#you don't always know what's made to cope with abuse

[undersaarthal]

You all will say "support abuse survivors!" and then a survivor of abuse reacts in an unorthodox way or vents or makes art or writing to cope with what they went through in a way you find shocking or don't understand and suddenly it's "okay but that's too much" or "you're romanticizing this" or "well that's disturbing and problematic" Their lived experiences??????????

[kastalani123]

Mmmmmmmm, but what if Estelle grows up without knowing about the Greek myths being real?

What if Sally and Paul look at Percy, who's hesitant to hold his baby sister for fear of drowning her with blood-drenched hands, who eventually holds her like she's made of glass because the Destroyer is afraid of breaking her, who shoves his face into his pillow to keep his nightmares from waking her up–

What if Sally and Paul look at Percy, seventeen years old with the world resting on his shoulders since he was twelve, and ask, "Do you want her to know?"

And he wonders. He thought it'd be a given, that she'd grow up surrounded by monsters and magic, that he'd make fish made of water swim around her to make her laugh, that there would be no secrets as to his life's horror.

But he wonders. He thinks that, maybe, she won't have to grow up afraid of her own shadow. She's mortal, after all. There is no ichor in her veins. There is no guarantee she will be Clear Sighted.

There is no reason she can't live a normal life.

There is no reason she has to be woven into the Fates' tapestry beyond the barest of mentions.

He wonders, and he decides no. No, this one person, this little bundle of giggles, this reason that motivates him to learn healthy coping mechanisms, this little sister of his — she will not be forced to grow up so fast. She will not hesitate making plans for her future in fear of never making it that far. She will not suffer scars from things other than risky bike tricks and tumbling down a hill.

This one person that he can protect, for once in his life. This one person that he will protect, from both of his worlds.

Oh, it's not that she doesn't know anything. He makes sure she knows as many myths as possible, as many ways to protect herself as she can learn, as many people and places that can help her if she ever needs it. She grows up with bedtime stories about winged horses and giant dogs and a number of human-animal hybrids. She dreams of a brother with a scarred lip and a girl who loves too much and a sister who usually thinks of her sibling before herself and a boy who can tame dragons, and sometimes it's like her dreams are real, like she actually knows the characters from her brother's stories. She learns to recognize unfairness and abuse, to stand up for those who cannot stand up for themselves, to make things right even if she has to force unwilling hands to do what she wants with trickery.

She knows so much.

But she never climbs a wall flowing with lava. But she never picks up a sword and dons a set of armor. But she never learns her loved ones' scars don't come from unfortunate accidents. But she never flies through the sky on helpful wings. But she never dives into the depths of the ocean in a bubble of air. But she never gets lost in a house that's always changing its layout to suit its occupants' needs. But she never watches her home in ruin. But she never runs from an inferno consuming the world around her. But she never cradles a friend's body as the life drains from their eyes.

But she never stops being an ordinary mortal.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

first of all, this is all legit, and not bait, though i have a feeling it may come off that way, this did happen to me. please don't publish if tumblr sends it off anon.

i'm a lesbian with gender dysphoria, and while i haven't had much sexual experience, i would consider myself a stone top. in the last year and a half i began reading "terf"/radical feminist writings and reading "terf" tumblr blogs fairly actively, largely out of frustration with misogyny i was experiencing IRL. though i never engaged with the community i did stop identifying as genderfluid and started understanding my dysphoria as stemming from the trauma of being bullied by other girls for having a high-androgen DSD, and using different pronouns/transition thoughts as unhealthy coping mechanisms. i'm happy with this, but i also don't know if i'm attracted to women anymore.

i've always been attracted to women in a way that's stereotypically guy-like; i find feminine women very attractive and not so much fellow(?) butches, want to penetrate with a strap on, don't like bush much, cursory interest in BDSM/daddy kink. i read/watched het erotica and porn sometimes and identified with the man. what i read problematized pretty much every aspect of that- femininity as a cage, penetration as violence/straps as disidentification w the female body, infantilization of women, bdsm as abuse etc. also, desisting making me more conscious of dysphoria/knowledge of how extensive sexual dimorphism is putting me off both women with larger breasts and hips AND smaller breasts and hips/unrealistically masculine body types as well. so a lot of what turned me on before isn't arousing anymore, or i feel guilty about it, and i haven't been able to find butch4butch stuff which is much healthier very interesting.

i consider my sexuality healthier now on a political level but my ability to get aroused/jerk off has plummeted (used to be i could jork it sunrise to sunset) and thinking about being in a relationship w another woman makes me feel uneasy and weird, especially since a lot of what i read emphasized reciprocative cunnilingus/tribbing (which i don't like) as the healthiest sex options. i also think about both my dysphoria and my sexuality issues 100x more than i did before, even though i was promised the opposite (freedom from dysphoria and feeling happier as a lesbian), and it's stressing me out day-to-day. i'm aware based on your general ethos that you probably think i'm a terrible person right now, but i figured it'd be useful to seek the opinion of someone who radically disagrees with what i've read on what i could/should do next, since i admittedly miss being at peace with my sexuality.

thanks for reading.

hi there anon,

it's a bummer that you'd think I would assume you're a terrible person based on everything you've told me here. I generally try not to consider people terrible unless they're actively being shitheads or hurting other people, which doesn't sound at all like you're describing. from what you've told me, you've been up to your eyes in some information that's made you feel deeply uncomfortable in your sexuality and now you're seeking out a new perspective to help you make sense of that hurt. that describes most of the people who send me questions!

it's so striking to me that much of what you're describing is very reminiscent of what's recounted in The Persistent Desire, an anthology of writings on butch/femme identities edited by femme historian and archivist Joan Nestle that was released in 1992. in various essays and interviews countless butches and femmes recount their discomfort with the feminist turn against butch and femme identities that too place in the 70s, when both roles were declared problematic recreations of heterosexuality and summarily decried as politically "incorrect" for lesbians. it's shocking to me how much what you've described echoes these accounts experienced by lesbians half a century ago - the disowning of women who are "excessively" feminine or masculine, the demonizing of penetrative sex, general insistence that there are "correct" sex acts that every lesbian is supposed to enjoy, and the deep discomfort and insecurity that this causes among people who don't fit into the very rigid standards of proper lesbian identity set forth.

here's a link to a PDF, if that's interesting to you at all. it's very long, so feel free not to read it straight through; it's a great project to skim and an incredible way to get in touch with the lesbians who came before us. their accounts of their lives are so wildly different from the boundaries of "good" queer representation that feel so universal today; in discussing their own lives many of these women speak very bluntly about their experiences with abuse, drugs, sex work, and violence. it's a great glimpse into the lives and history of a lot of very ordinary lesbians just living their lives, and I'm very grateful it's been preserved.

now, as for what you're actually gonna do: hey. listen. first of all, if you haven't given up reading this stuff yet, you've gotta. you simply cannot keep internalizing stuff that makes you overanalyze your own sexuality so hard that you feel uncomfortable about being attracted to women. that's not "healthy," that's conversion therapy lite. there are other places to talk about feminism without being made to feel ashamed of yourself.

listen: there's nothing unhealthy about anything that you described about yourself. being a stone butch, being attracted to certain looks and aesthetics, watching porn, wanting to use a strap and roleplay during sex and not being interested in other sexual activities - all of those thing are completely normal and, yes, healthy. certainly healthier than feeling the need to repress your sexuality so hard that thinking about being with a woman doesn't feel right!

should we run through that list?

femininity as cage - sure, okay, femininity isn't for everyone, and there are parts of it that suck. that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with women who like to wear dresses or put on makeup or shave or whatever, or anyone who's attracted to those women. genuinely I cannot think of anything less interesting or important to feminist organizing than getting hung up about what people want to wear. it's clothes, dude. it's fucking clothes. pick a more important hill to die on, I implore you.

penetration is not the same thing as violence. there's just nothing to debate about that one; it's patently absurd to pretend that every act of penetrative sex is rape and you'd have to fundamentally misunderstand how consent works to believe that.

straps are not about "disidentification with the female body," they're about augmenting a sexual experience. a strap-on is not more problematic than a vibrator or a massage oils or a pillow used to prop up a body part. unless those are also bad? are those bad? are pillows disidentifying from the female body also? I'm not up to date on this.

straight up I don't even know which part of your whole deal the infantilization of women is supposed to address, but a thing that I've always found interesting about a lot of radical feminists who are deeply distrustful of sex is the way that many of them seem to assume that women can't be trusted to understand their own sexual desires and need to be taught what's appropriate. seems kind of condescending to me, personally.

BDSM isn't the same thing as abuse. abuse, crucially, is not a situation that people can safe word out of or negotiate the constraints of. it's kind of like how, you know, I purposefully pay people to shove needles in my skin when I want a tattoo, but I wouldn't be stoked about it if somebody just ran up to me in public and started stabbing me without any warning or conversation. context is crucial. there can certainly be abusive people within BDSM spaces, but that's true of people of literally every sexual proclivity on earth, and certainly not an innate feature of BDSM. it's just make believe, dude. it's dress up. it's sex LARPing.

also, psst, hey. that thing about being attracted to women in a "guy-like" way? no such thing. men are humans, dude; they experience attraction in as many different ways as anyone else. for every dude interested in the same stuff as you there are men yearning for hairy women, muscular women, masculine women, women who will dominate them, women who would rather be eaten out then penetrated, and so on. to say nothing of the men who aren't into women at all! and, as is obvious from your own experience, men don't have a monopoly on those kinds of feelings, anyway! there are no men or women feelings, dude; it's all just people having feelings and fighting for their lives trying to figure out what they're into to.

I want to particularly talk about that last bit, where you mentioned not enjoying or wanting to engage in cunnilingus or tribbing. that's totally fine! people like different shit in all kinds of combinations - I'm personally a huge fan of getting eaten out and scratched up or bitten, but I don't do penetration and I've genuinely never met anyone who actually liked tribbing - and there are absolutely people out there who will, to paraphrase the poet Tinashe, perfectly match your freak.

(have you heard about the perpetual, critical shortage of tops that the queer community faces? you'd be a godsend, just saying.)

also, actually, hey I wanted to circle back to another thing as well: it's deeply alarming to me that whatever radfem stuff you've been reading has you feeling "put off" of women with wide hips and large breasts as well as women with small breasts and hips. what is wrong with either of those? both of those are just ways that women naturally look. women just look a wide variety of ways, and it's sad that that's upsetting you now. just thinking about this, conceptually, is giving me hives.

having been up to your eyes in all of this, I can definitely understand why you'd feel the urge to overanalyze you own gender and sexuality to the point of completely talking yourself out of identifying with anything that feels good for you. as I said, that's actually not healthy in any way, and as a sex educator I can't say that I think anyone genuinely invested in your well-being would want that for you.

entirely aside from their feelings on trans people, which I obviously disagree with pretty vehemently, one of the things about radfems that's most endlessly vexing to me is the insistence that such an extremely narrow range of sexual behaviors are appropriate. seems like a miserable way to live, and I sincerely hope you can detangle yourself from the morass of shame it's landed you in. you deserve better.

[iatrophilosophos]

One of the underdiscussed tragedies of covid is the fact that a ton of newly disabled people have been shoved into the discursive spotlight as the dominant voice on disability issues to spew frankly rancid takes

Basically everything said i have immense compassion and solidarity and time for coming from struggling individuals but whej spoken as a major discursive line, many of these takes are having pretty disastrous effects on the discourse and efficacy of the socio-medical field of chronic illness management and justice

Long covid is real, and debilitating. It's also novel-- the longest anyone can possibly have had long covid is about 5 years. I don't know that I know any chronically ill person who's condition arose as an adult who've made meaningful progress in managing their illness well in under 5 years; NOR anyone who hasn't made significant progress coping in under 10 years.

Becoming disabled is terrifying and there's a lot of grief and frustration and rage to work through-- and a lot of ableism. Most people who became #disabilityjusticeadvocates after being disabled by long covid have absolutely 0 knowledge of the history or tactics of disabled movements. Frankly offensive and ludicrous comparisons to AIDS, for example, run rampant-- despite the fact this is nothing like AIDS and ppl making these comparisons appear to be only passingly familiar with the AIDS epidemic and wholly unaware of the current abuse and criminalization forced on ppl who are HIV+. We can make critiques of how capitalism and frankly civilized society disables people, specific political critiques of covid even, without rudely and unhelpfully asserting that this is the Worst Thing That's Happened And Nobodys Ever Had It As Bad As You. It is not, and will never be, *literally illegal* to have long covid. Fuck, governments actually DID SOMETHING and responded!! It sucked, because it will always suck, it pushed poor people hardest, and so on, but cmon. You cannot seriously compare problematic but prompt vaccine rollouts and ongoing intense research into management and cures to 20 years of unaddressed death; nor a "resistance" movement that essentially amounts to insults & ineffectual propaganda to one that worked extremely hard at building communal support structures and making legit gains. Yall ain't even pumping infected air into the cdc offices. Smh.

My heart fucking hurts for the huge numbers of ppl who have become disabled without access to support and then asked to become discursive authorities on disability while still trying to figure out what living as a newly disabled person can look like, but I'm also fully pissed at the behavior of some of yall and how bystanders willing platform really ineffectual and frankly ableist shit because of "listening to affected voices".

People ARE making moves-- there are support groups and communities sharing new strategies both from DIY versions of new literature and observations from personal experiments. Nicotine patches are what I'm aware of most recently and i bieve Four Theives published a guide to a drug that *cures* a meaningful, but not fda-requirememt-satisfying # of cases. It is possible to take strides, movement is still possible, it is important to not lose rage or critique! AND everyone is still figuring this thing out (let me reiterate that long covid is getting a comparatively huge amount of research and attention than many other chronic illnesses, like fr) & the least some of yall can fucking do is not drag the entire concept of chronic illness management down in your despair.

[vxsellie]

𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔤𝔬. — E.W

summary. ellie slipped between your fingers, falling right out of your grasp as though she were liquid. it was better for you both, sure, but that doesn't make losing her any easier. ⌇ 4.7k wc.

notes. i posted a poll a few weeks ago asking what u guys wanted to see & this was ur answer so here she is! i hope it lives up to ur guys standards! anyway,, first and foremost, this is based off of the songs 'your needs, my needs' & 'call your mom' by noah kahan. he does a fantastic job depicting addiction and the impact of its severity. i heavily suggest listening to those songs in order to grasp the depth of what i'm trying to portray here.

second, i want to preface this by saying that i am not romanticizing or promoting addiction in any way whatsoever. drugs & alcohol are horrible coping mechanisms. as someone who has lost many loved ones to such horridly, i'm writing this in an attempt to shine light on the raw, dark side of what this can lead to. if u or anyone u know is struggling with something similar to ellie in this story, my DMs are always open!

warnings. graphic depictions of death and grief, substance abuse, alcohol & drug addiction, brief toxicity, intoxicated arguments, flashbacks, mentions of vomit, unintentional suicide attempt, angst angst angst

FEBRUARY.

cold fingertips brush the skin of your cheekbone, rousing you from slumber. you know who it is without having to open your eyes, her voice proof of that. ellie's breath still smells of her minty toothpaste as it fans across your face. she leans down to press a kiss to your nose. "good mornin'."

you groan, draping an arm over your eyes. ellie chuckles, her footsteps padding across the hardwood flooring of your shared bedroom. metal scrapes against itself as she pulls the curtains back, allowing sunlight to file through the space. your groans only grow in volume at this, pulling the duvet over your head.

"it's too early." you grumble, voice muffled beneath the pleated fabric.

"baby," she crosses the room back to the bed. you feel the mattress dip under her weight as she sits down on the edge, one of her hands coming to massage the calf of you leg. "it's almost noon."

begrudgingly, you peel the blanket away from your face and frown at her. auburn hair glows like a halo around the crown of her head, her freckles catching the light against her fair skin. oh and those eyes. god, you could look into them until the world came crumbling around you — which it technically has, considering the apocalyptic milieu that encompasses jackson.

"it's saturday, els." you tell her. "we can sit around and do nothing all day."

a smile tugs at her lips, dimples adorning her skin. "actually, maria wanted our help in the gardens today, remember? you got drunk a few weeks ago and agreed."

"oh. i was really excited to be unproductive." you sigh, expression falling. "we could've made breakfast, cozied up on the couch, watched a few sad movies, have sex. y'know, the domestic crap that elderly couples do?"

"first of all, i already made you breakfast." she says, nodding her head in the direction of the opened door. you turn toward it, craning your neck to peer through the doorway. sure enough, there's a plate of eggs and bacon sitting untouched on the countertop in the kitchen. "second, we can still cuddle and watch movies after helping maria. third, we can have sex whenever we want. we don't need to plan it out like teenagers anymore."

you grin at her, "yeah, but where's the fun in that?"

she laughs, the sound melodic. it carries through the air like a hymn, alighting the nerves within you like an ignited flame. if you were a wick, ellie would forever be the match. she lights you up, acting as apollo to your icarus. well. without the harsh fall, of course.

