The way you’ve drawn the wings -  it’s like they’re hugging the clouds and the sky and the dove… become one.” Meeting his eyes at her last words, she seemed a bit chagrined, but passed his sketchbook back with a shy smile.

He was a little stunned and mechanically took it back from her before speaking.

“That’s… exactly what I had in mind. I wasn’t sure I’d managed to pull it off... I love that you got that.”

The girl let out a nervous laugh, like she’d been expecting him to make fun of what she said and was relieved that wasn’t the case.

If anything, it was the opposite.

“He-hem. And this is Flora.” Brandon’s knowing smirk was annoying but the important information he just imparted was enough for him to get away with it.

“Hmm, Flora.” He murmured quietly, immediately testing out the name on his tongue.

Flora . Of course her name was Flora, he thought, a girl with all the beauty and grace of nature. Like a wood nymph of legend. He wondered how she would feel about letting him draw her sometime.

“Anyways, we need to go start getting ready. I’ll see you girls later.” Brandon said, winking at Stella before he and the other specialists broke off from the group.

Helia took the opportunity to take his own leave. He didn’t want to risk getting dust or rubble on his sketchbook while the “Big Reveal” was taking place, and as it was he was thirsty. His uncle surely wouldn’t begrudge him getting some water before returning.

The group of fairies chatted animatedly as they took their seats, and though he resisted the temptation to turn his head for a last look, his wondered about warning the gentle fairy about what most of the audience would probably perceive as an earthquake…

...Nah, she would be fine.

And if she wasn’t, he’d be there to rescue her.

---

Flora would do anything to save those she cared about, so while she wasn’t particularly brave, she volunteered to be bait in their plan to get rid of the monster attacking Red Fountain.

Her magic was primarily defensive after all. She’d leave it to the heavy hitters to bash this thing down.

Steeling her nerves, she flew around the face of the monster, trying not to look at it’s scary gaping maw that was no doubt right behind her.

Finally, the signal. The spell Bloom and the others had been charging were ready.

“Aaieee!” Flora panicked, suddenly covered head to toe in a stick substance that stang where it touched her skin. She’d reflexively squeezed her eyes shut, but now she couldn’t open them. She shouldn’t have looked away!

“Oh no, that’s what it does right before it eats you!” Bloom’s voice sounded hopelessly far away.

“I-I can’t see!” She stammered, trying her best to shake the goo off with little success.

Flora knew she needed to keep moving, but what if she flew into the monster’s awaiting mouth? There was a spell for this, of course, but her mind was blank in her panic and it would take several seconds she didn’t have to cast it. Her breath left her in gasps, and she sobbed, curling in on herself in anticipation of the sharp teeth she knew were coming to crush her in two.

But those teeth never came.

“What the- look, it’s being restrained by glowing cords!”

Still unable to see, Flora frantically chanted the spell while she had the opportunity, and after a few agonizing seconds, the goo vanished and she opened her eyes.

Instead of the gaping maw she’d expected, the monster was several feet from her, bound in a glowing gold cord. Her eyes followed the line up to a high ledge.

There stood her hero. His bicep flexed as he effortlessly restrained the monster with a single hand, the cords extending out from a white glove on his left hand. The folds of his loose poet’s shirt billowed in the wind.

An odd sensation buzzed in her chest.

“How did that happen?”

“Haha!” Sky’s laughter sounded surprised. “It seems like we have a new hero!”

“What? Where?” Brandon swung his dragon around.

“He’s up there.” Flora couldn’t keep the smile off her lips. “Helia.”

Following her gaze, Brandon’s eyes just about bugged at the sight of the young man. A smug smile on his face, still keeping the powerful beast restrained with just one hand.

“Wh- Helia ? How could an art student do that?” From his tone it sounded like he hadn’t expected Helia to be able to fight at all.

“Well, he is Saladin’s nephew… maybe heroics is in his blood?”

But Helia wasn’t paying attention to them anymore. Or the monster. He was looking straight at her. When he spoke, the soft concern in his voice made her throat go dry.

“Are you okay, Flora?”

“I- uhhh…” She didn’t really feel okay, she felt weird in her chest, and she’d almost been eaten by a monster with very sharp teeth. She should thank him right? Or maybe... reward him with a kiss? She covered her face with her hands at the embarrassing thought, immediately banishing it. “Uhhh?”

Sky laughed. “She’s okay.” He still seemed shocked, gazing incredulously at the artist.

“Hmm.” He seemed pleased with that.

And then let go of the monster in one fluid movement. Flora didn’t miss the cheeky smile that quirked up at the corner of his lips.

Her friends reacted immediately, shocked and enraged, but Flora was transfixed. Helia just walked confidently away, barely seeming to hurry at all for the monster that slammed an angry fist near where he’d just been standing.

He just calmly walked away with a satisfied expression on his face.

