#Communication Issues

[iceghosto]

Ive been told by a lot of people, including close friends and my wife, that they totally thought i didnt like them at first. Which always surprises me. But apparently the emotions in my head dont always make it out to my bod and its very hard to notice

[superbat-love]

Batman: You wouldn’t understand!

Superman: But… I just saved the world!

[autisticlancemcclain]

“You’re not going.”

Keith picks his head up from the table. “Huh?”

“To the Blades,” Lance clarifies, chopping up something that looks like a bright pink potato and throwing it in a rapidly boiling pot in what Keith would call an aggressive manner. “You’re not going.”

“…I didn’t say I was.”

He didn’t. He didn’t mention anything about the Blades to any living soul. Like, yeah, he had made the decision and was going to, but.

There’s no reason Lance should know that.

“Good, then, because I took your uniform — which looks like a slutty catsuit, by the way, just so you’re aware — to the incinerator last night. It’s ash now.”

Keith stares at his best friend, jaw dropped, hands resting limply on the edge of the dining table, because — huh? pardon? what happened?

“Whatever identity crisis you’re having can happen here,” Lance adds, shaking some spices into the boiling pot and stirring it a couple times. He dips in a spoon, brings it up to his lips, then makes a face. “Here, try this.”

He marches over to where Keith has been moping as he makes dinner and shoves a spoon into his gaping mouth. Keith chokes, hot stew making its merry way down his trachea, eyes watering and chest heaving.

“A little too salty,” he rasps.

Lance scowls. “Fuck. I knew it. Gotta add more barbie potatoes.” He turns down the heat, grabbing more potatoes from the sack and busying himself with peeling them. Slowly, as he recovers from the fear of his actual lungs collapsing in on themselves, Keith stands, hesitantly approaching Lance and reaching for a knife to chop what he peels.

“So,” he starts.

Lance ignores him.

But Keith is used to this dynamic. It’s either this or flipped. Friends or not, if there’s one thing they can’t do it’s use their big boy words. So he carries on.

“I take it you…don’t want me to go, then.”

Lance grunts. “Oh, look, the caveman has room in his skull for a brain after all.”

“Uncalled for,” Keith says, scowling. “I am not the one who’s refusing to communicate right now.”

The corner of Lance’s mouth twitches upwards.

Score. Point to Keith.

“Obviously I don’t want you to leave, you stupid dumbass,” Lance admits finally. He wrestles the chopped roots out of Keith’s hands and practically dunks them in the pot, turning the heat back up. Keith smears his starch covered hands on his shirt in revenge (and then wisely takes three quick and giant steps back, well out of backhanding range).

“But there are too many paladins,” Keith points out. “You said it yourself.”

Lance grabs a dishtowel, twisting it menacingly in his hands. Keith tries not to think about the scar he knows Hunk has from when Lance snapped a towel at him when they were kids, wrestling in the McClains’ kitchen. He fails.

“Do you actually have any braincells left in your head at all?”

“Yes, jackass. That’s why I did the math. I leave and the numbers add back up. Problem solved.”

“You leave and Voltron falls apart,” Lance snaps. “So maybe crunch those numbers again.”

Keith stills. Lance steps towards him, still glaring, still menacing, but he doesn’t move — he holds Lance’s gaze, searching his dark eyes, looking for the words he isn’t saying. Because Keith…Keith isn’t the one holding Voltron together. There was a reason his heart caught in his throat when Lance came to him downtrodden and talked about being a seventh wheel. There’s a reason his duffel is packed, a reason he’s talked to Kolivan. He knows who needs to step aside.

“You just don’t get it,” Lance says, frustrated. He takes another step.

“You talk to us about teamwork all the time.”

Another step.

“You’re favourite thing to whine about is the bonding moment.”

Another step, this time as he pitches his voice high and mocking, flapping his hands.

“You never shut up about training as a group.”

One final step and he’s toe to toe, shoes to boots, nose to nose. Keith realises, startlingly, that they’re the exact same height, now.

“We are a crew, imbécil. Team, group, boyband. Whatever you wanna call it. All for one and one for all. The whole nine yards, all that cheesy bullshit.” He pokes Keith hard in the chest. “You don’t get to ditch.”

“But it makes more sense,” Keith argues, weakly and half-desperately. “We only have so many resources. If I can be useful at the Blades —”

“Fuck the fucking Blades.”