"c'mon, stupid." she says, grabbing you by the wrists and pulling you into a sitting position. you allow yourself to be pulled, dramatizing ellie's haste as you flop forward, leaning against her chest. it shakes with laughter as she removes a hand from your wrist to run her fingers through your hair.

it's matted and unbrushed, though she loves it just the same. loves you just the same. no matter how bad your breath smells in the mornings or how tangled your hair, ellie would never dream of complaining. why would she? to be given the chance to wake up next to you each day, she'd do anything. even if that includes putting up with your silly jokes and your dysania.

domesticity is irrefutably ellie's absolute favorite thing in the world. to make breakfast for you, moving about the kitchen you'd decorated together. to brush her teeth beside you. to give you a gentle kiss before leaving the house. to spend the day longing for your embrace. to come home to you warming dinner over the stove. to listen to you ramble on about your day over the meal. to take a shower where your shampoos sit side by side, her having to use yours when her own runs low. to return to bed to see you dressed into something cozy. to latch onto you under the blankets, limbs tangling together. to smell your hair and know hers smells the same. to fall asleep in the proximity of the girl she loves.

that's her favorite. that's what she'd rather eat glass than live without. and she'd never fathom the idea of doing it with anyone else.

MARCH.

the day joel dies is hard on everyone. he was a glue to the town of jackson, his country drawl and greying hair fading together into a soft presence that was adored by all.

especially by ellie.

and you knew this better than anyone. she loved joel like a father, perhaps even more so. she looked up to him as though the man had hung the stars in the sky. when he died, everything good and right in the world died alongside him. including ellie's gentility. her green eyes hardened, her smiles thinned, her hair matted. she was a wreck.

she doesn't do anything, though nobody in town expects her to. you've picked up on all the chores around the house, refusing to make her do anything in such a state of grief. she holes up in the bedroom all day, never leaving bed. not even to eat.

the first few days of this, you had to force her to eat, coaxing her into opening her mouth and having to remind her to chew. she claimed it tasted like chalk and she needed to spit it out. she cried when you refused to let her. "i don't want it." she'd repeated over and over between sobs, despite only having taken a bite of the stew you made. she leaned on you, her greasy hair falling over her face. you rubbed her back, the vertebrae of her spine poking through her skin.

"i know baby, i know." you whispered. it took everything in you not to start crying at the sound of her sobs, but you knew that would only make things worse. so you stayed beside her until her cries ceased and her limbs fell limp against you. you then laid her back against the mattress, making a mental note to approach this better next time.

she eventually got better at eating, though progress was slow. she's now currently able to eat one meal a day without puking it back up from nausea. the amount of times you've held that poor girl's hair back for her is immeasurable. she's not herself. and it pains you to see her like this, but you haven't a clue how else to handle it.

it's been two weeks since joel's death. ellie has still yet to leave the house and rarely leaves the bed, though she goes to the bathroom now. so thats good. you think it is, at least. she still needs to be reminded when to eat and needs help in the shower sometimes, or she'll stay in there for hours without even touching the soaps. her mind is a plethora of nonsense, malarkey acting as the puppeteer to her every waking thought.

"here," you speak softly, reaching across the tub to grab her shampoo. when you pick it up, you register that it's barely been used. you frown at this. "ellie, why—"

"i like yours better." she mutters, so quiet you can barely hear her voice.

"what? you never liked mine better." you say with a frown, though you don't hesitate to oblige her request. you place her shampoo down and grab your own. "you've always insisted that we buy that specific brand for you."

"yeah, because it's the brand joel uses- uh, used."

your movements cease, heart clenching. her voice cracked as she spoke, eyes burning as she swallowed harshly. you take a deep breath to ground yourself, blowing out through your mouth. you can not cry right now. not in front of her.

you'd made that mistake last week. you started crying when you saw her journal and all the crossed out drawings of joel. she frowned, appearing genuinely confused by your sadness. she comforted you, which only made you sob harder. you felt so, so guilty for it because she's the one who should be comforted, not you. but she's so loving that she can't even stomach seeing you upset.

as you apply your own shampoo into ellie's scalp, massaging it to bubbles, you decide that you'd do anything for her. for your light, your apollo.

MAY.

it's like living with a ghost. two months since joel's death and ellie has begun to change. drastically. she's never home anymore, always hanging out with her friends or busying herself with work. you have the sneaking suspicion that it's her way of keeping her mind from succumbing to that aching grief that embodied her in march. so you say nothing, deciding to let her be.

though, admittedly, you begin to wonder what she does when she doesn't come home. when she stays out for three days without telling you where she's going nor been. when you cook dinner for two, only to eat for one. when your shampoo sits in your shower only used on one scalp.

you've found it hard to fall asleep alone after living with ellie for so long. you'd grown dependent on the comfort her presence provides. tangling your legs together under the blanket while her arms wrap around your waist. now, in her stead lies an empty mattress and unwrinkled sheets.

it's currently been three days since you last saw ellie. you're sitting at the dinner table alone, picking at your pasta when you hear a rapid knock at the door. you instantly perk up.

you hope it's ellie, though you wonder why she doesn't just let herself in. she has her own set of keys, so why knock?

you stand from your chair, the legs scraping against the wood flooring as your push to your feet. the door creaks on its hinges when you pull it open. just as you'd thought, ellie stands on the porch. her head is lowered, auburn tufts covering her face like a veil. or perhaps a mask.

you open the door wider to allow her entry. the light pools out onto the porch and across the tops of her converse. she notices the shift and begins to enter, though she's acting strange. she's stumbling over her own feet, refusing to lift her head. your brows furrow as you lock the door behind you.

when you turn around, ellie is sitting in your chair as she begins to eat from your plate of pasta. you frown, "i can get you a serving, if you want. i made enough for two. i always do."

she lifts her head and you realize why she's acting so weird. between her lidded eyes and bloodshot scleras, it's clear that she's not sober. she raised a brow at your staring, "what?" her tone is sharp, unlike herself.

"nothing, baby. it's fine." you sigh, turning to grab her a plate from the cabinets above your head. you pull one from the shelf and begin to add pasta onto it. however, by the time you reach the table, ellie's passed out atop it. her face is smushed into the tabletop, hair getting all in your food.

you huff out a breath, shifting to hold her plate in one hand before lightly shaking her shoulders with your other. she doesn't rouse so you shake her even harder. eventually, she snaps awake. perhaps too quickly, because she thrashes out. her arms flail, knuckles colliding with your cheekbone.

the plate in your hand falls to the floor, glass shattering against wood. ellie's eyes widen, her gaze trained on your face as yours remains trained on the broken dish below your feet.

she begins to stand, "i didn't mean—"

"it's okay, els." you assure her with a small smile, urging her to sit back down. the last thing you want is glass in her foot.

"no, i—" she shakes her head, clearly fighting her own mind as she combats for ascendancy over her inebriation. "i hit you.. i never meant to— to ever—"

"ellie." you interrupt, voice hard. "it's fine."

her lips thin as she gives you a curt nod in response. you walk into the kitchen to retrieve the broom. when you return, ellie is out of her chair and walking toward the door. you frown at her and she gives you a pitying look before exiting the house without another word.

AUGUST.

"drugs, ellie?" you shout, hands flying up in emphasis. "you're taking fucking pills now!?"

"don't snoop through my shit!" she shouts back.

your voices bounce off the walls of your home. once such a cozy, quiet place of solace. now only visited in short increments when in need of food or a bed. the light of the candle you'd lit this morning glows a soft orange, almost taunting you with its clashing softness.

ellie hasn't been home all month. she finally came back last night, kissing you gently as she apologized for acting so strange. she confided in you, explaining how she's been having a hard time but intends to make up for it. her hands were benign as she ran them over your bare skin last night. oh so kind, she was. her words were like music, playing the exact lyrics that you'd coveted for months.

only to wake up this morning and find out the truth. you'd come into the kitchen to prepare her breakfast, a soft smile on your lips as you lit the candle. you'd noticed that she left her coat on the counter and reached to grab it for her. you hadn't meant to snoop, just to clean up behind her. as you've been doing since march.

but then you heard an odd sound from within the pocket. you reached into it, thinking she'd left her keys. and you knew ellie long enough to know that she'd freak out, thinking she'd lost them if you didn't put them on the table for her.

but they weren't her keys. they were pills.

"i didn't snoop, you asshole!" you exclaim. "i was trying to help you!"

"i don't need you controlling my fucking life all the time!" she shouts, features contorted into an expression of rage that you'd never seen her wear. it was disquieting.

"controlling?" you shake your head in disbelief. "i'm trying to keep you from doing shit you'll regret! i'm sorry for caring!"

"oh, don't fucking turn this on me." ellie scoffs.

you watch her with furrowed brows. is she serious? turn this on her? you're genuinely unsure on what you did wrong. you let her back into the home, slept with her, made her favorite breakfast in bed. then found out that she fucking lied. she was keeping shit from you.

your tone is much softer when you ask, "..were you even sober last night?"

her jaw clenches, but she doesn't respond. tears well in your eyes at the thought.

you'd never been more excited than you were last night. to finally have her back. your ellie. to have her coming back to you, for you. you'd fallen asleep last night studying her features. your fingertip traced the slope of her nose down to the cupids bow of her lip.

your chest aches as you say these next words. "get out of my house."

"your house?" she asks.

you feel like your drowning. or perhaps you're choking. or falling. but whatever it is, you're sure it's irrevocable. your throat is so tight you can hardly breathe. "i want all your shit packed and out of here by the end of the month."

ellie's eyes widen. "you're not serious."

"i've never been more serious in my fucking life." you say. "you can't storm in here whenever you want, use me like some whore, then leave when you feel like it. i'm tired of your bullshit ellie, that was my final straw."

her eyes are glassy as she grabs her coat — which is still full of pills — and leaves.

the moment the door slams shut behind her, you fall to the floor. your knees give out beneath your weight, the tile flooring cold against the palms of your hands. so this is what it is to fall. to chase the sun and get burned. to melt your wax and plummet. all you can thing, as you hear ellie's muffled cries outside the door, is how much you empathize with icarus for being foolish enough to reach for apollo.

OCTOBER.

jesse is throwing a party for his twenty second birthday. it's not a huge party, but large enough that you're sure ellie will be there. it's only been two months since you broke things off with her.

nothing, since then, has felt real. the length of your hair, the shape of your bones, the height of your spine. nothing is right in the world. in you.

but this is for jesse, not for ellie. if she's here today, that's her problem. not yours. for once, it's ellie's turn to regret. you're sick of being the one crying at night when you can hear her unlock the door to retrieve her things when she thinks you're asleep. you're fucking tired of it. she's the one who ruined everything.

you knock one, two, three times before the door swings open. dina smiles at you kindly as she widens the door to allow you inside. you thank her, though you know she's not your friend. you two aren't on bad terms necessarily, she just doesn't seem like you all that much. which is fine.

you enter the home to see that most guests have already arrived and are already drinking. jesse is in the living room, a goofy party hat atop his head as he shouts at the television. behind him, people laugh from the couches. one of those people is ellie. her legs are spread, an empty beer bottle hanging from her loose fingers. she doesn't seem to notice you, engrossed in whatever is happening on the tv. dina's gaze lingers on you for a moment before she leaves.

you walk to the kitchen to place your belongings down, pulling out the gift that you'd bought for jesse. the kitchen is empty, everyone else having crowded into the living room. though, it doesn't stay empty for long.

"what're you doin' here." ellie's voice speaks from the doorway. you don't look in her direction, not daring to.

"jesse's my friend too, ellie." you remind her with a sigh, placing the gift on the counter alongside all the other gifts.

part of you yearns to run to her, to pull her into your arms out of pure instinct. but you're not able to do that anymore because she's not yours. you spent over five months trying to comfort her into sobriety, only for your efforts to be in vain. so, instead of acting on foolish impulse, you keep your feet planted in place as you refuse to face her.

"you can't even look at me?" she slurs, voice tinged with annoyance.

"you're not yourself, right now." you say, eyes remaining pinned to the countertop in front of you. "i don't want to see you like this."

in truth, you know the sight of her so intoxicated would only ruin you further. it'd make you yearn for her even more as your mind reminisces on all that's been lost. all those wasted months you could have spent with her. all those nights you took for granted. those smiles. those eyes. seeing her like this would tarnish the few good memories that prevail.

"right," she scoffs, "'cause you're such a fuckin' saint yourself."

"i might not be a saint, but at least i'm still me." you say. "i haven't changed into some pathetic shell of a person."

her jaw clenches, "i'm still me, too."

"no, ellie, you're not." you finally lift your head to face her. your brow is knitted, concern painting your features with something akin to sorrow. it shoots through ellie's chest like a dagger, the sight of your saddened expression. she swallows, burying whatever sense of guilt she feels deep under a facade of vexation. "you're not the woman i fell in love with, you—"

"yes i am!" she shouts, slamming the empty bottle onto the countertop. a long clang rings through the space between you. "i'm the same fucking person!"

"ellie, dont—"

"y'know, back in april, you told me that grief comes in all different forms. you told me that what i'm feeling is normal! you—" her words are cut off by the sound of her voice cracking. your heart cracks along with it.

"that was before i knew how bad this would get." you say. "i thought it was just alcohol."

"it was!" she exclaims. "for a while, it was!"

"it doesn't matter what it was." you snap. "it's no longer just alcohol anymore. you're into pills and drugs and—"

"you can't fuckin' blame me for that!" she yells. you're sure everyone can hear her now. though, due to how drunk they are, you doubt they care enough to eavesdrop. "i was going— i am going through a lot!"

"i get that, ellie. i do." you argue. "but you can't ruin yourself like this! joel wouldn't want this from you and neither do i. you aren't thinking!"

her fists clench at her sides, voice lowering. "don't bring joel into this. he has nothing to do with it."

"he has everything to do with it!" you shout. sucking in a deep breath, you pinch the bridge of your nose in exhaustion. when you continue, your voice has dropped back down to a calmer tone, something you've learned to do during those on-and-off months with ellie. yelling at her only makes her grow more defensive and elongates her next expedition. "he's dead, ellie. he's gone and you're struggling with that. and that's okay. but turn to your friends for comfort. turn to people who love you, not drugs. they don't help you, els."

"turn to my friends? turn to people who love me?" she shakes her head, scoffing incredulously. "i tried that. i turned to you, i leaned on you. i tried and tried and tried and you left me."

"i didn't—"

"you left me when i was at my lowest. what else was i supposed to do?" she says, bottom lip quivering. you can't tell if it's from rage or sadness. a few months ago, you'd be able to read her like a book. not anymore. "you did this to me."

oh. that did it. tears well in your eyes embarrassingly fast. ellie's expression falters for a second, just long enough for you to respond. "fuck you, ellie. if you want to act like an asshole, go ahead. but if you think i'll just sit idly by while you kill yourself, you're painfully fucking wrong."

NOVEMBER.

someone's knocking at your door. it's well past midnight and you're in the middle of brushing your teeth. you curse under your breath, spitting before rushing to the front door. they continue to bang on the wood. "i'm fucking coming, calm down!"

you swing the door open, the chilly air sweeping inside. your eyes take a second to adjust to the light before you recognize ellie's silhouette. your eyes widen as she staggers inside. she leans against you instinctively, hands bracing your shoulders as she trips over her own feet. you hold her around the waist, guiding her toward your couch. the one she'd picked out three years ago.

"didn't know.." her words trail off and you shush her, rolling her onto her side in case she needs to vomit. she continues to mutter incoherently as you pace the room, not knowing what to do.

"fucking hell, els." you breathe, watching as her blinking slows and her mouth begins to drool. the black of her pupils take up more space than her irises, worryingly so.

"e'ryone else 's asleep," she murmurs.

you come forward, casting her hair out of her face. "shh, don't speak, baby, you're fine. no need to explain, 'kay?"

"mmm," she hums, eyes fluttering, "m'kay."

you nod, pushing to your feet as you continue to think of what the fuck you're supposed to do. what did she even take to get this bad? who the hell is selling it to her? everyone in jackson knows that she just lost joel earlier this year. god, if you could get your hands on them..

she begins coughing, though it sounds closer to gagging than anything. your heart rushes in your chest, "fuck fuck fuck."

without thinking, you grab your phone from your wall and dial tommy's number. it rings thrice before his voice comes through the line. he barely has time to ask who you are before you're explaining everything between sobs.

tommy, maria, and a few medics arrive within ten minutes. they haul ellie away on a stretcher, speaking too fast for you to pick up on anything. you stand in your living room as tommy follows them out. maria walks over to you as you're rubbing harshly at your eyes.

"you did the right thing, kid." she assures you, voice so soft that it only makes you cry harder. she frowns, humming sadly as she pulls you into a hug. "i know it's hard. grief always is."

you pull back, looking at her through teary eyes, "how'd you handle tommy? after joel passed."

"i hardly did." she admits. "we're not on the best terms, even now. that's just was loss does to people. it drives them apart until there's nothing left to drive apart."

"i don't..." you frown. "i don't think ellie and i have anything left."

APRIL.

you haven't spoken to ellie since november. after she awoke in a medical cot, she was more sober than she's been in months. her withdrawals were horrid, tommy said. he kept you in the loop with everything because ellie refused to see you, claiming to loathe you for having called tommy.

you can't lie, your heart definitely broke when you heard that. to imagine ellie from last year, kissing you awake with breakfast in bed, and comparing her to the ellie from now, claiming to never want to see your face again? the thought makes you feen genuinely ill.

snow sticks to the ground as you walk through the town of jackson. you're on your way to the grocery store when you see her. well, them. dina walks beside ellie as they saunter down the sidewalk, hands clasped together. she has that look on her face, the one she used to only ever give you. the one nobody else was lucky enough to see.

you huff breath, turning to look in the other direction as you pretend to not have even seen them together.

ellie seems to be getting better. and that's all that matters.

her eyes are bright, her nose is red from the cold. you can see her freckles from here, and you know the exact amount that coat her cheeks. you've counted them, memorized them as her fingertips traced your skin. as her viridescent gaze bore into your own with nothing but the same love she's currently looking at dina with.

you quicken your footsteps, forcing yourself to walk faster before you act on the biting pain in your stomach. the tangible agony that writhes within you.