It was startlingly cocksure compared to her first impression of him. She couldn’t decide if he was humble or reckless… but regardless, she found the display incredibly attractive.

---

As much as he hadn’t expected a giant monster to crash the tournament ceremony, he’d appreciated the opportunity it had presented.

Helia decided he’d liked the look on Flora’s face when she opened her eyes and turned to him and saw him as her savior.

There was something in her eyes, a kind of trust that was so tempting. In that moment, it had satisfied him more than any of the art he’d made that day. The way she’d watched his arm, assessed his capabilities… he sort of felt like a preening bird in that moment, oddly. He didn’t usually care much for competing with others, but to have won her sole attention had been so satisfying he maybe needed to revisit that.

He wanted to see her look at him like that again.

Helia had succeeded in his first attempt to impress her, but what could he do to do it again? Hmm, perhaps… ah, yes.

An hour later, he managed to track down the group’s whereabouts, the specialists and fairies lounging in the courtyard against some trees. Flora sat alone against the base of a tree, eyes closed and looking peaceful as she relaxed.

It would be a shame to disturb her.

Folding his drawing into a paper airplane, he tossed it in an arc, letting it catch the wind.

A lucky throw - it landed right beside her.

Helia watched from out of her sight as her expression changed from one of curiosity, to shock, and then joy as she saw that it was a portrait of herself.

Flora looked around for him, but when she couldn’t spot him, she smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and happily hugged the drawing to her chest, holding it tightly like it was precious. It seemed attempt number two was a success.

Helia smiled too.

---

The next time Helia saw her again was several weeks later.

Despite his original resistance, with a bit more bribing on his Uncle’s part, he’d caved and joined Red Fountain. When asked, he’d said it was because he was bored and interested in a change of scenery.

But really, he was just concerned about his uncle’s safety here. They’d found no evidence in the aftermath of the beast’s attack to identify the perpetrator, which was odd. And meant that whoever was unsuccessful the first time might come back to finish the job.

His hunch turned out to be correct, the mayhem globe wreaking havoc on campus could attest to that. Unfortunately, nothing they were trying was having much of an effect.

Helia had happened to be outside, trying to find a pattern to the globe’s movements when she’d showed up, long hair streaking behind her as she and her friends ran to come offer their aid.

To be honest, he’d only thought of her a couple of times since. Sure he was interested, but he didn’t know the first thing about her. Though he wasn’t inexperienced, he wasn’t really the type to chase women.

But now that he saw her again, he was reminded of why he was attracted to her. It was those same eyes, that tempting expression.

In battle she was brave and kind, and smart enough to know her limits. But in the end, they lost the codex, despite their best efforts.

---

It was another several weeks before he saw Flora again. But this period of time, unlike the last, he spent thinking of her often.

It had started when Sky had asked Bloom to be his girlfriend after being revived from death by her power. Though he was happy with the situation, he’d come to Helia for advice on how to take her out on dates she’d enjoy.

And then Timmy had approached him soon after to ask for help in wooing Tecna, having failures to capture her heart with several gifts.

Happy with the results of his half hearted counseling, they’d formed a habit of “thanking” him with things they heard about Flora from their girlfriends.

“She likes strawberry milkshakes.”

“Pink is her favorite color.”

“There’s a large vine plant that grows in her room. She calls it Leafy. Apparently she snuggles it at night sometimes.”

There were admittedly some interesting things among the asinine.

“She mispronounced a spell in class the other day, saying your name instead of helion .”

“It’s supposed to be a secret, but Bloom says that sometimes Flora makes weird noises when sleeping with her vine plant and the room smells strongly of sweet sap.”

That one had earned Sky a glare, if only for telling him that someplace public enough to be inappropriate for the boner Helia was then sporting.

Helia had then proceeded to have a very heated dream about the subject and he’d given up trying to resist his attraction that morning.

He wanted to see her again. He wanted to know more. He wanted to hear it from her lips, in that gentle voice.

But it had been weeks… and besides, it was possible she wasn’t interested. Or had someone else in her heart.

“Hmmph.” He scowled down at the journal of poems below him, tearing off the sheet and balling it up before tossing it and beginning anew.

Her voice is the whisper of wind-swept trees

Putting my troubled mind at ease

Her eyes are lit with a new star’s aura

I long to be close to my dear Flora

...It seemed the muse wasn’t with him tonight. Maybe a hot shower would help him relax… he set down the pad and headed towards the bathroom, pulling the strings of his shirt loose.

As usual, he took long showers. It took time to wash and condition all of his hair after all.

He was just patting it dry when he heard a noise in his room.

That was odd. Had something fallen?

But when he walked out to check, everything was in place. The sound must have come from the adjacent dorm.

Glancing at the poem, he decided to give it a rest for the night and go to bed. Maybe the right words would come to him tomorrow.

---

“You really think the poem was about me?” Flora asked, gazing up at the sky, wanting to believe what Layla had just told her, but it was too good to be true. She really wished it was. She couldn’t stop thinking about the handsome artist.