Keith deflates. His hand comes up to stop Lance’s jabbing finger, curling around his knuckles. Lance softens, slightly.

“I just want to be as useful as I can be.”

“And if you’re enough as you are?” Lance asks quietly.

Keith opens his mouth, but stops, automatic I’m not dying in his throat. For the first time in his life, it doesn’t seem like the truth, with the determined set to Lance’s jaw and the sliding of their fingers together, gripping tightly.

“Then I guess I’m staying,” Keith breathes.

Lance nods. “Good.”

Keith notices his hands are kind of clammy. His forehead, too, is a little sweaty. The air between them feels hot. Keith swallows.

“Your stew is on fire,” he croaks, voice rough.

Lance drops his hand, cursing.

“Oh — por amor de dios, hablas en fucking serio —”

———

At dinner, Keith eats his burnt stew without a word of complaint. When Lance drags him to the sink to help clean up, after, even though it’s not his turn, he goes, and he lingers too close and too long, and he’s grateful that the duffel he packed to leave home for good is laid emptied on his bed when he turns in for the night.

[alwaysbewoke]

It's even scarier when they fake cry right in your face

[angelsdean]

Also, since I'm divorce arc posting today, what if i said Dean wasn't wrong to say this:

CASTIEL The plan changed, Dean. Something went wrong. You know this. Something always goes wrong. DEAN Yeah, why does that something always seem to be you?

LIKE !!!!! Sure it was harsh and if emotions weren't heightened already and Dean wasn't still dealing with the very recent death of his mother and that grief (anger being a stage of grief!) and ALL the Chuck shit on top of that AND his own complicated feelings re: Jack's death (bc Dean was Not going to kill him, despite Chuck trying to manipulate him into doing that) he probably wouldn't have said that to Cas but like?? he's not really wrong.

You can easily trace a lot of the major season conflicts as a long line of dominoes starting with Cas's s6 betrayal. Leviathans. Purgatory. The tablets. Angels falling. Lucifer getting out of the cage via Cas possession. Etc etc. And most of the time Cas was doing things from a place of good intentions in his POV. Trying to fix things or spare others the burden of doing the hard thing. But still, these plans often backfire for Cas. Going it alone, not letting Dean (+ Sam) in on his plans, it usually does not end well !!!! They are TEAM Free Will for a reason. The show (and Dean) continuously emphasizes the importance of team and family and not going it alone. So, while what Dean says to Cas in this scene is definitely a harsh pill to swallow and not something I think Dean would say to Cas in normal circumstances, he technically isn't wrong. And that's what makes it such a heart-breaking scene.

And even more-so, he's saying this but he still, at his core doesn't want Cas to leave. ("Of course I wanted you to stay.") At the moment he needs space and time to process his grief re: Mary, and all the other stuff going on, but he still wants Cas there and ultimately wants to fix things. ("I'd rather have you." "We can fix this." "I was there where were you." etc etc)

But to fix things they need to address his huge persistent, recurring issue between them: not communicating effectively and Cas continuously leaving, going rogue, and/or deciding for them when to involve Dean.

Dean wants to work together, as a team. Dean wants to be involved. Dean wants Cas to not just up and disappear and "deal with things" on his own like he always does. Cas, in his own POV, sees his actions as perhaps a form of care. He's protecting! He's taking on the hardships! Also, his hubris, wanting to be the strong protector type. Wanting to be a warrior. Powerful. Securing "wins." And these desires stem from his years as a soldier of Heaven, of equating worth with Results. Not something Dean has put on him or required of him.

But Dean doesn't see Cas's actions the way Cas perceives them. We as the omniscient audience know more about Cas's motivations than Dean does too. Dean often just sees Cas leaving, prioritizing the mission and shutting Dean out. However, I do think it's important to note that Dean is also usually willing to give Cas the benefit of the doubt, defend him, and forgives easily / implicitly.

They both care deeply about each other and don't maliciously mean to press on each other's specific insecurities and traumas but like, Dean is abandonment issues boy. And Cas keeps leaving. Or ignoring his calls when their daily lives are a constant life or death battle because they are literally living in a horror show! Dean is not unreasonable to be worried when he doesn't hear from Cas for days, weeks, months on end. He's not being "clingy" or "demanding." Expecting some base form of communication from the people you care about is normal in any relationship. Cas refusing to communicate in these moments IS a problem between them.