FEBRUARY.

jj. that's his name.

no, you didn't stalk your ex girlfriend surrogate. you're not that crazy. maria actually came to you, explained that dina had a child and was raising him alongside ellie. she showed you a picture of them, a perfect family of three.

you instantly broke down into tears the moment you saw his gummy smile and fatty fists. dina held him tightly, having the same eyes as he. ellie had an arm draped over her, one hand on jj's shoulder as she beamed at the camera.

ellie is a mom. she has a baby. she has a baby boy who never would have gotten the chance to know her if she'd died that november night two years ago. and yet, she still refuses to speak to you. not a word has been uttered since that night. since she was dying on your couch from an overdose.

but it doesn't matter. who ellie is with and what ellie is doing doesn't matter at all. she's happy and that's all that matters.

you're perfectly content with watching her from afar with wax wings that are sure to burn under her brilliance. you'd tried it once and only ended in scorched flesh and the corpse of letting go.

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist @luvsturniolo.     @ilovewomenfr.     @zzombiegirl.     @elliessweetheart.     @shawangel.  @defnoteleonor.     @fatbootymuncher.     @autisticintr0vert. 

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[lizardboiii]

At The Tone ┃ DCU

Barry Allen x Spider-Woman!Reader

┃ Summary: Sometimes bad things happen to good people - and that’s where the Justice League comes in. Too bad you weren’t interested.

“Think I forgot how to be happy Something I'm not, but something I can be" Billie Eilish, "What Was I Made For?"

│cw: SFW, alcohol abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief, hurt/comfort, violent themes

│wc: 3.9k

│chapters: One shot

│notes: This fic has been sitting unfinished (with 2k words!!) in my drafts for a WHILE. randomly decided it needed to see the light of day ig. was gonna make it nsfw but i low key hate it and just wanted too move on oops. enjoy <3

・❥・

│One Shot: At The Tone

You have five new messages.

“Good afternoon, Spider-Woman this is Cla-”

You heard a throat clear.

“It’s Superman. I see you still aren’t picking up any of the team’s calls,” He swallowed thickly, “I understand your recent loss was… hard. Something none of us would have wished for anybody.”

You could feel the tension in his voice.

“Please take all the time you need. The league is more than capable of taking care of New York in your absence for the time being.”

The sound of a pen clicking disrupted the message every so often, “But at least give us some indication you're alive…and well. The team cares about you,” He chuckled warmly, “Even “Mr. I Work Alone” Batman himself.”

His laugh dropped abruptly with a soft sigh, “Call me back when you can.”

Beep

You crawled out of bed slowly, dragging your duvet behind you like a cloak. The plush cotton laid heavy on your shoulders. You wondered if this was how Big Blue felt every morning - the weight of knowing everything depending on him once he bore his iconic red cape. 

You knew what that weight felt like, and you knew what it felt like to have it all come crashing down.

You have four new messages 

“How’s it hanging, Spidy? Haha, you get it?” A dramatic sigh escaped the machine, “Sorry, poor timing.”

He took a moment to regroup, “It's Green Lantern, just calling to check in. Headquarters has been depressing without you. I mean even Martian Manhunter is down in the dumps. It's a total bummer.”

Another sigh, “Listen you don't have to call me back if you don’t want to, but at least let Flash know you're still alive. He needs you more than he lets on.”

Beep

You groaned at the shrill ring of the answering machine. The outdated tech was too cherished to be discarded but the pulsing headaches you received from it almost outweighed the fond memories of Aunt May.

Thoroughly woken up, you entered your kitchenette. Your eyes shifted between the week old coffee pot on your stove to the half empty Hennessy bottle next to it. 

Maybe this time you would make the right choice. A sober evening is a good evening. However, the battle was always rigged to begin with and the winner already predetermined.

The Hennessy felt burdensome in your hand as you took a long swig. It burned violently down your throat, eating at your skin, before finally settling warmly in your stomach. Though you hated to admit it, it satisfied you more than any pot of coffee could.

Staggering to your couch, courtesy of one of New York’s finest sidewalks, you flopped down. The cushions were well used and musty. But who were you to pass up a free couch?

You have three new messages

“Spider-Woman.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“Your recent inactivity has caused some concerns regarding your whereabouts. The league seems to be having a hard time focusing on missions with your absence.”

Bats’ uncertainty leaked through the phone as he thought of his next sentence, “You have my condolences, Webs. However, the league cannot continue to work with this distraction. Please report to the Hall of Justice immediately.”

He hesitated, “We are worried.”

Beep

An involuntary snort escaped you. Bats’ attempt at comfort was interesting to say the least. He was surprisingly awkward for a leader of the Justice League. Though you supposed dark and brooding was his brand.

You have two new message

“Greetings, Spider-Woman, Wonder Woman speaking.”

You could hear muffled arguing in the background.

“Batman may have been a bit…straightforward in that last voicemail,” She attempted a fake laugh, “Please do not mind his bluntness, he is merely just as concerned as the rest of us. In his own way at least.”

A loud slam made her curse under her breath.

“I apologize I must go, the “children” are fighting again. Don’t hesitate to call back. See you soon, Webs.”

Beep

Lifting the liquor to your lips, your brows creased when only a drop hit your tongue. Out already?

You let out an exaggerated sigh before placing the empty bottle on your coffee table. A quick glance at your barren pantry told you everything you needed to know. You’d have to go out and get some more. You felt your face scrunch. That means you have to go out in public.

You weighed your options. 

You could stay inside and continue to peacefully hide from the world, but you're guaranteed to sober up eventually.

Or you could make a quick trip to the convenience store down the road and pray the minimum wage employee can’t smell the alcohol on you from a mile away. 

You hummed thoughtfully. Though, now that you think about it, there’s a off chance you might run into the supe that’s covering your city for the time being. Then again, there’s a very high chance it’s not someone from the Justice League, a member from The Team at best. 

Massaging your forehead, you tried to remember the last time a Justice League member took a leave of absence. A blonde goatee flashed in your mind.

That’s right. Green Arrow was out for a while when he got busted up pretty bad. His protégé, Speedy, ended up babysitting Star City in his absence. You bit your lip. 

But you didn’t have one of those anymore.

You have one new message

“Hey Webs! Sent me to voicemail again, huh?”

An awkward laugh made the machine crackle.

“Just calling to check up on you. How are you doing? Feeling alright? Just say the word and I can grab you anything from anywhere. I mean literally anywhere. They don’t call me the fastest man alive for nothing!”

You could practically hear the large smile embedded on his face.

A large sigh passed through the speaker, “It’s been a month now. The team misses you…I miss you. A lot actually.”

He paused.

“Just call me back alright? I need to know if you're okay.”

Beep

Your hand paused over your front door handle. Flash’s deep voice was like a siren's call, beckoning you in. 

What you’d give to turn around. What you'd do to call him back. It took everything in you to force yourself away from his voice.

Your best friend. 

Your confidant. 

Your everything. 

You have zero new messages

・❥・

You weaved through the bustling sidewalk with a slight wobble, managing to dodge a third of the people you almost crashed into. Night was quickly approaching. That meant the streets were only going to get busier. 

More people = More crime = More superheroes.

Fumbling into a dimly lit alley, you avoided Main Street completely. It was too risky. Even in your civilian disguise there was no guarantee your voice wouldn’t be recognized - mainly by your teammates but especially by… Flash.

You recalled how often you sought each other out in the Hall of Justice. Whether it was meddling in the business of others, or simply enjoying the company of one another.

His hand always seemed to find its way to the small of your back. Gently resting. While his thumb delicately circled the thin fabric of your suit. 

He leaned in closer than he should. The dull smell of his cologne inevitably picked up by your heightened senses. 

It wasn't how friends should behave - but that's all you ever were. Friends.

Thwack!

You slammed yourself against one of the side walls in surprise, extinguishing your mind of complex thoughts. Creeping closer, you cursed in your head when harsh thumps and muffled grunting filled the air. 

“Where’s my money, Huey?”

Crack!

“I-I don’t know! Please!”

Whack!

You recognized the tell-tale sound of blood splattering against the ground, akin to paint splashing. The sound made you nauseous. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you thought of your next move. 

Now, on any normal occasion you’d swing in all heroic and save the day. But today was different. You were different. 

Excuses flooded your brain as you tried to explain to yourself why you felt little desire to help the abused man. 

Your suit was at home crammed somewhere in between an ugly Christmas sweater and a latex bodysuit you practically begged Cat Woman not to give you. 

Even if you had the energy, you were still considered MIA to the league. You’d basically be spoon feeding them your location. 

Your internal dilemma didn’t last long as the pummeling swiftly came to an end. Peaking around the corner, you watched the assistants retreat into an adjacent alley. They moved lazily. Clearly they didn’t expect to be caught.

You could still catch them.

You found yourself making an internal description. Two Caucasian males both wearing black beanies and disgustingly outdated puffer jackets. The taller one sported purple and green. While the shorter preferred yellow. 

Your foot shifted before you felt yourself hesitate. Maybe you shouldn’t. They’d probably be caught soon enough anyways. 

If anything, the supe covering your city would swoop in and haul their asses to the local jail. Especially when you called an ambulance for the man who was passed out on the ground. It would put this area on tonight's map. You sighed and finally allowed yourself to relax. 

This was fine. 

Everything was fine. 

Shifting your eyes to the ground, you located the poor soul who suffered the attack. His breathing was ragged and wet. You were quick to put two fingers on his neck, checking for a pulse. A wave of relief crashed through you when you felt a steady beating.

Pulling out your phone, you immediately dialed 911 and requested an ambulance, anonymously of course. You stayed with the man until you could hear loud sirens growing closer. Your sign to leave. 

Exiting the alleyway, you reached the small convenience store in record time. The adrenaline in your system was starting to make quick work of the alcohol in your bloodstream. 

You could feel your senses beginning to come back. Eyes clearer. Ears sharper. You could practically hear the heartbeats of everyone in the store. 

Groaning at your misfortune, you beelined for the alcohol section in the back. My god was it beautiful. Itching to return home, you grabbed a random bottle that had the highest percentage. Taste didn’t matter. Only the effect.

Glancing at your selection you choked on your own spit. 30 dollars?? The glass bottle was swiftly put back as you grabbed the cheapest one you could find. Tucking the Shitty K under your arm, you turned to walk to the register.

“PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP, OLD MAN.”

You froze. Extending your neck out, you caught a glimpse of the register. 

Purple, green, and yellow.

You had to be fucking kidding.

You watched as the two assailants from the alley held the elderly cashier at gunpoint. His form shook like a leaf. 

“Please! Just take the money and leave!”

You caught his eyes as he begged for his life. Tear filled and shaking. You could have prevented this. If you would have just stopped them when you had the chance none of this would have happened.

You could have saved the man in the alley. Saved the poor cashier.

You could have saved Uncle Ben too. 

Your eyes watered. Fucking pathetic mistake. What the hell were you doing? You weren’t a teenager anymore. You were a grown adult who should have learned from your mistakes by now.

Shifting your eyes from the vodka to him, you pressed your lips in a thin line. You didn’t know what hurt more. The fact that you were repeating past mistakes or the fact that you wanted to take the more expensive alcohol and leave unnoticed.

When did you become this? 

No wonder you let Spider-Girl die.

You needed a drink. Desperately.

Abruptly, a whiplash of red and yellow snatched you from your daydream. The streaking shape blew over the newspaper stand before spinning around the starstruck perpetrators. You knew those McDonald's colors from anywhere. 

Kid Flash.

Like any speedster, he removed the gun in milliseconds before tying up the confused robbers. They stood no chance against the meta-human.

Dusting off his hands, Kid Flash smiled smugly at the dumbfounded duo, “Guns aren’t currency, you know?”

The man in yellow thrashed violently, “What the hell-Kid Flash!? Why are you in New York? Spidey taking a break or something?”

You cringed.

Kid Flash’s boyish voice laughed awkwardly, “Something like that.”

You need to get out of here. Now.

Slowly backing into the aisle, you clenched your teeth when your elbow hit the shelf. The bottles tinked in a symphony, altering everyone in the store of your presence. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Instantly, you snatched your coat hood and covered your face and hair. Staring into the grime covered tiles, you prayed Kid Flash wouldn’t think too much of it.

“Hello?”

Of course. The one time he’s actually thorough.

“Are you alright?”

Bright yellow boots came into your vision as you tried to conceal yourself further. You hunched into yourself with clenched fists. Mistaking your actions for something else, Kid Flash placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, hey it’s okay! You don’t have to be sacred!”

You bite into your lip eager to escape the conversation, “I’m not. Please let go.”

Kid Flash laughed, sounding a little too similar to Flash in your opinion. Removing his hand from your shoulder, he stood next to you with his hands on his hips. 

“Then why are you hiding?” A red glove entered your vision. It was headed straight for your hood.

You slapped his hand away, “Didn’t your parents tell you not to talk to strangers.”

He shrugged, “That rule doesn’t really apply to superheroes.”

You couldn’t contain the breathy laugh that left your throat. You hate to admit it but you actually really missed the kid. 

However, you failed to realize your mistake. If anyone knew your laugh it was Kid Flash. You spent way too much time around him and Flash for him not too.

There was a long pause. 

“…Webs?”

You flinched hard, “Wrong person.” You internally cursed at yourself for the obvious slur in your voice.

“Are you drunk?”

“…No.”

His hand grabbed your upper arm tightly, “Where have you been? Are you okay?”

You gently pulled against his hold, attempting to break free without force, “I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t,” Kid Flash raised his hand to his ear piece, “Just let me notify Flash-”

“NO!”

Your arm flew up to the communicator without thought. Taking advantage of his surprise, you were able to snatch the high tech earpiece from his loosen grip.

“Hey!” 

Kid Flash grabbed at you. His lanky limbs attempting to reclaim his lost device, “Let go!”

“You let go!” You shoved his face away with the palm of your hand. 

Kid Flash merely continued to grab at the air around you, “Never!”

If this was any other situation you would have laughed. The pair of you looked like children fighting over the last dessert.  

However, this wasn't just any situation. This situation involved Flash. 

“Listen to your elders you brat!” Finally, after a well fought struggle, you managed to hold the device out of arm's reach. A much needed success after the month you've had- 

“Webs?”

You halted in your tracks.

The small communicator in your hand blinked on and off, identifying an unstable signal. 

“Webs is that you?” Flash was urgent, “Wait there! I'm coming-”

You crushed the device in your hand. Terrified.

Small fragments engraved themselves into your skin, dotting your hand red. What have you done? 

“Batman’s gonna kill you for that, you know?” Kid Flash laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

You frowned, uninterested in entertaining him. Kid Flash merely smiled awkwardly. It was evident the boy was taken aback by your unusually serious demeanor. 

The thought didn't take up much space in your mind. You could only think of one thing. When would Flash decide to appear out of thin air?

As if conjuring the hero, a red bolt flew through the mostly empty convenience store. The glass doors shook from the force. While newspapers scattered through the air, Vogue landed atop the cashier's head. 

Though he moved faster than the speed of light, he stood before you still. Unmoving. It was as if you might fade away if he got too close. 

“Webs,” His voice was laced with reverence. 

Your mouth went dry, “Flash.”

The tension between the two of you was thick enough to cut with a knife, suffocating you. Maybe this was how Flash planned to get back at you for ignoring him. Slowly killing you with hypoxia. A metaphorical death pertaining to how he felt during your absence. 

“Woah, this just got really awkward.” 

Kid Flash’s voice suddenly reminded you of his presence. He swayed uncomfortably. Trapped between you and Flash.

The younger male pointed his thumbs at the door, “Should I leave…or?”

“Yes.” 

Startled at your synchronous voices, Kid Flash quickly shuffled toward the door, “Alright. See you later?”

Flash nodded his head in response, ushering his protégé away. Kid Flash couldn't leave fast enough. Magazines, once again disturbed, twirled around the ground from where he left.

You stared at the loose paper. Preferring the sight of perfume ads then whatever expression Flash held. From the corner of your eye you should see him shift. He moved with unease. Your mouth curled slightly. He never was able to stop moving for long. 

“Webs, I-”

You cut him off, “I’m sorry.”

Flash furrowed his brows in confusion, “You don’t need to apologize. It's not your fault.”

“But it is,” You clenched your teeth in frustration, “It's always been my fault.”

The taller male crossed the space between you hesitantly. You flinched when he placed his large hands on your shoulders, completely engulfing them. 

“It wasn't your fault, Webs. Nobody could have known.”

“I could have saved her,” you finally met his gaze, “I was right there.”

You saw his eyes widen slightly, clearly used to your masked form more than your real face. 

Your name spilled from his lips. 

Not just Webs - your name.

You took a shaky breath, “Barry.”

The name was foreign on your tongue. You had tried to keep your personal life separate from hero work. Though that only lasted a year. Barry managed to weasel his way into your home life before you knew it.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

Barry’s hands slid from your shoulders down to your hands, caressing them softly. “Believe me when I say this,” He took a deep breath, “I’ve been in your position before. We all have.”