She’d daydreamed about him saving her from monsters more than was probably healthy. It was hard not to drool over the memory of his confident smirk as he’d saved her at Red Fountain. It would feel so good to be held in his arms. At least that was how it had felt in her dreams. She’d had some other dreams too, but she’d never admit to those. Only that her imagination had a lot of faith in Helia being good with his hands.

“Unless he’s madly in love with a Dora, Kora, or Laura.” Layla teased her, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. “Of course it was about you, Flora. He’s into you, big time. Trust me.”

It was such a tempting thought.

Flora was struck by a whimsical, bold idea. Encouraged by the prospect of the truth of Layla’s words, she sat up, deciding to act on it before she lost her nerve.

“Maybe I’ll just send him a little something to let him know I’m thinking about him too.” The way she was planning to do it, she would be totally safe if it went south - she could always feign innocence and pretend it wasn’t her.

It was a clear and sunny afternoon. Maybe some sweet and unobtrusive white camellias? Nothing too garish or fragrant, so as not to disturb him…

She hoped he didn’t know flower language. White camellias represented love and adoration and were given to those you really liked. Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he knew it.

“I’ll be right back.” She said, giggling at the knowing look Layla shot her.

“There’s a blue ledge next to the window that makes a good hiding spot.”

---

Helia was in the middle of his afternoon meditation when he noticed a lack in the absence of the gentle heat of the sunlight. A shadow…? He hadn’t sensed anyone’s presence.

He opened his eyes and stood. There by the balcony ledge, a small bush of flowers magically grew and blossomed in front of his eyes.

Racing out to the balcony, he watched them bloom and sparkle in the light of the sun. They were white camellias, beautiful with their winding stems and layered petals. They usually only bloomed in the winter.

“Whoa! Nice…”

He looked up in search of the one responsible for such a gift, just in time to see the form of someone flying away. They were already almost out of sight, so to his disappointment he had just missed his chance to find out their identity.

Regardless, he couldn’t help a smile as he looked down at the plant, softly touching the petals of one of the flowers. If he remembered correctly, white camellias were typically given to those well-liked by the sender and could represent feelings of adoration… or love. Well, that was only one interpretation.

Who indeed?

He aced all of his tests later that day, but refused to answer as to the reason for his good mood when asked.

Even when it lasted for the rest of the week.

---

Enough heroism was enough for one day. Helia had half a mind to skip his classes, but it was a bit difficult to do when your uncle was the headmaster.

But nothing was stopping him from escaping to the park in Magix the second he finished school for the day.

Helia didn’t stop until he found the perfect spot - a large flat rock in the middle of a clearing in the trees, far enough away from most of the bustle and noise of the park, but still near enough by that he wouldn’t lose his way.

Time for some much needed decompressing.

Helia climbed up on the rock and made himself comfortable, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees in his usual meditation pose, and began to empty his mind.

Soon, his shoulders relaxed and the stiffness began to seep out of his spine. His mind was blissfully clear but for the chirping of birds and woosh of wind in the leaves. Nature never failed to calm him down.

He was almost an hour into a deep in a meditative trance, so when someone called out his name, it took him a moment to resurface to the forefront of his mind and open his eyes.

“Hmm…?”

Flora stood before him, and startled so harshly when he met her gaze that she dropped all the books she had been holding to her chest. Had she been looking for a spot to read?

She made a sound of distress and bent down, hastily gathering them up. The embarrassed look on her face was adorable.

“Hey Flora.” He couldn’t keep the mirth out of his tone as he leapt down from his perch and knelt on the ground by the mess. “Let me help you.”

He picked up one of the pieces of paper she had dropped - a letter actually, he realized as he held it up.

“Umm ahh - that’s just- uh-!” She seemed to panic, and he took a second look at the letter.

It couldn’t be...

“The christened Flower of Love?” He said out loud as he recognized the flower on the cover of the letter, surprise quickly turning to anticipation.

Flora hastily gathered up her last book and stood. He rose mechanically with her.

“You know it?” She sounded surprised, as if she didn’t expect him to. As if she had been counting on it.

“It means this letter is for the one who has your heart.” He pressed his lips together unhappily. She looked like she wanted a hole to swallow her up rather than have him see this letter. It wasn’t for him then. He felt like a fool for having misread the situation. She had probably just enjoyed his attention. Or was just that friendly to everybody...

“Uh yes.” She admitted. “But it’s uhh…”

She was blushing. Irritation swelled up within him as the image of her romantically presenting this letter to some other man came into his mind, unbidden.

“I have to tell you, whoever’s getting this letter is really a very lucky guy.” He said stiffly, fully scowling now. He had the sudden urge to leave and never show his face again.

“Well actually it’s for my parents.” She finally blurted.