So, when Dean says, "Yeah, why does that something always seem to be you?" re: Cas being the "problem" it's harsh yes! But it's pushing them toward addressing this recurring issue (Cas going rogue often = plans backfiring) and the root of that issue which is Cas continuing to leave to do things on his own, change the game-plan without running it by anyone, and keeping others out. This moment is a breaking point. Because Dean, under normal circumstances, is generally one to defend, forgive, and move past Cas's mistakes. Cas himself says it in this very scene: "You used to trust me, give me the benefit of the doubt."

But at this point something needs to give, they need an explosive moment to just bring all these issues to light. It's a rupture.

Yes, Dean might "still blame [Cas] for Mary" but Cas also knows deeply, as he expresses to Jack, that Dean needs time and space to process his emotions. That he feels things more acutely and intensely but that ultimately he usually comes to a place of acceptance / forgiveness / is able to move on.

That's what Dean wants and needs in this moment. He needs space to deal with his feelings and his grief (clearly in the anger stage of it). And he also wants to finally address these issues! But Cas is also struggling himself and in his own mind he's feeding old insecurities. He let Belphegor get under his skin. He thinks he's not needed or wanted anymore. So, he does what he tends to do. Leave.

CASTIEL Well, I don't think there's anything left to say. [Castiel makes to leave.] DEAN Where you going?

Cas decides to leave and Dean immediately asks where are you going? Because even now, feeling how he does, he doesn't want Cas to leave.

What Dean wants is to have a confrontation. He wants to get to the root of their issues. He asks Cas why didn't he just stick to the plan. And emphasizes the concept of WE, of being a team. "We would've figured it out....after. With Rowena." He wants them to stick together, work together. But he's struggling. He's grieving. And still, he wants Cas to stay, of course I wanted you to stay.

And I say it all here in this post but the whole "I left but you didn't stop me" is just, Cas really? From Dean's POV he sees Cas's leaving as a choice Cas makes. He respects his choice and doesn't ask him to stay because he also does not feel he deserves to ask people to stay for him. He is always putting his own wants and desires second to those of others. He thinks, if Cas wants to leave, who is he to stop him?

Anyways, I think too much of divorce arc puts blame on Dean or makes Dean out to be "the bad guy" and "the reason" Cas leaves and the one who needs to "grovel" and apologize / be forgiven. But Cas is not blameless. Cas leaves because Cas leaves. Cas leaves because he chooses to and because he does not want to confront the realities of the situation or his own role in their issues. And after Cas leaves he continues to bury his head in the sand and be avoidant (thee core issue!) while also going out and working a solo case in an effort to secure a "win" and prove to himself that he's still capable of getting things right and not always failing.

And all of this, the complexity, the layers, Cas's stubbornness and flaws, is deeply delicious to me. Cas is not a blameless innocent little baby who got his feelings hurt by "big meanie Dean" in this situation. He is someone who heard a hard truth from someone he cares about and made the choice to leave instead of confronting the issue. And throughout it all, they both still deeply care about each other. It's evident in everything they do. And they want to work it out, but are both at different places and struggling with their own feelings too.

[your-blorbo-from-whore-bo]

Is it just me, or does everyone forget how different Stolas was from the beginning to the most current helluva boss episodes?

Like, I was 100% on stolas’s side when he was asking blitzø to have serious talks about feelings in full moon, and then I see clips of old stuff and I can totally realize why Blitzø sees himself the way he says in their argument.

I’m going to ignore the pilot bcz some people say it’s not cannon, but even in loo loo land-

“Hello my big —— blitzy”

“The only man who can —— me!”

Like, are you listening to yourself Stolas? So what if *you* went through character development, that doesn’t mean everyone sees your change immediately.

[bluebird8683]

RR is dead, Tim is not

Tim Drake stood on the rooftop of an abandoned high-rise, the wind pulling at his cape like it was trying to hold him back, as though Gotham itself were begging him to reconsider. He would miss this—the only home he had ever known. The city stretched out beneath him, its ceaseless hum a bittersweet symphony, a reminder of all the people who probably wouldn’t miss him, not really. And yet, the wind seemed almost alive, whispering doubts, pleading with him to stay, even as he remained steadfast in his decision.