Breaking eye contact, your stare bore into the wall of cheap booze, “I know.”

“And I know,” He cupped your cheek, “That drinking away your problems won’t help. It only makes it worse.”

You bit your lip, “I just want to forget.”

“I know. God, I know. I want to go back and change that day every time I open my eyes,” He placed his head in the crook of your neck, “But I've been down that road before. And it's not sustainable.”

Your eyes felt hot, your throat dry, “I don’t know what to do.”

Barry pulled your smaller frame into his arms, “No one does.”

You sunk into his embrace, inhaling his scent.

“Let me take you home, Webs.”

“Okay.”

・❥・

You held tightly onto Barry, arms circling his neck, as he brought you home. You had barely enough time to blink before you were standing in front of your apartment’s door.

Barry hesitantly let you down from his hold. Though his arm stayed wrapped around your waist for support. You gave him a gentle smile as a thank you. 

Unlocking your door, you were immediately reminded of the state of your apartment. Dirty laundry and loose items scattered the floor. 

Shame crept up your neck. The uncaring attitude towards your humble abode seemingly disappeared.

Barry entered slowly, taking in the messy state. His eyes were quickly drawn to the empty bottles strewn about your floor. Unsurprisingly, he began to pick one up. Then another. And another. You snapped when he started to replace your trash bag.

“Barry.”

His head whipped toward you, only focusing on you.

“That's enough,” You tried grabbing the bag from him, “You don’t need to.”

Barry held onto the plastic tightly, “I want to.”

You shook your head, “It's my mess. Leave it.”

“No.”

You jolted in surprise at his commanding tone, “Why?”

He tossed the bag to the side, “Why?” 

Laughing dryly, he shook his head, “Why not? Why wouldn't I take care of you?”

You averted your gaze, “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“But you do,” his voice was imbued with desperation, “If you didn’t, I wouldn't have spent a month doing everything in my power to find you!”

Your face felt hot, “I didn't ask you too!”

Barry closed in the space between you, “You didn't have too!”

You weren't sure when the tears began to pour down your cheeks, “I never wanted you too! I just want to be alone! Why can’t you let me be?”

“Because I can't let you be!” Barry’s hand slammed down on your tiny island counter, “You're all I think about! From the moment I wake up to the time I go to sleep, all I know is you. I would rather you hate me for the rest of my life just to see you for a moment than ever ignore you.”

You felt like a deer in headlights, “What?”

“That day when Spider-Girl died,” He gripped the counter, slightly cracking it under the force, “I felt like I lost a piece of you too. And I could bear it.”

You felt like you lost your breath when Barry met your gaze again. His eyes were laced with anguish. Bloodshot rims already forming.

“I know you're hurting. I know what I am experiencing is nothing compared to what you are going through,” He searched your eyes, “But I'm in love with you! And I have been for as long as I can remember.” 

The start of a cry made his voice waver, “And this is definitely poor timing for a confession, but I can’t lose you-”

You weren't exactly sure which one of your muscles was still intact enough for you to move. However, the feeling of plush lips against your own thwarted any other thought.

Barry stood rigid for a moment. Hands clenched at his sides. Then, he dominated the kiss like his life depended on it. His hands held onto your waist tightly, before slowly making their way to your face. You couldn't remember the last time you felt this happy.

Pulling away, you took shallow breaths, “I love you.”

Barry smiled and swiped a loose teardrop from your cheek, “I love you too.”

The warm moment didn't last long. Your mind was quick to remind you that there was a reason Barry had to confess in a messy studio apartment rather than someplace special. That reason was because you were broken.

You pressed you mouth into a thin line, “Do you still want me even if-”

“I want you no matter what,” Barry didn’t allow you to get another word in, “We can go through this together.”

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, “You're not alone, Webs. You never were.”

You swallowed hard, “Together?”

"Together."

・❥・

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 5 part 4

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

(this is a sad one, apologies in advance)

agatha just had the unimaginably traumatic experience of her mother's evil ghost possessing her body, so of course she cracks jokes. she's shaking like a leaf, but hey, coping mechanism gotta cope!

when evanora tried to execute agatha, stealing secrets or whatever was only an excuse, she was punishing her daughter for the sin of being born. whatever she says, her so called worry for these other witches is also an excuse. she's simply furious that someone has begun to think of agatha as a person rather than a monster. it's once again a selfless VS selfish paradox, evanora is always framing her actions as selfless and for the greater good, but her hatred for agatha is undeniably raw and personal. I would love to learn what evanora's life was like, who were her parents? what turned her into such a hateful mother?

(look at how angry rio already is. and alice always protecting the person closest to her by default.)

this is the ultimate humiliation for agatha, someone who has always kept her past and struggles so close to the chest. now one of her deepest traumas is laid bare for everyone to see and judge. she's always trying to come off as strong and unfeeling and formidable, but here she is, a sad little girl abused by her own mother.

btw I see you all have strong feelings about ghosts and billy's powers! lol I got so many comments. I see you, I see you! Granted I'm not actually super invested in my ghost theories, this being a made up marvel show and all, but here's what I think:

agatha says to wanda, "you have no idea how dangerous you are, you're supposed to be a myth, a being capable of spontaneous creation, and here you are, using it to make breakfast for dinner!" agatha, one of the most powerful witches ever existed, could not create food for nicky. like, the scope of wanda's powers (and billy's by extension) is the kind of scary that can reshape reality itself and truly and properly fuck up the Sacred Balance or whatever rio calls it.

when I say billy created a ghost evanora, yes it's a copy but in the same way a Star Trek transporter makes a copy, you know what I mean? whether the orignal stays behind or not, billy's evanora is the real evanora. and if you believe in souls, that gets even more complicated! did billy take evanora's soul from the afterlife and plopped her in here, or did it copy it too? and was wanda actually able to create billy's and tommy's or did she catch the wandering soul of stillborn twins?

see I don't think evanora was a ghost prior to this (again, I might be proven wrong in the future, but this is where I'm at right now). if that were the case, you know she'd been haunting agatha's ass, wouldn't have given her a moment of peace. maybe rio took extra care to send her to the afterlife, idk. now rio looks shocked and angry to see evanora, like this is a new development.

rio's voice is literally roaring with anger

like i cannot overstate how much rio hates and despises evanora for what she did to agatha

evanora zeroes in on rio, approaches. rio takes a whole step back and makes herself smaller. she's nervous. she says that ghosts are cheaters, but it goes beyond that, doesn't it? rio understands life and death, but a ghost is neither, or both. it goes beyond all her control and expertise, and for the first time since we've known her, she's at a disadvantage. ironic, isn't it, considering what happens to agatha in the finale?

agatha, who's been cowering in a corner, chooses this moment to approach. does she want to protect rio and billy and the others? or is she so desperate for an ounce of love and affection from her mother that she, coward as she is, actually wants to put herself in arm's way?

while everyone is focused on agatha, alice looks at rio. she is putting together evanora's words, agatha's terror and rio's hatred. jen is being selfish. alice, generous alice, could never be selfish

the last time agatha saw her mother she was still a kid. now she is a mother herself and the mere thought of not loving, not wanting to protect your child, of actually going out of your way to harm them? it's simply inconceivable to her.

the shock. the tears forming in her eyes. the same heartbreak she felt when she realized her mom was about to kill her at the stake. she's feeling small and wretched and unloved like only a parent can make you feel

it's the matter-of-fact tone she uses. it's worse than hatred. she despises agatha beyond hatred

there is a moment in a child's life when they see a parent clearly for the first time, their weakness and their flaws. this is especially true for an abused child, it comes a day when you realize that despite being called bad and evil and blamed for the pain happening, it was never really your fault. agatha knows what a parent's love should look like now. and this is not it.

rio visibly deflates. she is the only person in the room agatha opened up with about her mother. there is nothing she can do to spare her pain now. she has no power against evanora

alice has a blinding moment of shock, realization, pity. she knows only too well what generational pain and trauma can do to a person. but she still had a mother who loved her. agatha didn't.

jen, who used to be a healer, can no longer feel compassion. jen has had to learn to protect herself above all others. because evanora hurt agatha, and agatha hurt jen in return.

and when it's all said and done, agatha will always beg. all her power, her brains, her experiences are nothing. she regress to that girl at the stake. I can be good. please.

alice, who's always been the first to jump to everyone's defense, who always puts others before herself. she has seen agatha bare and helpless, she has seen that raw core that agatha has always hidden and, in her final moments, she's accepted agatha in her coven. it's more instinct than rationality, but alice has always been a heart over head kinda girl. if she can see the harpy, if she can see the pain, by GOD she'll do something about it.

“The Knight of Wands.” full of fire, fights bravely.

lilia's gut-wrenching scream. she knows what is happening. agatha already told her.

a succubus who hasn't fed in so long. I keep thinking, there was never anybody who loved her enough to teach her control, to seek alternative solutions to satiate her hunger. rio never could, rio cannot interfere with who lives and who dies. but could a coven together have fed her? could a big coven have donated power little by little, and kept her safe and valued and protected? nurtured her in every way? or was she always doomed from the start? was evanora right, did alice sign her death warrant the moment she chose to love agatha? I know what my answer is to all that, but what do you guys think?

and another question for you: billy casts around desperately for help, nicky answers. was nicky, or rather a shadow of nicky, created by billy too? or was the son of Death powerful enough and scared enough to reach out on his own, maybe with just a little push on billy's part?

a name was all it took for agatha to pass her trial, and look how much was needed to get it out of her. only billy's chaos could do the impossible: drag agatha's ravaged and wrecked heart to the surface. billy only wanted to help her heal, but he's a just a boy with the power to shape the universe. it took evoking ghosts and dredging up horrible trauma to make all of agatha's defenses crumble and raw-beat her into admitting her pain, into maybe, if we're lucky, starting on the road to recovery. oh, billy. you don't know how to handle things gently yet, with your big man's hands and your young, too young soul.

she stops IMMEDIATELY. she didn't know how to control her hunger, until now. the monster was human all along

by. as in, by billy, because he did it all. and also, good-bye. good-bye, mama.

oh, alice. there are no words.

and now they're no longer just numbers, just fools she conned and killed and abandoned on the road. now it's the girl with the big luminous heart, who sang the Ballad with her, who shared her same pain, the first human being in agatha's life who wanted to selflessly help her.

there is a moment, in a child's life, when they see a parent clearly for the first time.

go to episode 5 part 5

[asters-galaxy]

About the SFW vs NSFW situation that's going on right now.

I know I'm not active much nowadays and I already commented on one of the posts involved, but if you'll allow me to get on my soapbox for a bit:

I'd like to explain mine and a lot of other people's stance on this, personally, as someone who has:

Enjoyed tickling and fantasized about it since about the age of 5

Enjoys it currently in both SFW and NSFW contexts

Does not allow minors on their blog

Is currently in school and studying psychology

Recently gave a presentation and is writing a paper about how kinks and trauma correlate

From how I've looked into this situation thus far, I see that another person made the very wild generalization that all people who enjoy tickling enjoy it as a sexual kink. I want to make it known to anyone who is reading this that this claim is not true.

(Important note: DO NOT HARASS THIS PERSON. IF YOU HARASS THIS PERSON, YOU ARE PART OF THE PROBLEM AND YOU ARE BULLIES. I DO NOT TOLERATE BULLIES ON THIS BLOG.)

Tickling is a sensory activity. It is a bonding thing that occurs in the animal kingdom (not just humans) often between familial connections and friendships. This is the norm in the human world; parents lovingly tickle their children, siblings and friends get into tickle fights, partners tickle each other -- it's a normal thing. These activities are not inherently sexual. When my parents tickled me and my brother when we were little, that was not sexual abuse or incest. When a classmate of mine was gang-tickled in the back of the classroom, his friends weren't suspended for sexual behavior in a school setting. Everyone in both of those situations were enjoying what was going on, but nobody was aroused. That shouldn't have to be said.

An important note on this, however, is that sexual abuse can happen this way -- it's not the only way, nor is it an inherent quality of the activity, but it does happen. I just wanted to preface that, because if someone touching you makes you uncomfortable in any way, you have a right to tell them to stop and to get angry if they don't.

The important thing when it comes to determining whether a scenario is kinky or not is based on consent and any potential arousal involved. For example, take the concept of a foot kink. Say a person asks for a foot massage. Just because foot kinks exist doesn't mean that person has a foot kink. And, even if they do, it depends on why they ask: are they asking because they want foreplay, or are they asking because they had a hard day at work and their feet are sore? It's similar with tickling -- I enjoy it in both contexts, so I can be aroused by it; however, this doesn't happen if I ask for it or otherwise seek it out because I'm looking for comfort. My partner will tickle me in more sexually intimate situations, but he will also do so if I've been having a bad day or if he wants to be playful with me, and it does not immediately or always arouse me -- only in the right and comfortable context.

Let's look at the sensory-seeking side. A lot of people in the SFW tickling community are diagnosed with or believe they have ADHD, autism, or both. I do as well. Looking at the science behind it, it makes sense: ADHD and autism are both disorders that alter the way that someone perceives physical sensory input. Given that tickling is an inherently innocent bonding activity that is playful and involves (hopefully) consensual sensory, it makes sense that a fixation could/would form and sensory-seeking behaviors would occur. This is a good explanation for anyone who was seeking tickling in some way as a child but has never/didn't at the time feel sexual about it.

And as far as sexual interest does go: kinks often form as a coping mechanism, and yes, they CAN be non-sexual or occur in non-sexual manners. So, again, tickling is not always a sexual thing for people.

Now to get into the nitty-gritty of the claims this person was making and their personal input:

This person claimed that if you cannot/do not want to show your tickling fixation to your friends, boss, and family, then it means it's kinky and that's why you're embarassed.

First of all, I wouldn't show any fanart or fanfiction to my boss, dickass. You think I'm giving them ammo that easily? HELL NO.

For my family, I don't feel comfortable doing that because I have a long history of my personal technology privacy being invaded. I also don't want them following me, same way I don't want them following my main Tumblr account.

But as far as friends go, I have shown my fanfiction to my partner and one of my friends (another person I know IRL found my blog after that); I am slowly working my way up to being comfortable enough to show other people I am close to. I keep it under wraps for a lot of reasons:

I hold myself very seriously and elegantly IRL and this entire blog juxtaposes that

A lot of my highschool life involved drama and tension, and I am very lucky that there were certain people I refrained from showing

I was also a victim of bullying as the "weird kid" and one of the only openly queer people in my grade, and I didn't want any ammo to be given to the people harassing me

And, perhaps most importantly,

It gets commonly mistaken as ALWAYS a fetish online, and people who don't understand that harass the creators of tickling art and fanfiction; I can handle that online by blocking as I please, but IRL?

We've all seen people talk about hating tickling, how "it's abuse, actually," how our community (fetish or not) is "gross" and "weird" and full of creeps. Think about the tickle Picrew's creator (a minor!) getting harassed on Twitter, which spread to them trying to bully SFW creators on Tumblr. Think about people cringing over tickle scenes. Think about the way that otomiyaa's writing breached containment and prompted negative comments. Almost all of us have seen this harassment happen or experienced it ourselves -- why put ourselves in that situation with IRL people, where it can be even more damaging to hear?

Moving on:

This creator also stated that any tickling blogs that talk to minors are either pedophiles or fostering a "safe space" for them to breed; they doubled down on this by saying that they were groomed, and that this community (again generalizing to everyone) let it happen by turning a blind eye

They then were called many things, including a pedophile, by harassers

Listen. I don't allow minors on this blog. But that's not because this is a tickling blog. It's because I don't like talking to children (this includes IRL, by the way) because it personally weirds me out; I have no reason to talk to them.

But the MAIN reason is because I have a history of minors pushing my boundaries -- not the other way around -- which gave me a sour relationship with this blog and my writing. That's why I haven't posted a fic in years. However, if a minor comes to this blog, I am not going to immediately groom them -- that's not how that works. And if a minor comes to this blog looking for help, I will help them.

Additionally, generalizing every SFW adult in this community as a pedophile because you didn't receive help when you needed it most is not a healthy way to cope with trauma. I am sorry that it happened, but I was either not in the community or a minor when it happened; that does not make me a bystander now just because I'm a SFW adult here. This goes for everyone who was not there or could not have done something at the time.

One groomer also does not mean that every adult here is/could be one. That is a horrific generalization to make. If that were the right generalization, then that would mean that every adult ever with any kink should never, EVER talk to children or they're a pedo. Do you see how misaligned that is?

I don't agree with the people who were harassing this blogger, including on the pedophile claim. I do have to say, though, that the horror and disgust that this person likely felt at being called that is exactly what they just put a lot of people through. It also does not negate the valid criticisms of those who respectfully spoke up. Something to dwell on.

Bottom line is -- and I don't say this to be demeaning -- that this person could genuinely benefit from some introspection, a break from the kink community, or both. It is not okay to label an entire SFW community as pedos because you were groomed by one person. It is not okay to generalize every person who likes tickling as a kinkster just because you are. Don't make sweeping generalizations. Period.

For anyone who felt hurt and confused by the claims this person made, please know that you are not alone (I was dealing with the same thing because of a different artist a while back); please also know that you don't have to label yourself as anything that you don't want to. As long as you aren't hurting anyone, you are valid and welcome here.