“Oh.” There was an intense feeling of relief, like a pressure being lifted off his chest. But just as soon, doubt creeped back in. She was covering her mouth - was she lying to save him face? But Flora didn’t seem like the kind to lie.

“That’s very sweet.” The smile he forced on his face felt stiff even to him. “Here-”

He handed the letter out to her and she quickly took it back from him. Clutching it awkwardly, she bit her lip and gazed up at him reluctantly as if she wanted something.

But after a moment she just squelched a placative grin and nodded awkwardly. “Well… see you later?”

The disappointment hit him like a sack of bricks. Turning away abruptly, all he could manage was a simple-

“Bye.”

He sounded like a defeated loser even to him.

---

Every time Flora thought about the disastrous lost opportunity with Helia at the park, she got the urge to bang her head against the wall. Well maybe not quite, but she knew Chatta certainly did.

So it was a relief when Bloom invited her along on her trip to Eraklyon to meet Sky’s parents. And that they hit the ground running when they got back, although she wasn’t sure how she felt about going to Cloud Tower. She could really use a break from negative energy.

She didn’t miss the surprised look on Stella’s face at the orb of darkness she summoned. The sun fairy had probably assumed that she too would be unable to summon one.

But it wasn’t hard to let the feelings of embarrassment, disappointment, and frustration with herself rise to the surface.

It sure made for one ugly orb of dark energy. She tried not to let the disgust show on her face though, considering she was surrounded by witches who may not appreciate that.

---

“Man, we finally get fall break and my girl isn’t even in the same dimension. How am I supposed to ask her out on a date now?”

“You’re out of luck Brandon, besides they don’t get their break until next week. They’re only on Earth to conduct research for their project. Going to some creepy house for a party. Bloom told me it was for gathering information about a traditional folk holiday there called Hahl-oh-eeyn.” Sky responded matter of factly.

“They always get to do the fun projects.” He grouched, looking for all to have the wind blown out of his sails.

“Not always.” Timmy interjected. “In fact, I don’t envy them. From what I know of Halloween, going there now is practically the worst timing ever after their harrowing experience at Cloud Tower last week.”

“How come?”

“Apparently, Halloween is all about getting scared by creepy things. Take a look at some of these decoration example images I found on the interweb.”

Helia raised an eyebrow at what he saw as Timmy scrolled through the display. The objects ranged from tacky to something he’d seen a witch wearing, to straight up terrifying. Fake blood, faces twisted in gaunt screams, large weapons and unsettling equipment all set up in a dark place called a “Haunted House” that people went in for thrills. Or to show off to their crush.

What a terrible holiday. This was why he was a pacifist - he could never fathom why people could stand or even enjoy such violence. And Flora, sweet, gentle, easily startled Flora was going to have to go in something like one of those “Haunted Houses?”

Poor thing. Her not-quite rejection a week prior had stung, sure, but his heart still ached at the idea of her crying out in fear.

Images of her trembling, her large green eyes filled with tears… if he was there, he’d hold her close until she stopped shaking and then take her out of such an awful place immediately. He imagined her clutching him closely, looking up at him with that same expression of admiration as the day they first met. Like he was her hero and the only thing that mattered in her eyes.

“Helia? Hello-o, earth to Helia!”

“Huh?” The fantasy scattered from his conscience. “What?”

“I asked if you wanted to come with us to get some pizza tonight.” Brandon said. “They’ve got a group deal on Saturdays.”

“Dude, why’re you always spacing out?” Riven crossed his arms, shaking his head like it was personally disappointing to him. “Seriously.”

“I’ll pass, thank you.” Helia responded simply.

“Alright man. More pizza for us.” Brandon loped an arm around Sky and tugged him towards the door. “Lets go, I’m starving.”

“Yeah dude, me too. Codatorta really went all out on us in combat practice earlier.”

Riven and Timmy followed them out the door, and when they were gone Helia was left alone with his thoughts. Where was he…

Ah yes, Flora’s hero.

---

Sometimes, being part of a prestigious family line of powerful sages came in handy. Among other things, one had good eyesight, incredible natural strength, and a natural propensity for the mystic arts.

But sometimes, it just plain sucked.

Like now, when the rest of Helia’s specialist classmates were being sent to spend an entire week alone with the six fairies to ‘guard’ them on a beautiful vacation realm full of exotic plants and animals he would’ve loved to have the chance to capture in paper and ink. Meanwhile he was stuck attending one of the “important family meetings” one could expect of a rather powerful and well off family with much business to do about Magix and several other realms worth of politics.

It didn’t help that he had to listen to them talk about it while he assisted with prepping the hovercraft ship for use. He was just about turning green with envy.

“Dude, I can’t wait to see Stella’s new bathing suit. She’s been teasing me with little details over text all morning. Expensive, red, custom-contoured to fit her body…”

“Dude, you’re drooling.”

“As if you’re not looking forward to seeing Bloom in a bikini.”