They’d mourn Red Robin, perhaps. Maybe even Tim Drake, for a fleeting moment. (Tam is the only one he truly feels bad about leaving behind, but she has a life outside of him, friends who care about her. She'll be ok.) But eventually, they’d move on, the way Gotham always did. Would the family even notice his absence?  A part of him whispered they might be better off without him. That they’d be happier, lighter, without the weight of someone they never seemed to truly see. 

He’d made sure of it.

Tim looked down at the blood pooling on the cracked concrete, dark and glistening under the cold moonlight. The crimson trail spidered out across the rooftop, a macabre work of art he had painted with his own blood, painstakingly collected over weeks to ensure authenticity. Almost hiding the faint scent of ozone in the air from the rainstorm earlier today, the scent of iron, or blood, hung heavy in the air. The scene in front of him is a gruesome sight- one he purposely staged to be that way, but horrid all the same. The manikin he painstakingly ensured looked exactly like him (down to not having a spleen and that paper-cut he got earlier today in the office) was one that he had grown and made explicitly for this. It never breathed in life, but he had made sure all the muscles showed all the wear and tear his muscles likely had.

He arranged it to be crumpled near the roof entrance of the building, its fingers splayed unnaturally, some twisted and broken as though his attacker had tried to torture something out of him that he refused to give. One shoulder was visibly dislocated, the other broken in such a way that his bone was sticking out of his skin. The left leg bent as if he had somehow gained a second knee. The neck bore the telltale bruising of strangulation, the skin mottled with dark purples, a haunting testament to his fabricated final moments. (Though there is bruising elsewhere on the body, the ones on his neck were the darkest.)  

The area around the manikin was a tableau of chaos: broken bits of his bo staff scattered like splinters of a shattered life, and tears in the suit—carefully slashed to match the grotesque injuries—added the final touch of authenticity along with the extra blood he had collected from himself in advance pooling and being poured from specific spots. He doubted anyone would be able to tell that he was still alive after seeing this. No one but him would ever see this as what it was, a staged exit. They might call it a tragedy (if they're feeling generous) or a lost fight. They would call it the curtain call of his life, but all it truly was is the end of Act I.

The stage was perfect. (Thinking of this all as a play had made him feel better about it, thinking of the clone as a manikin as he removed the spleen and injured it, as he put together the murder scene...) 

Tim’s gaze swept over the rooftop one last time, cataloging every detail. The smear and drops of blood around the roof, the broken bits of his bo staff lying near the body covered in wounds, the com he placed in its ear. The entire scene screamed tragedy—a hero ambushed, overpowered, and left lifeless on a cold rooftop, the final act of violence etched around his neck in a black bruise.

It had to be convincing. It had to be enough to fool Bruce, Dick, Damian, and even Barbara. Tim could imagine the triumphant sneer on Damien's face, the satisfaction of no longer sharing the Robin title in any form. And Jason… Jason might raise a beer, toasting the end of the “replacement.” The thought hurt. (Thoughts of how they viewed him always did- it's why he tries not to let his mind wander... not that he can really do that- but that's part of the reason that he's doing this.) He’d run through every possibility, refining his plan with several contingencies he can switch to at a moment's notice. That was what he did. That was who he was. (Something that Bruce trained into him.)

His fingers trembled as he adjusted the position of the manikin’s arm one last time. Not from fear or regret—those emotions had burned out weeks ago. This was the final piece of a puzzle he’d been building for months. (He left a nice little case for the detective family to follow, if they decide to investigate his demise. All the leads would turn cold though, of course.) He should feel relief, maybe even triumph, but all he felt was a bone-deep exhaustion.

“This is it,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the gusts of wind.

He stepped back, letting the scene burn into his memory. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what would happen next. The news would break—Red Robin, dead in the line of duty. (He knew his body would be discovered in the morning- the owner of the building liked to come up for a smoke every morning before going to work.)

The family might grieve, or maybe they wouldn’t. Tim wasn’t sure anymore. Would they even miss him, or would they be better off without him?  Maybe they’d even be happier. Bruce would brood, sure, throwing himself into the case until he found just enough to close it. Damian, though, might sneer, claiming he saw it coming. Dick… Dick might actually cry. But eventually, they’d move on. They always did. After all, it had been months since any of them had really talked. How could they miss someone they never cared to know?   

But eventually, they’d move on. They’d forget. It's not like it'll change much.