[2minutesnotice]

Why People With Mental Illness And Trauma Deserve Love

(and why Blitzø Buckso is one of them)

Grab yourself some snacks and a drink, I'll have a talk with you people who go all for the

"If you can't love yourself, you can't love anybody else"

mantra, which is toxic as fuck.

And sorry for the typos 😬🥲

SPOILER WARNING Full Moon

tw:mental illness / coping mechanism / self harm self worth / shitty parenting /abusive and toxic relationships

First of all, I'm autistic, so a lot of scenarios I'll give you will come from my experiences because it's easier for me to feel empathy that way and explain a situation.

BLITZØ IN FULL MOON

People come into my DMs and want to rant with me about him. I get it. It seems he's an asshole.

And he IS.

Blitzø has multiple character traits which are trauma coded and boy what a can of worms that is. Most of them are really hard in your face, like the fact that he can't stand his own face in pictures.

Which comes from a deep rooted self hate, which comes up in self worth issues. Blitzø had his fair experience with drugs and alcohol , even drowned himself in last to get over his shitty experience with Stolas at Ozzie's.

I'm not saying he's suicidal, but Blitzø's biggest fear is, to die alone.

Because he KNOWS how he is. That makes him really self reflected. He knows how he behaves, he knows his own coping mechanisms.

That's why it's so easy to make him mad. He's mostly angry at himself in most situations, so it also happened in Full Moon. Blitzø uses anger to get things out of people, because most people react to anger, but he's not doing it to HURT people, it's the only way he knows how to get an reaction out of people.

The reaction HE wants. Since Blitzø has no self worth he has no clue WHY people should love him. So he shoves them away and keeps them at distance.

At the same time he CRAVES intimacy. And here's the conflict. Blitzø's love language is sex.

He feels the closest to people if he can be intimate with them. And yes, even in a weird "I fuck Chaz to be close to M&M" kind of way. He is krass with his talking about sex, he over shares, he LOVES to talk about sex.

Because he's good at it. And because it gets him close to people. If the show had more time I bet we would've seen Blitzø having multiple one night stands over the time. Yes, even with his arrangement with Stolas. Because there was sex before there were feelings. Definitely.

Shitty Parenting x Self Worth

Blitzø got sold by his own father as a play buddy for a rich kid. Yes the rich kid was Stolas and it was cute, but still, rich kid.

And we all have seen, that he wasn't good at what his father made him do in the circus but what Blitzø always had, was his pride. Also, he's very good at making things up as they go. Doing that damn horse balloon and making a joke about it, shows how he is capable of selling himself still as the best, even if it isn't so.

We don't know much about Tilla, but we know Blitzø definitely had a closer relationship to her then to his father.

I know we only have two concrete scenes which show what kind of an relationship Cash and his son had, but the "I wish you were my son" card for Fizz kinda draws us the picture here.

As a child who always had to compete with a sister which was highly gifted, this does something to you.

You try to be better, at any cost. Sounds familiar?

"I'll try to be better".

But what? In what will he try to be better? I think Blitzø doesn't even know at what he will try to be better, he just does not want to lose this. But what is this?

RELATIONSHIPS

IF Blitzø would have just cared about his business, he would've walked away with the crystal. Just like that. He would've said

"Thank Satan, I thought I would lose my business,thanks Stolas, it was nice as it lasted" and he would've been gone.

But he didn't. He listened to what Stolas said but he didn't LISTEN. Because it was confusing as fuck, even as The Audience just watching it was a LOT what was said and going from

"I'll let you go" to "I have feelings for you, please stay" in a second.

And of course Blitzø would not understand that. Because Stolas could not MEAN it. Because Stolas has servants who are Imps and he called him names, a plaything and if Blitzø is anything for Stolas, at first, he's a whore.

Blitzø sold his body for a service. For his business.

They could have made that arrangement about ANYTHING. Money, another hitman service, bodyguarding.

STOLAS made it about sex. The thing Blitzø knows, the one he CRAVES, the thing he is good at, besides killing people.

But the one thing Blitzø is not good at, are words and feelings. And Stolas had a lot of them, at once. And it felt not fair for Blitzø to be cornered like that, because he had no idea what was expected from him. And then he used the ONLY thing he knows, which always gets something out of people: Anger.

That's the words and feelings he knows.

And he got an reaction, but also had to deal with the consequences.

STOLAS AT FULL MOON

I love Stolas. But he he's living in a romance novel world and there's also, trauma.

Stolas first words I had imprinted in my mind were "I always thought love could be fun". He wished for a happy family his whole life and all he got was an abusive wife and a loveless marriage.

He is a dreamer. Someone who loves the small things and he is caring. He loves to indulge in fiction, he loves telenovelas because even if there's drama, there are relationships. Something he never had experienced.

Stolas is a soft soul. But he's repressed and depressed as fuck. And that's not only because of Stella, but his upbringing and the knowledge to live in a Golden Cage. But he never voices that he has problems with THAT.

See, Stolas is a prince, he grew up with servants, Imps mostly. In a palace. Even if he despises Stella's parties, I bet if he wouldn't be an outsider in his own race, he would be the one doing the parties himself. It would do him some good because Stolas is also, lonely.

While Blitzø lived in Circus tents and tried to proof himself, Stolas had to proof that he's worthy his title as a prince. Being married, the whole heir thing, his duties.

And then Blitzø appears out of fucking nowhere, seducing him (like in his novels!), staying with him the whole night (showing him he's obviously gay), showing him he can choose, that he HAS A CHANCE to be happy.

With Blitzø.

And then we see the duet and the second Stolas sings about how he wants this to go, I knew they will fuck up. Because Stolas had played out this scenario SO OFTEN in his head, that he has so many images of Blitzø in his head that he knows this will not work out good. He has hopes and dreams but in the end, the decision falls on Blitzø.

So we go to Full Moon and Blitzø reacts... poorly. He even mocks him. And then he starts screaming and shouting and guess who else was always shouting and screaming? Guess who told Stolas his whole marriage that he's not worth anything. That he's not worth of love, that he's a failure, that his head is in the clouds and mocked him about everything he loves.

Blitzøs only way to cope with too many feelings is anger, Stolas trauma is based on anger and rejection.

But Stolas reacted so FAST. He gave Blitzø the crystal and he told him that he gives him the offer to stay, because he has feelings for him (like in his novels!) and his hopes are so high and the second he does not get what he wants, what he needs, he snaps. He's disappointed. He's hurt.

Because he wants this so bad to work.

But it can't, because they're for now reading the same book, but they're so not on the same page.

Because, and now we're getting there, they have to deal with what was said.

TRAUMA AND RELATIONSHIPS

I'm married for ten years now. My wife and I met each other 20 years ago.

I was suicidal back then, I cut myself regularly, I was depressed and had an eating disorder.

But I had friends. And I had relationships. And I loved so so deeply.

And then I got together with my wife 11 years ago. I was freshly diagnosed with being autistic, my wife has ADHD.

She also has several PTSD triggers, I have childhood trauma from living with my Mom who's an alcoholic.

And yes, I am able to have an relationship. We love each other dearly, we care about each other. We learn from each other, daily.

We have bad days, but we are GOOD for each other.

Because you DESERVE TO BE LOVED, no matter what.

In the first place is always that you're responsible for yourself. You can't trauma dump on your partner in excessive ways because that's not healthy. BUT learning to share your experiences but still being responsible for yourself and your actions, is a whole different thing.

You can love and be loved, even at your lowest.

But you have to be aware that your partner is not your therapist and that communication in a relationship, in which both parties are mentally ill, is KEY.

You have to go to the same ground, you have to explain what are your boundaries, what are your triggers but you have also to accept that the other one is sometimes not able to deal with your package.

My wife and I, we communicate DAILY. We have totally different needs. We have totally different views and patterns to deal with things. But we love each other.

Because we respect each other's differences.

And that's the homework for Stolas and Blitzø. They don't have to TO GET BETTER, they have to grow and they have to listen, communicate instead of just dumping expectations at each other.

You can't expect someone to break a pattern that is carved by trauma, just because you tell them you love them. And you can't expect that someone's listening when you push all their triggers at once.

I'm really excited how this will go. It's heartbreaking but I guess now that everything is said, they can finally be honest, without all the trauma dumping and pushing buttons.

And as I said:

You're worth of love. You're worth to be loved and you can give love, even at your lowest. Your deserve love, even at your lowest. You ARE loved.

Thank you for reading! ✨ Gold Star for you!

[afsosville]

Time to over-analyze things with limited canonical information just because. Here are some of the reasons why Qing Jing may have been a hindrance to Shen Jiu's emotional development and solidified his corruption arc>>

Qing Jing was like the perfect peak to let all his mental wounds fester if you think about it.

Shen Jiu acting like nobility or an educated young master (as most disciples of Qing Jing are) is purely a coping mechanism. It literally screams masking! While the exact circumstances of how he got chosen for Qing Jing is unknown, we can assume he didn't have a choice since most disciples typically just follow their new master to wherever they take them from the selection grounds (with the exception of Bai Zhan lol). He was most likely hoisted onto the Qing Jing peak lord, as no master would've wanted him because of his fucked up meridians and late age. They acquiesced to take him anyway coz of Yue Qingyuan's/the sect leader's insistance. And because it's Shen Jiu, he would naturally do whatever it took to get to the top, and if he started acting like the very sort of people he hates, then so be it.

You can imagine how disastrous imitating his abusers is going to be (he's imitating noblemen in general, but he's definitely taking the Qiu's as a primary example). Shen Jiu clearly is trying to remove and forget everything about his past, and even accepts the rumours of him being a spoiled young master to cast away suspicion. He is coping hard. Not to mention, he was named QingQIU when he became Qing Jing's succeeding disciple. Listen I don't care if it was a bad coincidence or not but that doesn't endear me to Shen Jiu's shizun in the slightest (I'm only talking abt SJ's shizun in canon, not fics, the fics are great. But it's more than likely that SJ's shizun was negligent or abusive as well. Here's why I think that). Between all of this, there's no way he's processing any of that trauma when he's constantly forced to remember all of it. No wonder he slipped into the abuser role easily since he's literally out here actually being made to copy their behavior.

Qing Jing and even the rest of Cang Qiong were always hostile to Shen Jiu, even in his discipleship. These ppl went out of their way to run interventions on Shen Jiu when he's minding his own business. Yes I'm talking abt the whole brothel thing. There were doubtlessly so many disciples who went for the very reasons Shen Jiu was assumed of going for, so why is he the only one getting shit for it? Not only was going to brothels not even a crime worthy of conviction, it was even normalized to an extent. And it would've been so easy to figure out if he really was going for anything "lecherous" by just asking the women there. The fact that, that whole ordeal was never cleared up just shows they didn't actually care about the women or what he was supposedly doing to them. They only cared because it was Shen Jiu who was involved.

Shen Jiu being on any other peak would change things for sure even if it's marginally. Its probably just wistful thinking, but I know at least half of those peaks, even the fanon ones, would be better than Qing Jing at any rate. Again, Shen Jiu would claw his way up and try to succeed any way he can, so if he were put on another peak that would be a somewhat healthy environment for him, he would do well, regardless of the peak. Him doing well on Qing Jing doesn't mean anything other than showing off his awesome(horrible and problematic) coping skills. So really, I can't help but think Qing Jing wasn't a good fit for him, especially with Shen Jiu's specific brand of trauma.

I did a pole once asking if Shen Jiu would've done better on another peak, or if they were just curious to see him anywhere else, and I'm not surprised that the most voted for peak was Yin Hui, the fanon peak for espionage and assassins. Now I'm going to go another tangent why Yin Hui would be good for him later.

[mrs-kodzuken]

half of a whole - hajime i.

synopsis: being abused, mentally and physically, caused you to resort to unhealthy coping mechanisms (TW) and made you feel even worse when you knew your soulmate could feel every ounce of pain you felt too. running away to give yourself a better life right out of high school, you managed to run into the one person who somehow knows you like the back of his hand (soulmate!au, self-harm mentions [not explicit], age gap, older!iwa, mentions of homelessness, long fic)

You never gave a thought to how your soulmate would be feeling this, it honestly never crossed your mind. Living in a situation where you're always worried about the next temper tantrum that your parents might have lives in your mind constantly.

Having to share this pain with someone who was fated to you hurt indescribably. You never wanted abusive parents, more so, you never wanted to cope by self-harming either. You tried to shove the thought to the back of your mind and focus on the now.

Another empty beer bottle flew past your head, you felt the sharp air against your face before it crashed and broke into the wall. That definitely brought you back to the now. Your father was drunk, again. It also worsened when he was never sober for even an hour, leading to this rampage.

Between the fighting, the overly loud TVs that would keep you up, the lack of food in the pantries, and the physical and verbal abuse your so-called parents 'graced' you with, it was hard to survive.

You finally made it out of the house, having been trying to be as quiet as possible before your mother could start screaming and calling you all kinds of obscenities.

Blowing a sigh of relief, you were able to walk to work. You had a part-time job, which recently became a full-time job since you graduated, a job that you made it to every day, no matter what.

It was the key to getting out of this hell hole that you lived in too. You were so close in savings to buy a car and have racked up a good amount of experience in food and serving.

The cool wind blew past your face, enlightening a shiver out of you and goosebumps appeared on your arms. It was mid-October, and it was nearing to be very cold outside soon.

Not only did the cold weather make you freeze but it also made your thighs ache from your past unhealthy habits of coping with the parents you have. Being clean was hard, but getting out of here was even harder and you needed to be sane to do that, you thought.

Arriving at your safe haven every day for seven days a week was a blessing that you humbly enjoyed. The warmth caressed you and made you feel safe and even enticed a smile from your face.

"Now there's my favorite employee." Your manager calls over the counter. She slightly knew that things were bad at home but never mentioned it to you, knowing you always got uncomfortable with that kind of situation.

So, she made work feel like the home you never got to have.

"Hi, I'll be here till close again." You softly smiled, glad that she paid you well and enough to keep you saving good money.

"Of course, go ahead and wash up, kiddo. Don't forget bonuses go out today before your shift is over!" She said over her shoulder as you walked into the back to put your raggedy zip up jacket you've had since you were in junior high.

Your manager fed you, on rare occasions hugged you when she could tell a day had been particularly horrible for you. She was like the mother you never got, which made you sad that you wouldn't have any contact with her when you would finally run away. Not having a phone or paying a phone bill saved a lot of money for you, and being blessed with food from work was also a blessing you didn't forget.

As the night began, you found yourself enjoying your shift as per usual. Sometimes, you wondered if your soulmate knew. Like really knew what was going on with you.

They had to, indefinitely, because unhealthy coping mechanisms along with struggling to feed yourself most likely don't go unnoticed by someone who can feel all of your pain.

And for some reason, you rarely ever felt pain that wasn't yours nowadays. Maybe when you were in primary school almost nearing junior high, but your memory was hazy then.

You also often found thinking about what your soulmate was like, how would you meet them, would they even find it in themself to love you? God, you hated that thought.

Soon, it was time of night that always came. Your shift was over. The only thing that you were actually happy about was that you would be getting a bonus and that made you exceptionally happy because who knew how much that would be?

"Here you go kiddo. You're a great worker and I may or may not have put something else in there of my own. Be safe on your way home, okay?" You nodded and allowed her to give you a hug, giving her a smile in return.

On your walk home, you opened the white, crisp envelope with your work number and slowly counted up the bills that were all in there. It came up to roughly around the amount you had needed to finally buy a car and even some leftover. You reached for the little letter with teary eyes that your manager put in there.

It gave her reasoning for adding a couple more hundreds dollar bills for you. That's when the water works really hit. That night you didn't bother entering the house, you snuck in through your window and grabbed your already packed bag. You had packed it of all your essentials that you knew you'd need for when the day came.

That night, you were absolutely elated to finally leave that hell hole. It jumpstarted you finally being able to live your life too.

Two months later, you were working nonstop. You had found a great job that surprisingly paid even more than the one that got you almost all the way through high school. Of course, you were still living in your car until you could save enough to live in an apartment.

Tying your apron back, you grabbed the notepad that had come with it and went out to take orders from more customers. You loved your job; however, you didn't realize how much you never stopped. You always worked, the fear of not having enough, not being able to eat, and never having a stable place to live haunted you.

Believably, you were exhausted.

"Hi, my name is Y/n and I'll be your server for tonight. Is there anything I can start you all off with?" You faked a smile trying to bite back the exhaustion, glancing around the large table filled with even larger, built men. They had taken up the hugest dining table that the restaurant had to offer.

As you wrote down all of their drink orders, some consisting of water, alcohol, juice, and even soda one particular one made you linger.

"Smooth whiskey, please dear." A gruff voice spoke, effectively making your tired eyes meet his older olive-green ones. It wasn't new that all kinds of customers would call you pet-names, but this particular one stood out to you and the way it melted on your skin.

He looked absolutely divine. His hair was neatly gelled into a pristine style, the watch on his wrist looked like it cost a pretty good amount of money and underneath all those clothes, he looked very fit, exceptionally muscular and well built. You just couldn’t help but to ogle him.

When you happened to realize you were staring at him, you cleared your throat feeling your cheeks flush. You heard him let out a small chuckle as you wrote down his drink order.

“Would you guys like anything else to order?” You asked, not paying attention to the moment you just had with this man you don’t even know. Once you got your response from the group, you quickly turned around and headed back to the kitchen to prepare and gather the said drinks.