“Touche. I bet she’s got freckles just as cute as the ones on her face in other places.” The blond easily hefted a box full of tents into the back of the ship with a cheeky look on his face. “I’m also looking forward to her having to embrace her natural height. Without the help of 3-inch heels since she can’t possibly wear those in the sand or mud. Heh-heh, she gets so angry when I tease her about it, it’s adorable.”

Riven made a choking sound like he was gagging on the mushiness of Sky’s tone.

“We’re not allowed to socialize. Seems to me like you’re forgetting that.”

“Don’t be such a drag, Riven. Besides, I’ll bet you’ll be the first one to drop the whole routine.”

“No way dude.” Riven looked offended at the very insinuation that he would fail at any mission. “I’m not the one getting all horny over some girls in bathing suits.”

“Woah, hey, it’s not like that.” Brandon wagged his finger at Riven as if teaching a young boy. “And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to embrace the woman you love.”

They then moved on to the topic of who was sharing tents with who, and taking bets on who the first fairy to scream over a bug or something in her sleeping bag would be.

Helia wasn’t really listening anymore. His brain was stuck on the image of Flora, lounging next to him on a beach towel, sipping on a strawberry shake as he applied sunscreen on her bare back, strands of a frilly pink two-piece laying untied at the sides so as not to hinder his application job.

He forcefully cut the image off when it started to wander into “sounds she would make from his hands massaging her back” territory. That was dangerous. And besides… there was the guy Flora was going to give that love letter.

That was a sobering thought. Seems like the engines were in perfect condition and nothing was wrong with any of the interior systems.

Time to go ask if he could get out of the family meeting. Or at least leave early.

[amwritingmeta]

15x04: Lucky Them

Wow. Davy Perez has this knack of bringing it, and this time was no exception. Icing on the cake was the delight at having Jensen directing again! 

We got a glimpse of Benny (happy not to have more) (however much I love his character, he’s fulfilled his purpose in the narrative in beautiful ways that I don’t really need extrapolated on) (anyway) and we got Becky back, with some real character progression to juxtapose Chuck’s alpha and omega of douchebaginess. 

The more of a douche connected to dark and horrible endings Chuck is, the more hopeful I become of the opposite heading our way. *fingers crossed* :)

The best line that Becky delivered was about how she’s carved out a good life for herself and she actually likes herself now. That’s character growth right there. She found what would truly make her happy and she built on it. Bless you, Becky, you’re one of the lucky ones! Sorry you got smoked. :/

But let’s move into the meat of the story (pardon the pun) and talk about Sam and Dean and how they are simply not dealing at the moment. Either of them. 

*e p i c*

Sam 

Oh Sam. Sam is having nightmares and they’re of the callback kind, because here we get a glimpse of how he’s still not processed his choice to drink that demon blood, how he still carries the self-blame and the guilt and the fear of losing his tightly held control of himself around with him, even to this day. Because, as he will state in that gorgeous (and seriously tear-jerking) end-of-the-ep exchange with Dean: he can’t let it go.

But letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. Letting go means understanding that you can’t change the past, that you can’t live in a blame bubble and that carrying that guilt for choices that you wouldn’t repeat now, if put in the same situation, is toxic for the mind because it hollows out your sense of self. 

Moving on means gaining perspective enough to forgive yourself your past mistakes, trust yourself not to repeat them and gain actual control of yourself through understanding where your boundaries need to be drawn and drawing them for yourself. 

It sounds easy (it’s not), but if Sam can just see how strong he truly is in himself, how strong he always has been - he held Lucifer and went into the cage with him and was tortured by the Devil himself and he’s still standing - then he can begin to trust himself not to ever let the past repeat itself.

I loved that the images of Sam with black eyes was a nightmare. Does this mean it’s not foreshadowing? I don’t know! Maybe Sam needs to face his demons through a visual manifestation, but I think an internal gradual moving away from this fear of losing control could be just as effective. We shall see!

Sam daring to take the leader position is one of the ways him dealing with this fear can be, and has already been, explored, because he’s been happy for Dean to take the lead for so long because of his fear of losing control of himself, of hurting people, of hurting the ones he loves and, of course, hurting Dean, that he’s been okay with second chair, but Sam is the born leader and that second chair has never really fit him all that well. 

He just has to accept that happiness, while in the life, is always going to be shadowed by the fact that people will die, that they can’t save everyone, that monsters will continue to roam the Earth, but that they’re doing what they can to make the world just a little bit better each day, and that’s all that we can ever hope to do. Like Cas once said to Dean: “You can’t save everyone, my friend. Though you try.”

Dean

Dean eats his emotions. This is what is known as an unhealthy coping mechanism, meaning that instead of actually acknowledging and dealing with whatever emotion he’s feeling that’s causing him distress, he pushes that emotion down and because of him suppressing it, the emotion finds an unhealthy behavioural outlet.

This is also a form of self-punishment. 