Tim swallowed hard, forcing the lump in his throat back down where it belonged. This wasn’t about them. This was about him. A chance to finally breathe without the crushing weight of their expectations, their demands, their indifference. All this without even a courtesy "thanks." He’d spent so long loving them, sacrificing his sleep, his time, his social life for them, and all it had earned him was emptiness. Exploitation masquerading as family.

He's had enough.

He turned away from the body, moving to the edge of the rooftop. His new gear was already packed, hidden in a secure location outside Gotham. His offshore accounts were loaded, his new identity (and several back-ups) painstakingly crafted. Every system he’d set up—from the programs helping Gotham’s homeless to the automated responses at WE—would run smoothly without him. He’d made sure of it. Everything major will be fine without him. They’ll be fine without him.

Tim took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill his lungs. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. This was it. The last goodbye.

He turned on the device that would hide his heartbeat from anyone with advanced hearing, stepped off the ledge and disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind all he had ever known, the fractured remnants of his life, and the only city he had ever called home. 

[decafdrawing]

[chiropire]

I hate how it can take me anywhere from minutes (on a good day), to hours, to days for me to be able to articulate my thoughts properly and make them coherent and understandable.

I am constantly forgetting what I want to say; constantly forgetting the words I need even when they're just on the tip of my tongue/fingers; constantly getting my thoughts and therefore my words all mixed up, making them incoherent to even myself; constantly going off on a tangent about stuff that often isn't even relevant; and more which makes typing and communicating my thoughts hard.

I just wish I could communicate my thoughts properly but there are so many barriers, and they're all invisible, and a lot of people just don't understand them because they often cannot physically see the struggles.

[tremendously-crazy]

Hhghhfhhgh another life update: I have to argue with people and establish clear boundaries or else I'll be stuck bottling up my emotions and my mental health suffering as a result

[thornilee013]

Bio/Masterpost

Name: Lee; they/them please!

Icon credit: @emry-stars-art

Timezone: Central US; UTC -6

Ao3: thornilee013

Main blog: @leedee013

Current WIP Projects:

Suncatchers and Golden Hours (AFTG; aka "Silly Little Jean Moreau Fic") Needle AU (AFTG) Baby Jean (AFTG) Etienne (AFTG) 101 Ways Not to Say I Do (AFTG) TLC (AFTG) Pulling Through (AFTG) "Originals" Winter Rose (1, 2) Characters (WR): Echo, Phillip, Jason 2064 Nightingale Way

Completed Projects:

Communication Issues (AFTG; 18+) Could Have Been Me (AFTG: Mixtape 2024) The Raven Queen (AFTG; Reverse Big Bang 2024) Push and Pull (AFTG; PG, Jean + Pottery) Out in the Open (AFTG; AFTG Pride Zine 2024) 1, 2, 3, Go! (AFTG; AFTG Pride Zine 2024) Lifeline (AFTG; AFTG Reverse Big Bang 2025)

For all writing updates, follow/look at the hashtag "lee's writing shenanigans"!

[blatterpussbunnyfromhell]

Sometimes I mentally beat myself over the fact that I suck at properly communicating my need and feelings with my loved ones and wish I was better at it

and then I remember I literally have a developmental disorder that has "struggles with communication" as one of its main symptoms, lmao

[silentmagi]

Communication Issues: Are Naru and Mamoru working together to teach the meaning of Polyamory to Usagi? Or are more Communication Issues getting in the way?

Communication Errors

They are both trying to teach her the meaning, there is an intention to work together on this. It's just strange to know that your first wife is already married, ya know? Takes a minute to remember that they were kids.

Naru is also trying to reconcile her feelings for Usagi, and the chance that they might be reciprocated.

. . . Usagi still has the plastic ring that Naru gave her.

[bokettochild]

Had to explain to my dad something about movies yesterday: great! fun! cool! He listens, thinks in a similar manner, and genuinely seemed interested in what I was saying! And I knew what I was talking about!

Had to explain the area I live in to a gal looking for a new home: horrible, terrible, awful, I have no clue if anything I said made sense, or if she picked up on the implications of what I was saying (i.e. "I see young gals out jogging all the time" = young women feel safe going out alone around here) and even now in the morning I have no clue what even got across even though I was talking for at least ten minutes.

*screams*

[cerseimikaelson]

Talking to someone about something you love and having to watch as their eyes glaze over and they hum noncommittally not even caring that your enthusiasm dwindles fucking hurts.

That's all.