You just weren’t sure how or why this random man’s eyes and voice were making you feel the way you did. You’ve never even met him before. He seemed to have a certain aura about him that drew you in closer for some reason.

Soon enough, you were back out there to take everybody’s food orders, and after a bunch of disagreements within the group that you listened to because honestly, they were quite funny. You finally got an order from the mysterious man that your heartbeat fast for, for some reason.

He ordered miso soup, “Gotta gotta stay healthy.” He chuckled to his friends, who seemingly groaned, such a weird dynamic, you thought. You didn’t really understand what they were about.

You couldn’t help the tiredness from hitting your eyeballs and making them even more heavy as you were carrying out the plates, three at a time. Since there were nine people, including him, sitting at the large table, you figured it was the best way to handle the food.

As you were on your last round, your body slightly gave out to exhaustion, and the scolding hot bowl of miso soup spilled all over the lower half of your body.

Gasps were heard from the table and surrounding tables whenever you shrieked out in pain.

A hiss also came from the man who’s been watching you all night too, you could feel the first degree burn aching on your legs as you stood there dumbfounded by the pain and exhaustion from working so much.

That's when it all hit you.

The man jumped forward setting the empty, pristine white glass bowl onto the table with a clink then took your hands in his larger, warmer ones as he pulled you towards the nearest bathroom. 

He quickly and effortlessly picked you up and set you on the cold bathroom counters, which was a stark contrast from the burning of your legs. That seemed to numb by now, just a stinging pain left behind. 

Which still really hurts. He grabbed paper towels and wet them with cold water, trying to soothe your pain through your black jeans that you wore for your shift. 

“How does it feel now?” He inquired, his voice full to the brim with a preoccupation for your body, which made no sense to you. He just met you after all.

“It’s fine, thank you. I didn't expect you to help me like this. I was just in pure shock that it even happened and now I'm really ashamed as a server.” You added, disregarding the pain that you were still in, but it was a nice gesture of his to help you, you thought.

“You’re welcome,” he grinned. “I guess this is a good time to tell you that I also felt that without actually feeling it.” He let out a dry chuckle, turning around to gather more paper towels.

That left you shocked and frozen in your place on the counter.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, you thought, finally putting all the pieces together now. About why his mere present did something to you however, you decided to play dumb and unknowing about the situation you could view through glass at this point.

“What do you mean?” You queried, your voice sounded pitchy and not like you at all. Quite frankly, you were a bit scared.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect it either.” He faltered, “Listen, I have a first-aid kit in my car. If you'd like me to go out and grab it. I just wanna check to make sure your skin is actually okay.” He paused, looking down in discontent at your legs. 

“I feel like we’ve already pushed the boundaries of being weird once I felt that hot soup hit my legs through your own.” He gave you a half smile and put his hand on your shoulder to say that it’ll be okay and then left, leaving you with your racing thoughts and heart.

You were in a terrible predicament.

You didn’t know what to do. You, first embarrassed yourself as a server in front of the entire restaurant, then unintentionally met your soulmate who seemed to be a way a lot older than you as you were just graduated high school. Not to mention just left an abusive household.

And third, it’s going to be increasingly awkward talking to him about the past pains he’s experienced from you, nonetheless when he starts asking questions about you in general.

You had half of mind just to get up and ignore the pain and trudge on through your shift since you didn’t really have a place to go home besides your car. 

You could hear the chatter in the restaurant now. It seems like everyone must’ve forgotten the incident that happened or at least you hoped they did. You also hope to the gods that you weren’t going to be fired for an incident like that. You knew how strict your boss was which was a huge difference from your first manager that you’ve ever had.

Before you could even gather a decision of what to do, the ladies room doors were opening again, and you hoped for a split second that it was just another woman. Instead, it was the man you had met, who had said he felt your pain, the man who was supposed to be your soulmate.

“Hey look, I know it’s gonna be really weird and a lot has already happened tonight, but I have some shorts you can change into. You can go into a stall, and I can turn around even, but I just really wanna check out your legs to make sure your skin is okay.” He offered the black basketball shorts to you before continuing.

“I’m a personal trainer and I went to college for this so please don’t think I have any ulterior motives," he affirmed, and that’s when you got a real good look at him.

He was definitely taller than you even though you were sitting on a bathroom counter, he had nice, impeccable work clothes on. Which made you think that he and his friends have possibly headed here from a workplace. Concern was riddled all over his features, inexplicably handsome features at that.

He was built as you could see the biceps flexing when he gestured to the stall for you to go into.

You got a redolence of his scent when you took the basketball shorts that he apparently kept in his car for what reason? You don’t know. You don’t even know this man, and that thought made it all the more strange to you, leaving you speechless as you did what he asked.

What else were you supposed to do? Tell him no?

You were only eighteen and followed the instructions of this older man who said he was your soulmate in which you’d have to verify before actually trusting him, but you trusted his profession and allowed him to help you once you got changed. 

It was ultimately awkward, peeling off your wet jeans in a bathroom stall. The squelching of it made you cringe inside and you mumbled out a little ‘sorry’ to him.

The tension between you two was very thick and you could feel it. You could probably even cut it with a knife and eat it as cake.

Whenever you unlocked the stall, he turned around and let out yet another hiss at the sight of your legs. They were a reddish color now without your jeans covering them and looked like they just radiated off pain.

The hot soup marks came from mid thigh to about your knee and a bit lower on your calf. He seemed to go into a focused mode as he inspected your legs by putting different kinds of ointment on them to help.

That’s whenever you decide to strike up a conversation by slapping yourself in the face.

“Ow, what the hell was that for?” His gruff voice yelped and made your body shiver as you realized he wasn’t lying about being your soulmate, which made things even more awkward because now it was not an accident that you both met.

“Oh, I’m–I’m sorry. I just, uh, wanted to make sure that you were actually my soulmate not lying. I’ve never done this before.” You embarrassingly stated to the handsome man, you could feel your face heating up at the mistake you made. At least you knew he wasn’t lying now though.

That brought you some kind of comfort.

He let out a nice laugh that warmed your insides and not just the warmth from your legs.

“It’s okay.” He comforted you. “I can understand when someone as young as you can get a bit frightened and unsure when someone as old as me randomly tells you that you’re their soulmate.”

“Just to be clear,” he said, “I’m not that old, just twenty-seven.” He locked eyes with you and looked you up and down.

He continued, “Which probably seems like a creep’s age given the fact that they look like you’re even twenty.”

You let out a dry laugh before stating, “Yeah I actually am eighteen, freshly graduated from high school.” That made things all the more weird for some reason.

He let out an exasperated sigh, “I guess fate works in mysterious ways.” He said, and then his expression got more serious as did his rough hands on your legs, which stopped moving, and working the ointment into your skin.

“You know, I would understand if you needed space to process this new predicament because I’ve been waiting for you for years to settle down and now it seems like you necessarily haven’t really given a thought about your soulmate, especially on settling down.” The olive-eyed man stated, and you realized you don’t even know his name yet.

You mumble, “Thanks.” 

Not mentioning his smile that he gave you, the crinkle around his eyes that made your heart flutter, even if you were just fresh out of high school and have no intent of settling down or whatever he meant by that in his words, you sure would do it to see him smile again.

You were too caught up and admiring him that you didn’t realize his hands went just a bit higher than your upper thigh and had found the pain you had caused him on some faithful nights a couple years ago.

Your eyes widened as you shoved his hands away and scooted yourself back further on the public bathroom counter until your back roughly hit the mirror.

“I’m–I’m sorry, dear.” He sputtered and it felt like he actually meant that apology too. “I just got a bit curious,” He murmured.

“I’ve been waiting for you so I could tell you that it would be okay in the end. I would be worried about you and hoped nothing horrible would happen in the end.”

His words somehow make you feel speechless for the second time in that same night and after that you didn’t speak again until you both left the bathroom, which encased you both in silence. 

After your soulmate–referring to him as that felt so perplexing but gratifying at the same time–had left his share of money on the table while you went to tell your manager you were injured on the job and had to leave. With a raised eyebrow, and a glance at the new shorts you wore that showed your naked legs which encased your first-degree burn. Your boss finally allowed you to take your leave early.

However, more unfortunate secrets for you were disclosed when the intense, bitter air encompassed your lower legs, and the ringing of the bell was heard.

"Would you like to come to my place to talk over tea or yours?" Your arms were wrapped around your frame, forgetting your zip up in the car.

The older male probably thought he would meet your parents and then talk with them and you about the situation you both happened to get into. How wrong he was for thinking that.

You cleared your throat, not meeting him in the eyes. "I guess yours is fine," you dryly chuckled before continuing. "My place is right there." You motioned at your beauty of a car that aided in the escape of your abuse.

"Oh, and my name is Y/n L/n. Which you probably knew because of dinner and my name tag." You stated the obvious after realizing your mistake, but you knew it'd be an opening to hear his.

"Hajime Iwaizumi." He sounded curt after your previous admittance, because while you were averting your eyes to gaze at the stars you could almost barely see due to the lights, he was staring at you.

His dark olive-green eyes look in your whole for the umpteenth time that night. Nevertheless, you admitting you were basically homeless and living in your car didn't make him back away from you in any form. It quite actually did the opposite and Iwaizumi wanted nothing more than to shield you from any other harm that might be in your future.

"My place then," You eventually looked over at him and couldn't shake the uncanny look he was giving you. It was something more than friendly, more than the looks you've seen after doing well for customers, more than niceness, something you haven't been given your entire life.

"Okay." You breathlessly confirmed, wanting nothing more to stop the chills that were jumping on your skin and the shaking of your body.

Following Iwaizumi in his expensive looking car was something out of a dream to look at. You realized on the way to his place that you really haven't got a clue about this older man you're following–except his name and that he's bound to you by fate.

The heat from your car was the only thing warming you up at the moment, like it has for many nights before this one too. It was different living in a car than a broken home, but you'd take it over it any day.

Pulling into the driveway, you gawked at his house. It was a very refined home that you had wished you lived in as a kid. Just the sight of it was something you could ever imagine living in.

Getting out of your car, you locked it and followed Iwaizumi across the concrete stepping stones that were placed before the door. He gave you a quick smile before unlocking the dark brown wooden door with a gold knocker.

You copied his actions of whatever he did when you walked in, self-conscious from not performing these when you lived in a house. You took off your shoes carefully and placed them beside his, then copied him when he set his keys down on a hook and you did the same with your tote bag.

He peripherally eyed you as your widened eyes were looking everywhere in his home. In pictures, the floor, the paint job, the lamps that were lit up before he left for dinner, the Christmas tree he put up and decorations scattered around the home.

He smiled at you and admired all the lights, then it faltered when he thought about how you may not have ever experienced something like this.

"Do you prefer a certain type of tea?" Iwaizumi asked, plugging in his electric kettle that he was gifted from his birthday months back.

"Uh, no." You really haven't drunk tea like this before. The sweet tea from working in a fast-food restaurant sure, but not individually bagged tea with different flavors and spices.

You meticulosity watched him arrange everything neatly for the two of you. It was kind of him to invite you here but that's when you felt all the more out of place.

"You can take a seat in the living room or on a bar stool if you'd like." His back was turned as he worked but you could hear the smile in his voice, the gruffness almost gone and replaced with something softer.

You drifted to the living room, in awe of everything that was in here. The soft velvet of the couch, the colorful lights of the green Christmas tree, and the snow globes on shelves of a bookcase were your favorite things.

The couch had plenty of throw pillows that matched the rooms' theme and even a couple throw blankets which undeniably smelled like Iwaizumi.

The thought of coming back to a house like this, to a home like this, made your eyes water and your throat get tight. You tried swallowing it down before Iwaizumi would eventually walk in here, but you were too late.

"I made you a Hōjicha tea, I figured you might like it because it's not really bitter and I got-" He stopped speaking when he sat down next to you and noticed the slight shake of your shoulders.

"Hey, hey, what's the matter?" His large hands took in your smaller ones as he didn't know what else he could do to comfort you within your boundaries.

You took a moment to collect yourself and wiped away the few stray tears, "I just... This is a really nice home. You're-you're just very nice to me."

Hajime's heart literally broke into two, definitely sure you could probably feel that too. It was pain after all, it didn't just have to be physical.

"I'm sorry you had to go through whatever happened to you. I really am. You don't ever have to go through that again nor live in your car anymore if you don't mind living here with me." He comforted, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over your hands and that's when you completely broke down.

You cried into his arms; it was warm and comforting which made things all the more saddening for you. You never got this, never experienced warmth like this, it hurt. After giving yourself a few minutes to calm down, you finally told him about your past up to now.

By the time you were done, he had been so angry for you. You, in his eyes, were a legal adult now but now you carry the trauma that your parents weren't supposed to give to you. You carry the hurt from younger you and the pain that you never shouldn't have dealt with.

Hajime then vowed to never let a single thing cause you pain like this ever again.

He stayed like that with you in his arms, thankful that his soulmate was finally safe and sound with him. He would worry about everything else later but to carefully be heedful about you and your well-being for now.

"You should call out of work for a few. I want your burn to heal and for you to get accustomed to living here and having a new, healthy normal. You can decline anytime but as someone who is bound to you by fate, I feel like this is what is best for now." Iwaizumi let go of you while you thought about what you would do.

You were technically homeless unless you accepted his offer, taking some days off work would hurt but if you lived here, it would be okay. You really haven't taken care of yourself, not having an actual shower in almost two months and resorting to sink baths was getting tiring. Not to mention sleeping in the car every night.

That effectively already decided what you were going to do, "I'll take some days off work. Are you sure you want me to live here? I don't want to intrude." You trailed, knowing he was fine with it but at the same time you had learned that your mere presence can be irritating.

"Of course, I'm sure. Don't even worry about it. You're my soulmate, remember?" He chuckled as he already planned a few things in his head to help you from your trauma if you wanted it. Therapy, coping skills, taking time off work, taking you to a doctor and specially making sure you realize you won't go without.

Your face flushed; this was all so new to you that it was hard to navigate through the fight or flight your mind and body wanted to revert to.

"Here's your tea, it should be cooled down by now." He handed you a glass mug that warms your hands–they've always been so cold, more so when you 'lived' on your own.

"Thank you, this is all so kind of you. I really appreciate it. I also really like your Christmas tree, it's so pretty."

He chuckled as you stared at it, "Thank you, I can put a miniature one in your room before the big day comes." Iwaizumi hoped that the closer you both would become, that it would help you ease into a healthier version of yourself.

He didn't expect you both to be dating immediately because, well, he would rather you talk to him about anything romantic first on your own terms. His mother raised him to be a good man.

"My room? Actually? This all feels so surreal." And bizarre that you were able to get out of a hellhole that you felt like you were going to be trapped in forever. Fate was such a weird thing.

After moving in, not that you barely had much to move in with, a new normal was settled for you and Hajime–he told you not to call him by his last name no matter how much you did. He got his guest bedroom ready, which you were thankful for. You wouldn’t know what to do if you were going to share a bedroom with him when you weren’t even ready. 

Celebrating Christmas was something you also never experienced. Waking up to a good breakfast and presents to open under the Christmas tree and watching the famous movies Hajime always talks about was so new. You loved every bit of it.

Being able to take a warm, bubble filled bath, eat a nice healthy meal, and even be introduced to Iwazumi’s friends at his workplace was so outlandish for you and the situation you had once been in. 

It got awkward sometimes between you and Hajime because after all, you can’t help the inexplicit attraction you feel when it comes to him. And of course, he feels the same but won’t act on it till you’re ready. 

“What was the highest point of your day, dear?” Hajime’s usual name that he called you with such sincerity never failed to send your heart beating wildly in your ribcage. 

You set your fork down, “Probably when I saw your friends again. I was able to talk to Miya’s wife again. She’s very sweet.” You noted, smiling. Your new normal consisted of on your days off from working you’d go with Iwaizumi to work on the days his coworkers would bring their soulmates. You were very fond of Atsumu’s wife. 

The highest and lowest point of your day started as a coping mechanism from your therapist which you both do every day now for the fun of it instead of using it to get you to open up about your past. 

You were the happiest you’ve been in forever and even though you went through literal hell, you definitely wouldn’t change a thing now. Especially with the kind and patient man sitting across from you at the dinner table. The way he looked at you with love and how you reciprocated by your actions instead of words of touches. 

Fate did work in mysterious ways. 

a/n: this shit is so ass im so sorry, i hope you guys enjoyed and even though no one requested, i hope it helps anyone who needs comfort from older iwa <3

[astarionancuntnin]

Bad Blood

summary: it was meant to be a nice, simple plan. get the sorceress to fall in love with him to assure his own safety, nothing more. what he didn't plan was to fall for her as well, and all the complications that came along with it.

or

my own twist on the astarion confession scene with the reader!tav from my previous fic, Undisclosed Desires

rating: M

word count: 3.6k

pairing: astarion x tav (previously femtav!reader, sorceress!tav)

cw: angst, hurt/comfort, self-destructive tendencies from tav, dissociation, mention of past trauma (rape/abusive relationship), toxic coping mechanism, near death experience, talks of manipulation tricks (Astarion's confession speech). full list on ao3

a/n: a follow up to Undisclosed Desires (master list can be found here), now featuring astarion POV! reading the previous fic isnt mandatory but i do highly suggest it to get a feel of their relationship + reader!tav's character and the build up that brought them there (mind you UD is explicit).

chapter song inspo: nightmare by boywithuke (full playlist is on the masterlist)

read on ao3

my masterlist

or keep reading down below ~

Why do I try? I don't know why I wanna fall in love

I wanna die, every time I see you parking up

Forget about the fights, remember the nights we had, it's not enough

I wanna lie, pretend I'm alright, but-

-

I’m… not expecting you to say it back, but I meant what I said yesterday. I don’t know where this’ll go, but I know I want to be with you.