Guilt, shame and regret are all powerful emotions that cause a person to have an unconscious need to self-punish. And what emotions are Dean feeling at this very moment, ever since he pushed so hard at the love of his life that the love of his life finally decided to put his foot down and leave?

Yeah. I’d venture there’s a fair amount of all of those emotions battling it out inside Dean. What I love most about it, though, is that yes, he’s eating the entire episode, but he only takes a sip out of that flask. Meaning? That this is unhealthy coping, but at least it is just that: coping. 

He’s not being self-destructive in a putting himself in harms way, let the chips fall where they may sort of self-destructive. He’s not taking care of himself, obviously, because he doesn’t feel he deserves it, because of the aforementioned guilt, shame and regret, but he’s also not taking unnecessary risks. His sense of hopelessness, of his chance for happiness being gone, is subtle and is only highlighted in that end-of-the-ep exchange with Sam.

Oh, it’s enough to send shivers down your spine. And jerk them tears, too. *iCry*

Through that exchange we also get a Dean who is determined to keep going, to find a reason to keep going, which, to me, means there’s still slight hope that Cas will find his way back to him again. That this isn’t the end at all. Dean just doesn’t know exactly what he can do to ensure it isn’t. 

I would think it would be absolutely beautiful if what Dean needs to do is drop the fast food and eat some fruit, you know? If he actually starts to do little things of self-care that show he’s actually beginning to open up to forgiving himself his past mistakes and loving himself as he is. The moment Dean can believe he deserves Cas’ love is when he’ll be able to actually see Cas and see that he might mean as much to Cas as Cas does to him. And once that door begins to open… 

Yah. Fireworks. 

Anyway, that’s just what I’d love to see happen. 

Cas’ self-worth has clearly sky-rocketed, demonstrated to us when he decided to leave that Bunker and Dean’s emotional abuse behind, effectively telling Dean that he deserves better treatment than that. Like hell yes. 

This action was so necessary, not only for Cas’ sense of self-worth, but to bring Dean into a position where he honestly has no choice but open himself up to some much needed self-reflection.

Dean needs to reflect on his own behaviour, and he should feel guilt and shame and regret, but without getting defensive about it, without pushing it down and pretending he’s fine with it. He has to actually face the consequences of his actions and step up and take responsibility for how his usual behaviour of taking his emotions (his anger) out on those closest to him is harmful, and he needs to become self-aware enough to not engage in it anymore.

Time to grow up, Dean Winchester, you beautiful man!

Let’s take a look at the end-of-the-ep exchange, shall we? 

End-of-the-Ep Exchange

So we get the brothers, in the Impala, having one of those heart-to-hearts that Baby seems made for half the time. In this place of safety there’s room for honesty, always. And they usually find their way to it around her. 

*still worried something will happen to Baby by the end of the season as a visual manifestation of them letting go of needing her to have this type of communication as well as moving on from the past and into the future but omg I hope nothing does and still I kinda hope something does gah*

Anyway.

I’m skipping into the meaty part of this exchange (okay stop with that pun already it’s already old) Fine. 

Dean talks about how he felt like cashing out in the crypt after Chuck went all Apocalypse World 55.1 on their asses, but Sam brought him out of that line of thinking by reminding him that what they do matter. And Dean is all about picking Sam up, has been trying to for the whole episode, wanting to do the same for Sam that Sam did for him, of course, and remind him that what they do matter, because they save lives.

And a little more than that. 

They keep the blinds down for the rest of the world, right? They allow for people to live their white-picket-fence lives and never worry about what goes bump in the night, which is what Sam has been so fed up with for the entire episode: the hopelessness of their situation; because there will always be more monsters, no matter what they do, and people will die, no matter how many they save.

To the exchange, then –>

Dean: ‘Cause it is, you know, It’s a crap job. We do the ugly thing so that people can live happy. Sam: Yeah. Lucky them. Dean: Yeah, lucky them.

So Sam’s reaction here can be read whichever way you like it, really, but looking at the subtext of the exchange - which, for Dean, is un-subtly all to do with Cas - Sam’s reaction tied to Dean agreeing that the people who get to live happy are lucky can very well be seen as Sam reacting to Dean letting his guard down and  admitting that, yes, happy sounds good, happy sounds nice, and he wouldn’t mind a bit of happy for himself.

What’s more mind-blowing about this admittance, to me, has to do with the Cas-subtext of the exchange, though, because that’s for us, the viewers, who understand that when Dean talks about moving on, that’s a signal for us - who witnessed that very private moment between Dean and Cas in the previous episode - to get where Dean’s head is at. 

So when Dean very subtly agrees with Sam about how living a long and happy life (and I’m paraphrasing Mildred because relevant) would be good, we can detect that there’s a deeper reason for why it’s not only monsters and death keeping Dean from living it. 