The words resonated in Astarion’s head.

He was pretending to be sleeping back then, but he heard every single thing she uttered. Her confession had struck him harder than he had expected, leaving him at a loss for words. 

He was charming, she was alone; of course, this was the expected outcome — he did everything to make her fall for him, and it had worked, just as it should’ve. It was easy after all, a mere routine for him. She might've been a challenge at first, but she was always meant to fall for him; everyone eventually did. Everything had gone exactly according to plan. Everything except one simple detail.

I think I’m in love with you.

Astarion has had those words in mind ever since her declaration, a few nights ago. Those little words that shouldn’t have meant as much as they did when she spoke them, and yet, left him speechless, in a state of shock he couldn't remember experiencing before. He spent the rest of the night processing them: the words themselves, her tone, the state she was in when she said them—

Ha! There it was: the obvious, rational explanation to all of this: she was simply high off of a post-climax state. She couldn’t truly be in love with someone like him, she’d have to be out of her bloody mind, or have no sense of self-worth whatsoever! But if she was… well, this was just proof that his nice, simple plan had turned against him.

They didn’t talk about what happened — Gods, that would've killed him all over again — but their relationship was stable. He had what he wanted: security from the leader of the group, assurance that she wasn’t going to turn on him, and a meal every night, while she had a stronger rogue among their ranks, company in her bed, and… a certain peace of mind as of lately. 

She was less aggressive towards him — which was an added bonus on his side, granted — and he admired that fire in her that made her a menace on the battlefield, without taking away that softness in her character, even if it bothered him that she didn't save that energy for their own group.

That balance in her personality, this goodness mixed with this fire within that drifted him towards her, that made him love her in return—

Wait… No, that couldn’t be right. He found himself enjoying the banter between the two of them, it’s true. She was just as witty as he was, and their back and forth was the most fun he had during the day. She challenged him, kept him on his toes, ready for anything, and the few times they had sex were great, he couldn’t deny that either.

But love? Ha! That would be foolish of him. He wouldn’t spill his heart out to just anyone, it would need to be someone sincere, kind, that would see him for who he is and not for what he can offer.

Someone… perhaps, just like her.

It didn’t matter that this had started out as a ruse to have her trust and protect him, when it became so much more intimate as she opened herself up to him during those precious moments, he couldn’t deny the feelings that arose in his chest. He was able to know her unlike anyone else amongst their group, just as she knew him.

She was more than he expected her to be, more than just a victim meant to be disposed of. More than anything he had ever felt, for anyone before.

The feeling was… hard to process, to say the least. Completely hated it at first — it was a weakness to be exploited now, and how dare his very own plan had turned against him? Ugh. A bloody mess, he thought. Then he saw how she cared, when no one else did. When he held her close that morning, he didn’t want to let go. She sounded so sincere, felt so warm and soft against him; a safe haven.

No — could not, would not love her. Until he could come forward with his own feelings — if he ever did — he would have to resign himself to accepting any form of affection from her only when she was the least likely to notice — when she would be the one to offer — so he could simply accept out of leniency. She didn’t have to know about all the thoughts plaguing him.

Gods, she frustrated him; just by existing, she made him feel so… safe and happy, and it was just so difficult not to, when she was always taking a stand for him. She was merciless and cruel to those who posed a threat to their group, yet so protective of him as much as she protected herself. 

She was probably the most courageous member of their party, but as of late, this courage had turned into recklessness; casting strong spells that could have wiped an entire village when a simple, smaller one, would’ve done the trick. Every fight made her take more unnecessary risks to secure their victory, and given the shadowlands were dangerous territory, she believed it justified her recent impulsiveness.

It didn’t make any sense coming from her — she used to be more strategic, she was resourceful and able to lead battles using everyone’s abilities; that’s why they had put her in charge of their group, but their latest fights had been too close for comfort, and tension had risen around camp.

It has worked so far, she had claimed, not seeing the issue with her behaviour, and dismissing everyone who came forward to express their concern.

But what if it happened to fail? What then?

Astarion's fellow companions blamed it on the shadow-cursed lands that must’ve been affecting her, surely, as she was growing back to her cold, distant self, but Astarion noticed the change in her behaviour specifically following their visit at Last Light Inn.

She was fine when they first entered the vicinity, but by the time they were leaving, Tav seemed anxious and eager to go back into the woods, away from the security the inn provided, which went against everything they had fought for.

When she was asked about it, she blamed it on a bad gut feeling, dismissing any of their concerns, and when Shadowheart agreed and blamed it on the presence of the Selûnite cleric — who they didn’t even get the chance to discuss with yet — the rest of their party didn’t push for more information. She stayed mostly silent for the rest of the day and even ignored Astarion’s remarks.

Her behaviour was odd, but he couldn’t let himself care too much. Stick to the plan, he repeated to himself.

She let him feed the following nights, but she seemed away during their sessions. She wasn’t exactly the talkative type and he didn’t want to push her to the point where she would decline him her neck for the following nights, but she caught his attention when she walked out of her tent, panting, a few times throughout these last nights. When he had taken a peek, he found her clutching at her chest, struggling to breathe as she was pacing nearby.

Astarion knew better than to ask, but curiosity got the best of him. Tonight, after everyone else had gone to bed and he joined her in her tent, he would confront her about her nightly troubles.

She was dabbing her neck, cleaning the traces of his recent feeding, her eyes lost in the distance, when he spoke up.

“I’ve noticed you seem… away, during our little sessions, as of late.”

“Hm?” She’s snapped back to reality, proving his point, but still avoiding any eye contact. “Oh, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“Believe me, I would if it was anyone else but…” he stopped himself from saying anything he might regret, sliding back into his careless self. “You're the leader of this group. Our very lives are between your hands and I would quite like to keep mine.”

She chuckled humorlessly, “I'm telling you, I'm fine.”

“Allow me to doubt that, especially with those nightmares you’ve been having lately.”

Her gaze locked with his, a dread settling within her.

“Is that what they are then?” He asked. “Night terrors?”

Her eyes darted across her tent; he could see the internal fight she was having with herself, deciding to come clean about her condition or not.

She sighed deeply after a few seconds, taking in a moment to find the words and it took her a few tries to finally speak up.

“When we passed by the Last Light Inn, I… recognised someone. He…” Her breath cut short. “We used to be together, for some time.” She paused.

“A few years. It wasn’t a great experience, to say the least. I was young and naive, he was just a bit older and experienced. I felt so special to be the one he had deemed worthy of his attention, and he took advantage of it.”

The next words got stuck in her throat, unable to carry on as her breathing quickened. Her eyes blinked uncontrollably, still staring ahead, lost in a world of her own. It took her a moment to finally come back and continue.

“I hated myself for so long, felt guilty of what had happened to me. It took me years to get over it– I thought I was over it, but the second I saw him again, it all came back at once.”

She paused once more, trying to regulate her breathing. “I spent all those years thinking about how I could make him regret what he did to me, if we ever crossed paths again. And when it finally happened, I froze. It didn’t matter that I am older, stronger, smarter; I. fucking. froze. I was right back where I started, just a—”

Tears were threatening to fall and she pulled her knees close to her chest, turning her head aside, as if she couldn’t bear to let him see her in that state. “I’m sorry– you need to leave.”

He stayed frozen, perhaps just like she had been in her story, as he watched her pull away from her. He wanted to stay and comfort her, tell her that he would be by her side no matter what, that he would help her get her revenge if that’s what she desired, just like she promised to help him out against Cazador, but he simply couldn’t. The words remained caged in his chest as he got up and opened the flap of her tent before bidding his goodbyes.

The next morning, she avoided him like he used to avoid the sun; anytime he was nearby, she would turn to face someone else among their group, as if she couldn’t stand to look at him. Her speech was concise, mathematical; she had lost any sign of the emotions she had experienced the night prior.

When she selected the members of the party for the day, he was surprised to be a part of it. He wasn't scared to be left in camp, after all, she made it clear in the past that his ability to lock pick any and everything made him a valuable asset, but he had his doubts after how she had been acting this morning.

Tav proposed to visit Moonrise Tower to get to the heart of their problem, but the shadow curse had made it tedious to navigate further and Karlach urged the group to revisit the Last Light Inn to get the help of the Selûnite cleric. With the majority of the party agreeing, their leader had no choice but to step over her current feelings for the sake of their mission, but she made it clear that they wouldn’t stay a second longer than needed in there.

To her dismay, that moment would take up most of their day.

After receiving the blessing of the cleric, a winged man — that Isobel referred to as Marcus — arrived from the skies claiming that she needed to leave with him, and when it was made clear that it wasn't an option, a fight ensued with his own army of undead.

They should've been able to handle them, it was their first fight of the day and they were prepared for anything. Or so they thought.

The hits from their enemies were stronger than anticipated and Shadowheart barely managed to keep everyone alive with Marcus who used his necrotic powers to drain them dry at every chance he had; against their best attempt, Isobel was knocked out and captured by the winged man.

Without the moon cleric to protect the inn, all its inhabitants were claimed by the shadow curse; one by one, the group of adventurers watched them die and turn against them, prolonging their already lengthy battle.

They defeated all the harpers within the inn before making their way outside, where another group of possessed fighters were waiting for them. The fight had been going on for what felt like forever; waves of new enemies kept coming in and the party was running short on spells and patience. Worse, even, Shadowheart had used the last of her healing spells, and no remaining healing potion was in sight.

With everyone’s health running dangerously low, the sorceress knew she had to act fast to assure their victory. She was scanning the battlefield to evaluate her options when she froze, her gaze stuck on one of the Harpers that was approaching them. Astarion recognized her behaviour from the night before and he knew he had to step in.

He screamed her name, trying to make her snap out of it, but she remained motionless, unable to react to her environment, as a range of emotions visibly flooded her all at once. Without Karlach by her side to slash the undead that was coming for her, she would’ve been downed right there and then. The fiery tiefling screamed her name again and grabbed her by her shoulder, grounding her back to reality.

“Soldier, hey! You with me?” She was panting from the fight, and her features were painted with worry.

Tav blinked quickly, taking back her surroundings, “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine, sorry.”

“What’s happened to you? You were this close to being a goner. Don’t do that again to us, you hear me, yeah?”

She didn’t answer back, as her eyes fell back on the Harper she recognized seconds ago, and an uncontrollable anger started boiling within her. Although Astarion noticed the fists clenching tighter and tighter at her sides, he wasn’t expecting what came next.

She freed herself from Karlach’s grasp on her shoulder as she bolted straight to the Harper she had in her sights with a tunnel vision. No one was able to stop her before she cast flaming hands on the undead, with a guttural scream that was cut short by the explosion that followed.

Blinded by rage, the sorceress failed to notice the multiple barrels of smoke powder that surrounded their last enemies as she cast her spell, blowing them up and herself in the process.

The rest of the party remained far enough to be spared by the explosion, while Karlach received barely any damage. As the smoke settled down, the figure of their friend appeared, spread on the ground among the corpses of their fallen enemies.

No… No, it can't be—

Despite his distance from her, Astarion was the first one to reach her. He quickly rushed past the cleric and barbarian to land next to the fainted sorceress, bringing her head close to him. He tried to look for her eyes, but they were shut tight with no sign of life.

“Wake up… Wake up! Come on now. Please…” His hold of her became desperate, looking for any sign of consciousness; her body’s warmth was quickly turning to a familiar coldness, and the soft melody of her heartbeat was getting quieter. 

Dread started to settle in and he shot a deadly stare at Shadowheart who was still standing next to Karlach, checking on her smaller wounds. “What are you waiting for? An invitation?! Heal her!”

“I used my last spell on you earlier!” She shouted as she tried to explain. “We need to bring her back to our camp.”

“Would it kill you to try?”

Karlach nodded to Shadowheart, agreeing that their friend was in bigger need of care than her, and Shadowheart approached the fainted party member begrudgingly, knowing fully well she would be of no help, and knelt next to her as she tried to cast a healing spell.

She tried again, and again, but her magic had run out. “I'm sorry, I– I can't.”

“What do you mean, you can't?!” Astarion spat out, his anger overtaking any sense of reason within him. “That's your sole purpose! What good of a cleric are you if you can't even heal her!”

“Hey!” Karlach stepped in before Shadowheart could retort. “Yelling won't get us anywhere, alright? We're all exhausted, and Soldier here needs serious help – let's just all go back to camp? Halsin might be able to take a look at her.”

His eyes narrowed, looking back at his lover, and he nodded to his friend. Without wasting any more time, Karlach picked her lifeless body from the ground, leading the march to their campsite without muttering another word.

Back at camp, the party rushed to bring the burned sorceress to Halsin’s tent. At the brief sight of her lifeless body, everyone else rushed to see the state she was in.

“By Sylvanus, what happened back there?”

“Does it matter, druid? She clearly needs help!” Astarion shouted.

“She was in the middle of an explosion, it was pretty bad.” Karlach stepped in, providing an answer for the archdruid. ”Can you fix her up?”

“I’ll do what I can, my friend, but I’ll need some time– “ He turned to Astarion who was hovering. “And space. Do not worry, I will come to you once I am done.”

With those last words, Karlach laid their fallen friend down in Halsin’s tent and guided Astarion out with a pat on the shoulder and a soft “Come on, Fangs''. He followed her, giving one last look at the woman he grew to love, a mix of anger and worry painted over his face.

Astarion remained at his tent, trying to take his mind off of her by sewing up his torn clothes, but his mind kept going back to the moments before the explosion. He had pieced together what had happened, but he couldn't understand why she had put herself at risk like so. She was the smartest among them – he even enjoyed taunting Gale about it – and she was logical in combat. Why would she go as far as to risk her life over this? He kept pacing around in circles for the rest of the evening, expecting the worst as time went by.

As night time approached, the flap’s of Halsin's tent opened to reveal an exhausted healer. Astarion hurried to him, his worry circulating to the druid with unspoken words.

“I stabilised her.” He tried to reassure the pale elf. “She will be alright, but she needs to rest. Her wounds were… a lot to bear. If she didn't have her strong resolve, she might’ve not made it.”

His eyes darted to the opening of the tent, mindlessly walking in, not ready for what was before him: the sorceress half naked, her clothes having been replaced almost completely by bandages. The few bits of her skin left bare showed old scars and new bruises covering them. She lifted her eyes to meet his, only to turn away at the vision of his visible worry.

“It's bad, isn't it?” she sighed heavily. “He said I shouldn't use my powers for a few days. Said it could ‘compromise the healing process’.” She mocked the archdruid’s voice. When Astarion didn’t say anything in return, her eyes darted back to him to notice his expression hadn’t changed in the slightest. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“And you shouldn’t have blown yourself up, dear.”

She scoffed, “It’s not like I did it intentionally.”

“Not unless your intention was to end your life,” he snapped.

“Gods, what’s wrong with you?”

“Me?! What's wrong with me is that I happen to care for a brat who's prone to self destructive behaviour!”

“Excuse me?!” She raised herself up on her elbows.

“That stunt you pulled back there? You almost died!”

“We all could've died! I made the right choice to save our skins and nobody is grateful for it.” She groaned in pain, her body reminding her of her recent wounds.

“What choice?! Blowing yourself up? You blindly rushed in and put your life at risk. Gods, do you even realise the danger you put yourself in?”

“It was a calculated risk,” she hissed, her voice lowering. “And… I needed to do it.”

“What, kill yourself? Are we really that bad of a crowd, darling?”

“Ugh, I don’t even know why I’m trying to justify myself to you – It worked out, didn’t it? Why are you making such a big deal out of it now?”

“Because I care about you!”

"Oh right, it would be such a shame if something happened to your precious meal."

"You are more than that to me!”

She froze, the anger vanishing from her face, “...What do you mean?”

Shit.

“When you… when I held you in my arms, back there I – I thought you were gone.” His voice cracked. “I didn’t think I would care, Hells, I didn’t plan to, I–”

She quickly blinked in confusion, “Plan?” and he realised just then what he had let out; he needed to come clean.

“I know how it’s going to sound but, please, just hear me out. I… I had a plan. A nice, simple plan - seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me. It was easy - instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you… Which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart.”

She stayed silent, taking in everything he confessed, her gaze going back and forth as she was considering his words, and Astarion was starting to fear this was a mistake; this was meant to show her he cared just as much as she did. He couldn’t afford to lose her, not now that he laid out his feelings, not after almost losing her. He reached out for her hand, trying to bring her back to him.

“I swear this plan is long gone by now.”

She scoffed, finally finding her voice again. “So all this time…” Her chest rose as her breathing accelerated and she pulled her hand away from him in disbelief. “Everything you said, what we did–… Gods, were you even attracted to me?”

“Of course I was!” He exclaimed. “Look at you, for goodness sake – you’re a vision. And you’re so much more than that.”

“Right. Then all of this,” she points at the two of them, “The flirting, the teasing, the soft words, you caring about me… It was an act, all along?”

“Yes— No! I mean– only at first, but then what we had – after that first night – it was real, I swear.”

She looked away as her eyes teared up, removing her hand from his grasp. “Why are you telling me this, Astarion?”

“I… I’m not sure… But you deserved to know.”

She scoffed, “I cannot believe I let myself fall for you. I’m such a fool.”

“Please–” He reached out for her hand again and she backed off abruptly.

“Don't touch me.”

The familiar words made his undead heart clench in pain and he backed off slowly. Despite her visible tears, Astarion knew she was boiling with rage.

“Please… say something.”

The tears streamed down her face as she blinked, her gaze stuck on the ground before them.

“You better have had your fill yesterday, because that was the last time I let you feed on me.” Her eyes met his, in a fury that he had never seen before, and she spoke with a shaky but dark voice. “I don't want you anywhere near me anymore.”

He nodded, “I understand–”

“I don't think you do,” she cut him off, her raging eyes piercing through him.

He looked at her, incredulous, until she confirmed his worst fear.

“I want you gone from this camp by tomorrow morning.”

-

But every time I see those eyes

I wonder if you know you're keeping me up late at night

I don't know where to go

I pretend, I don't care, I tell myself you're right here

It's nothing but a nightmare, nightmare

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

tag list (comment or message me if you want to be added!): @grimistheangerinmystares @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @nyx-knox @anacdoce

[galactic-rhea]

The thing is,,,,abuse doesn't have anything to do with intelligence or lack of confidence, though yes, a person with low self-esteem is an easier target for abusers, however that's what not I'm talking about.

Like I'm someone who doesn't like to take part in The Discourse (tm) because this is fandom, I'm here to talk about my favorite dolls and create silly scenaries with them. And it might feel a bit egregious to talk about something as delicate and serious as abuse, grooming or domestic violence but also it's the perfect playground to explore such themes and you can learn a lot by psychologically analizing a character and do your own research on the matter so you can understand abuse better, and sometimes that way you can also have a more critical view on real life, and for some of us, also come to terms with our own lives.

That said, back to my original point, it has nothing to do with intelligence. A person that falls into a cycle of abuse doesn't make them stupid, the whole deal of predators and abusers is that they know how to play their game, they know how to manipulate. A victim's mind will always try to cope with the abuse in ways that can be hard to understand sometimes in ways that will make you say 'well, that's enabling their abuser', but is not a statement on their intelligence or lack of it, abuse dynamics are extremelly complex, and victims will go through several states such a guilt, or violent outbrusts, fear, appeasing, avoidance, sometimes all sometimes just a few. And it's because no one is the same and no one's experiences will be the same, even though there are patterns you can identify sometimes.

So when someone wants to argue against a character being too smart to fall for abuse or manipulation, it's a bit sad to me. Not necessarily malicious or dangerous, or anything, again this is fandom and fandom runs rampant with whatever takes that makes all of us grimace. But because that's not how it works, if a certain dynamic isn't abusive by your pov, then it has nothing to do with the character's intelligence. It's not about being strong, or confident; that downplays how abusive dynamics come to be.

Like for example y'know I don't think padmé and anakin were abusive, I've made several posts about it, but it's not because they are too intelligent for that.

Likewise, Anakin wasn't stupid for being groomed by Palpatine; the contrary, he was quite literally a gifted child and a genius at mechanics and was good at many things, including drawing and strategies, but he fell for Palpatine's grooming because:

a) Palpatine is an evil top tier manipulator and predator who knows how to play adults, he literally knew how to play the jedi council, what was a 9 y/o going to do about it.

And b) Anakin's trauma and unattended mental illnesses made him an easier victim for grooming; he was already used to be a thing and be a servant from the moment he learned to talk.

But even if we weren't talking about someone as deeply messed up as Anakin was already, abusers and predators always will take advantage and exploit of the weaknesses and flaws on an individual, they will adapt and change their tactic according to the victim needs, that's why anyone could become a victim, it doesn't matter if your IQ is up there on the moon.

It's not about being too "stupid" to not realize there was abuse, it's a deep, complicated and terrible ensemble of thoughts and insecurities tangling around the brain in such a way that there's no a way to blame the abuser without feeling at fault, or at the very least without feeling scared of retaliation or lost, it's a power dynamic that messes up the sense of self.

[topguncortez]

G's Official Whumptober 2024 masterlist

warning: This challenge contains heavy material. Please Read with caution. 18+, MINORS DNI.

characters: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Rip Wheeler, Kayce Dutton, Jay Halstead, Will Halstead, Conor Rhodes

requests for whumptober are still open! Any days that haven't been crossed off are free!

whumptober '24 taglist form

1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK Character: Bradley Bradshaw x Dragon Trace synopsis: Dragon had made a promise to herself at young age to never be in a relationship, but all that changed when she met Bradley. Now, years later, she is wondering if she made the right choice to give up that promise. warnings: infidelity, verbal abuse, childhood trauma, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of infant death, cursing, religious trauma, religious abuse.

2: TRUST ISSUES Character: Bradley Bradshaw synopsis: Bradley is forced to go to the annual TopGun ball, but will he be able to put past demons aside, or will he be forced to deal with what he has done warnings: mentions of character death, mentions of sabotaging a plane, guilt, betrayal, cursing

3: SET UP FOR FAILURE Character: Jay Halstead synopsis: Life with Jay had never been easy, and you knew that being with a police officer wasn't going to be easy. But when a newly released criminal starts repeating the same patterns that got him put behind bars, Jay starts to worry about your safety. warnings: cursing, robbery gone wrong, attempted murder, mentions of large amounts of blood, crime scenes, pregnancy, kidnapping, mentions of a non-consensual c-section.

4: HALLUCINATIONS Character: Nick Bradshaw synopsis: You had a thing for the night sky since you can remember, and Goose loves sharing in your obsession. warnings: hallucinations, dying, character death, mentions of graphic injuries, cursing, mentions of cheating, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of an affair, pre-death anxiety

5: SUNBURN Character: Kayce Dutton synopsis: The Montana summers weren't for the weak. You and Kayce have unspoken history. warnings: heatstroke, passing out, vomiting, mentions of abuse, mentions of drug usage, mentions of running away, Monica and Tate don't exist.

6: I REMEMBER EVERYTHING Character: Jake Seresin synopsis: In the aftermath of a crash, Jake tries to remember what happened, but unfortunately, he has picked up some new habits along the way warnings: character death, grief, mentions of drinking, unhealthy ways of coping, brain injury, memory loss

7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES Character: Jake Seresin synopsis: You decide it's time to try and tame the beast, and you go to the one place where you know you'll be able to do it. warnings: drug abuse, drug related death, cursing, mentions of death, detoxing, vomiting, mentions of relapse, mentions of parental death

8: LEAVE THE LIGHTS ON Character: Bradley Bradshaw synopsis: Bradley goes back to work for the first time since him and Dragon welcomed their baby boy into the world. Dragon comes to face to face with her darkest thoughts. warnings: postpartum depression, suicidal thoughts, mentions of a c-section, mentions of having a child in the NICU, crying, infant neglect (not serious or life threatening), mentions of parental death, mentions of previous miscarriages, mental breakdown

9: FRAME ME UP ON THE WALL Character: Nick Bradshaw synopsis: Going to TopGun was a once in a life time opportunity, and the chance of a life time. Being the first female Aviator in the program had a lot of challenges, but being there with your husband had even more. warnings: character death, sexism, cursing, feelings of doom, fear, mentions of parental death, mentions of trying for a child.

10: BLOW TO THE HEAD Character: Jay Halstead synopsis: you had always dreamed of being a police officer, but one bad accident left you with a lifetime of pain. Luckily for you, Jay is the perfect person to be by your side. warnings: car accident, swearing, mentions of child crimes, mentions of sex trafficking crimes, mentions of passing out, mentions of vomiting, slurring words, intense pain

11: PINK SKIES Character: Jake x Shy!Wifey

12: STARVATION Character:

13: TEAM AS A FAMILY Character: Jake Seresin

14: LEFT FOR DEAD Character:

15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA Character: Will Halstead

16: NECROSIS Character: Jake Seresin

17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO Character:

18: REVENGE Character: Jay Halstead

19: BLOOD TRAIL Character:

20: EMOTIONAL ANGST Character: Bradley Bradshaw

21: BODY HORROR Character:

22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES Character:

23: FORCED CHOICE Character:

24: RADIATION POISONING Character:

25: SURGERY Character: Conor Rhodes

26: NIGHTMARES Character:

27: VOICELESS Character:

28: DENIAL Character:

29: FATIGUE Character: 

30: RECOVERY Character: Bradley Bradshaw

31: ASKING FOR HELP Character:

[eggonthemoon]

How Mizisua and Ivantill is often mischaracterized.

(this is entirely my own opinions and interpretations of Alien Stage, you are entirely in the right to disagree with any of my points here)

I feel like a lot of the time, people often water down mizisua and ivantill into something shallower than they are:

Mizisua is sweet and healthy because their love is mutual.

Ivantill is toxic and unhealthy because of it's one-sidedness.

That's probably just me oversimplifying it and I could word it a little better, but that's my point here. There's more to the dynamics than what is on the surface.

And I want to talk about it.

First things first though!

None of the characters are raised in normal, healthy upbringings. And thus don't have a normal or natural foundation to base their relationships on

I feel that's super important to recognise here. How can we expect them to understand things like boundaries and healthy communication when no one has bothered teaching them this. They are left to figure that all out on their own.

Which leaves me to my first point:

Mizisua is not healthy!

Not in the slightest even. I feel like a lot of the time, at least in fandom, people will claim that as long as there's no abuse and both parties feelings are mutual then it's healthy. That's not the case here.

Mizi and Sua has a dangerous level of toxic co-dependency with each other. To cope with their hopeless reality, they pour their everything into their love for each other. They become the other's salvation. And in turn when one of them dies, the other is ruined.

Both of them are selfish in their love for each other. Mizi loved and cherished the soft side of Sua that only she got to see, it made her feel special, blessed even. And Sua purposely left Mizi in the dark about the truth behind Alien Stage, so that she could indulge in her and Mizi's blissful days of youth.

Neither of them are in the wrong for that. They only ever wanted to see the other happy but because of that, they didn't get to be truly vulnerable with each other. They were the other's utopia, their escape.

To me Mizisua is not just doomed because Sua died.

To me Mizisua is doomed because they were never afforded the chance to truly grow their relationship into healthy relationship I know they could be. One where they don't have to always be together and where even the rocky patches are allowed to coexist.

But the segyein never afforded them that chance.

Onto my point on Ivantill...

Till doesn't hate Ivan, he in fact cares for him a lot

Lots of people write off how Till feels about Ivan as "he doesn't give a fuck about him" simply because Till doesn't have any romantic feelings for him. That couldn't be further from the truth. In the artbook Ivan's affection rating on Till's page is 70% which is a lot for someone who supposedly doesn't care about him. Personally I think Till is mostly just confused by Ivan's behaviour.

He likes him but does things to make him mad.

He likes him but he steals things from him and then return them to him later.

When Till punched him after Ivan ruined his flower crown, Ivan laughed, enjoying their fight.

Till is smart, a genius even according to his peers. But when it comes to love he barely knows anything. I'm not sure where this was said but apparently his initial reason for liking Mizi is as simple as:

She's pretty.

Maybe those feelings were eventually accompanied by feelings of admiration for her genuine love of singing but it doesn't change the facts here.

Till's love for Mizi was rather shallow.

But much like Mizi and Sua made each other their escape from reality, Till did the same. Mizi became his everything because he had nothing. No happiness, no comfort, just his talent and a "father figure" with big ambitions for him. "Love" was just yet another means of survival. For someone who has endured violence for so long...would he ever begin to even consider the guy who provokes him, steals from him and "supposedly" enjoys violence, to have feelings for him?

I've said it before and I'll say it again. I think Till feels responsible for Ivan abandoning his chance of escape. Till didn't want to leave behind the person he made his entire reason for living but he didn't even once consider that he himself was that to Ivan.

Only when Ivan returned did he understand why.

And that's why I think Till can't stand looking at Ivan. The guilt is too painful. He and the guy might have fought a lot but they were friends. And he took away his one opportunity to escape this hell that is Anakt Garden and Alien Stage.

Till cares deeply about Ivan but doesn't realize that pushing Ivan away only hurt and wounded him more deeply. I think he only truly understood that fact once it was too late.

Till and Ivan both care for each other.

Just not in the same way.

[imbecominggayer]

Writing Traumatic Backstories

Hello,it's me again! Sorry for dissappearing, I wanted a short little break from Tumblr. Obviously, I should have clearly communicated that fact instead of just going cold turkey!

From @differentnighttale : "How do I write characters who deal with severe trauma and pain with sensitivity and understanding"

Obviously with our topic today, there is going to be mentions of traumatic events and such. I won't go into any graphic or specific details but I just wanted to make it clear with a trigger warning

Since this lovely asker is specifically asking about sensitivity, I won't be addressing other related concerns about writing trauma but just focusing on this clear sensitivity! GET READY CAUSE THIS IS LONG!

Step One: Specificity Is Everything

You need to understand that various different traumatic instances will have their own different reactions based around various different incidents depending on what exactly happened and how many times it happened.

In general, the more times something happened, the more likely it would be leave an imprint. Obviously this is an oversimplification for the sake of an explanation :)

For abuse situations and other person vs person situations:

Consider the relationship your character has with this abuser! Is it obsessive? Neglectful? Don't just say it was a bad relationship! Describe to yourself what behavior and attitude specifically made this an unhealthy situation.

Did the abuser use any repetitive imagery? Did they use a specific tool most often? Did the abuse center on something specific? This can help guide you towards what can "trigger" this character!

What are the long-term affects this abusive situation have on this character? Did it make them question and distrust their self-worth, their safety, their identity, their body, their stability? Anything?

Was this abuser always bad? I don't mean in the "good person gone bad" route! I mean "is this character always abusive"? Most abusers aren't horrible 24/7 and can have their better sweeter moments. This often leaves their victims confused since the victims know more then anyone that this person wasn't just plain evil.

For natural disasters and accidents:

Where is the blame? Is it nature herself? Themself for not being careful enough? A real legitimate person who genuinely caused this accident? An imaginary individual that had no relationship?

What is the specific fear that this situation ignites? Is it this crushing feeling of isolation as they were suffering with no expectation of help? Is it the realization that life is out of their control which keeps them awake at night? Is it the chaos of that day? The fear of regret? The fear of death?

Answering these questions can often illuminate different ways to approach a character's traumatic backstory in unique and interesting ways. It also highlights potential coping mechanisms for your character.

Step Two: What Exactly Is Trauma's Effect On The Brain?

Remember: The following analogy is an oversimplified explanation of trauma. Afterward, the science explain-y part will come in :)

Imagine that the brain is an archive system. It gathers memories and puts away those memories under certain files. Then, the traumatic event(s) happen. Suddenly, the brain is unable to properly understand this. This causes the boss prefrontal cortex turns off. Now, the assistant is forced to take over. This assistant doesn't know what to do so they just do what they always do! Unfortunately, this fails to pacify the threat. And now the brain is mixing up all of the trauma's documents in an effort to just shove it into a filing cabinet. It doesn't work. Now everything new that arrives in needs to try and work through the trauma documents which are taking up the place!

SCIENCE PART!

During traumatic events, the "fear circuity" is activated. This causes the prefrontal cortex or the "decision-maker" to function less effectively. This causes a person goes into auto-pilot mode where they follow social habits.

This is why a person in a traumatic situation will sometimes engage in polite behavior with their abuser in an effort to "save face" as they typically do in social situations!

These events often physically mpact the brain! Specifically, in relation to learning and survival!

Advice In Order To Avoid Common Tropes:

Trauma is a highly complicated subject that is highly individualized and messy. But here are some "no fly" lists which often lead to traumatized characters appearing inauthentic and real traumatized people insulted.

Don't solve trauma in one conversation or one event. Working through trauma is ultimately about "moving on" in the sense of constantly moving forward but not leaving the trauma behind.

Don't romanticize certain coping mechanism. Oftentimes, media will have a hypersexual girl who learned to be hypersexual for trauma reasons. But this character doesn't exist so we can understand them. They exist for sexual appeal and tragedy brownie points.

Only include traumatic events if you can handle exploring them. If you aren't willing to deal with the implications of a certain backstory or serious mid-story event, don't write it in there.

Don't make it entirely resolved by the end. Recovery isn't about learning to "get rid" of the affect trauma has on someone. It's about working with those issues so you can learn to not drown in your issues.

Don't make the journey linear. Have your character relapse into bad unhealthy behavior. Make them have to struggle to relearn the same lessons again and again. It'll make the journey far more interesting and realistic.

Don't make bad coping mechanism black and white. Bad coping mechanisms were necessary once upon a time. They are good tools that have lived past their usefulness but they aren't illogical or evil.

Don't excuse bad behavior. Traumatic backstories offer an explanation of a character's behaviors but it doesn't make a character's actions okay.

They aren't just traumatic backstory. Oftentimes, they only thing we ever learn about a character is their deep issues and facade. But real traumatized people aren't just defined by the bad things that happen to them. They had dreams, goals, and friends that aren't pure tragedy.

They are people. While people are definitely defined by their trauma, don't make them think only of their trauma. People with sad backstories aren't more special then people who don't. They have stupidly weird behaviors, they have hobbies that aren't related to their issues. Don't make them think of just the bad stuff.