And, what’s more, the fact that he puts into words that he wants to live a long and happy life is a huge, huge marker, at least to this meta writer, of how far he’s come in his progression, because he wants it and he’s not about to lie to himself that he doesn’t, but, by that same token, he still does not believe he deserves it and he can’t see himself ever having happiness, which is part of why he’s been self-punishing himself the entire episode, because it’s this incapability of accepting happiness when it’s right there that made him push Cas away and it’s a vicious, vicious cycle of lack of self-love and self-worth.

(jaysusssss very beautifully done)

And look at Dean’s FAAAACE ^^^

And Sam is still reacting to all this because what? – did Dean just admit that he doesn’t want the Blaze of Glory ending for himself? (and yeah with Cas having left I’m pretty sure Sam is hyper aware of the possibility that Dean is actually, in his own way, admitting that a future without Cas looks pretty bleak to him) 

Back to the exchange where Dean says all these amazing, amazing things –>

Dean: But it doesn’t change a thing. You know what I mean? We still do the job, but we don’t do it for us. We do it for Jack, for mom, for Rowena. We owe it to anyone who’s ever given a damn about us to put one foot in front of the other. No matter what. 

And let me pause for a moment there and just have us all look at what exactly he is saying here, because, oh boy, is it telling of how he just has not reached a healthy place in any shape or form. Now, in a way, this is healthier than digging himself a hole and lying in it, yeah? Absolutely. 

It’s that “fake it” mentality of S7 all over again and I’d rather he be here, with a glimmer of hope (I always thought you’d come back type of hope with that trench coat in the trunk of every car they drove that season), and finding a reason to keep going, than be in that dark place he was in during his grief!arc at the start of S13, when he couldn’t believe in a damn thing and he didn’t care, at all, what happened to him, BUT there is still that echo here, which is why it’s such an unhealthy frame of mind for him to cling to.

They don’t have a purpose in life for themselves, they find it through others.

No. 

It brings us right back to what he said to Sam at the end of 13x20: I don’t really care what happens to me, I never have. 

And what he told Death in 14x05: I don’t matter. 

This attitude is the reason why he can’t move out of this perpetual state of not believing he deserves more. That he deserves everything. 

And this is what’s keeping him from daring to want more for himself, daring to feel how much more he does want for himself, because every time he’s dared to want more, it’s come crashing down around him. His fear of happiness runs extremely deep. 

It’s time to face it and let go of it and embrace the fact of how his life and how he chooses to live it benefiting others is a great gift, but him giving that gift also means he has every right to balance the giving out with a bit of receiving.

*please and thank you*

Of course, all of this is underlined in what he says next –>

Dean: And hey, man, like you said, now that Chuck’s gone, we’re finally on our own. We are finally free to move on, you know?

And the way this is phrased, so brilliantly, of course makes it impossible not to see it as a subtle reveal of what Dean is thinking about Cas leaving: without Chuck pulling Cas’ strings, Cas was finally free to make the choice to leave.

But this is also tied to what Dean needs to stop getting hung up on, because he’s purposefully blocking out what Cas said, which is that for all his string-pulling, Chuck still had to pivot with their choices. He didn’t control those. He manipulated them, sure, but he didn’t force them into making them. And each choice they’ve made has added to their understanding of themselves and of the world and their place in it. They are real. 

Cas didn’t choose to leave because now he’s free of Chuck’s influence - he chose to leave because Dean was breaking his heart, because Dean refused to hear him, because Dean was shutting him out and pushing him away, because Dean’s inability to stop using the blame game as an excuse not to connect or open up wasn’t gonna fly anymore. 

And this is what Dean needs to face, so Dean talking about finally being “on our own” and free is the last vestige of his performance remaining, the final lie he has to tell himself until he can face his fears and take responsibility for his actions, because the alternative is to live without Cas, aka without happiness.

I mean, the absolute defeat on Dean’s face in the screen grab above reminds me of his face watching Cas’ body burn at the end of 13x01. And then that expression switches into this –>

–> grim determination.

The top one is all: I’ve lost him, I’ve lost him. 

The bottom one is all: It’s for the best anyway, what did you think was gonna happen, he’s better off without you, let him go live his life. 

(headcanon but yeah like fuuuuck feelings)

And, of course, Sam is there to voice exactly how Dean is really feeling. 

Sam: I don’t know if I can move on. You know, I can’t forget any of them. Dean, I still think about Jessica. I can’t just let that go. Dean: No, no, man, that’s not what I’m talking about.

(because Dean is talking about the healthy way to let go, which is to not let the past rule your present, to be aware and appreciate and remember, but not cling onto old ideals and ideas, or past mistakes that you can’t change, no matter how much you wish you could)

Sam: I know, I know, I know, I’m sorry, I know, but what I’m talking about is that I don’t feel free. What we’ve done, what we’ve lost, right now that is what I’m feeling and sometimes it’s… Sometimes it’s like I can’t even breathe.

And all I could think when Sam said that was Dean talking about feeling as though he was drowning while being possessed by Michael. The suffocating feeling of the weight of all those old ideals and ideas and having no other choice but to succumb, because he wasn’t strong enough to fight them at the time. 

Sam is dealing with his own set of old ideals and ideas now, because while we see Dean actively suppress his thoughts and feelings and finding unhealthy, though at least stabile, outlets through coping mechanisms like overeating and drinking and working this episode, Sam is not about to suppress anything.

He feels his irritation, his impatience, his hopelessness and it comes out in how he interacts with others, with his surroundings, with Dean, with the case. Sam doesn’t have outlets. He bottles everything up. He thinks he’s fine and he’s handling it, but he’s not. And he hasn’t been fine for a very long time. That hopelessness always niggling. That question of what is the point if there’s no end to the suffering? 

I honestly believe he needs to accept that not everyone can be saved. I’m hopeful that he will, but I’ll admit I’m a little worried about what’s in store for our Sam. I hope he’ll have to get dragged through the darkest place before he can come out victorious on the other side, the same way Cas and Dean have been over the past four seasons.

Sam: …Maybe tomorrow. You know, maybe I’ll feel better in the morning. Dean: And what if you don’t? Sam: I don’t know.

It’s interesting looking at how this conversation is structured: Dean reminding Sam that Sam saved him from himself and succeeded, and Dean, this episode, trying to save Sam from himself without success.

The thing is, I can see Sam needing to save himself, needing to get to a place where he’s ready to fully let go of Dean, because he realises that Dean doesn’t need him the way he used to, and them holding onto each other and their old ideals and ideas of how to relate themselves to each other is no good, for either of them, and, once this shift in Sam happens, for him to, without hesitation, step into a leader position and accept that this is his place and where he belongs and there is great purpose to be found there, and through that purpose, there’s great happiness to be had too. Aw Sam! *hopes and wishes*

I really loved this episode so much. I’m still not over this scene, haven’t quite digested how Jensen delivered that slight speech and all the very subtle truths baked into this exchange that were so extremely revealing of what’s really going on inside of him, as well as Sam stating what’s going on inside of him, following that harrowing dream sequence that opened the ep.

Gorgeous stuff. Gorgeous, gorgeous stuff. 

[fairycosmos]

I wish I could stop being so afraid of acknowledging that things affect me. I don't know why, but I feel so ashamed of admitting something hurts you know? Like the only way to get through life is to pretend you're never vulnerable...

GOD same. i didn't even acknowledge the importance of love until i was like 18 cos of this exact reason. i think it's a combination of being conditioned to believe emotion = weakness from a young age, and a result of negative experiences you've had in the past. also kind of fits in with the whole mortifying ordeal thing....the mortifying ordeal of human emotion. i think the world kind of wants us to be robots, and it's bizarre... reacting and feeling comes as naturally to us as breathing. it's healthy to process the whole spectrum, to let it in so you can let it go. we may not always be proud of the impulsive emotional choices we make, but we can't numb ourselves to such a vital part of our existences. we can't get through life like that without creating a whole lot of repressed anxiety for ourselves. yeah tho i think our minds kind of automatically employ a defense mechanism that links vulnerability and shame, so we close ourselves off. we don't want to be seen in what we view as a compromising position. as if the worst thing in the world is having a response to outer stimulation lmao. idrk how to go about confronting the issue as i'm also dealing with it, but i think deconstructing your own belief system is a good place to start. that is, questioning where your reluctance comes from, seeing if it actually makes any sense. who benefits from your lack of feeling? what's the worst case scenario? when other people express themselves, does it change how you view them? i think it's also important to create an environment where you can be emotional with yourself. crying when you need to, writing about your feelings, embracing the awkwardness and the inevitability of being hurt. it may take a lot of practice but building that trust really changes things. if you feel dumb you know you're doing it right. that self consciousness is not inherent, it's learned, and it will lessen with time.... ultimately though i would suggest talking to your doctor about this if it's having an extreme impact on your life. maybe they can refer you to a counselor, someone who can help you specifically identify what you're so afraid of. if it's a result of trauma you may need to really dig deep in order to confront it, and that's okay. you're genuinely not alone, and you can take it all at your own pace. there's nothing wrong with talking about this kind of thing. i know it's scary, but that fear indicates the possibility of real growth, and that's why it's important to acknowledge it, right? emotions are fucking messy and annoying but they allow us to navigate, and they allow us to become close to each other in a very real way. unfortunately they're important 😳 i know, i hate it too. anyway this was not meant to turn into a rambling thought. i just really really understand where you're coming from!! and i know that it's a whole process but i believe with care, age, experience and effort you can take control of your own mindset, and let yourself accept what is. i hope you're ok n that you take some time to think about what you truly need. it's genuinely a lot easier in the long run to start working on it sooner rather than later. i believe in you and im sending a lot of love. everyone's sad, it's alright! ❤️