#Like some people are recoving from their childhood traumas in their twenties

[crowned-peony]

Vent♡

[iravaid]

Oh man, now after reading your reply all i can think about is tommy in his twenties, having reached a place where he’s been through rehab and a whole bunch of therapy and has more knowledge of autism/aspergers and a greater understanding of mental illnesses and disabilities in general after having been forced to confront his own trauma and his struggles with addiction and whatnot, etc, reflecting on his relationship with simon and their childhood and all the mistakes and baggage those memories carry, and trying to reach out and talk with simon about it all, except of course simon doesn’t want to hear it at all, because the past should remain in the past, why would you go digging up things that best remain buried and forgotten?? And if that weren’t enough to send him running for the hills, tommy’s subtle comments about the autism thing would definitely get his fight or flight instincts kicking into high gear, because, sure, he might be awkward and blunt and not great in social situations, but that’s fine, that shit doesn’t matter in the military, not when he’s this damn good at his job, and it’s not like he gives a shit about playing the politics game and climbing up the ladder until he can laze about in some cushy office chair rubbing elbows with the brass or whatever, so it’s fine, he might be fucked in the head but he’s not sick or anything, he’s not some sort of nutcase, he’s not

Augh, absolutely, there's something very interesting in the concept of Tommy ultimately ending up better adjusted (relatively) than Simon by the time both of them are adults. Especially regarding self acceptance and unpacking the ableism they were raised with. I'm going to enter headcanon delusion land because we know next to nothing about Tommy so a quick warning on that lmao, but, we ball.

Although Tommy has had this immensely rough start, struggling with addiction and the feelings on inadequacy that might arise from living in his brother's shadow all his life, he's also been given the space and counselling that equipped him with better coping skills and vocabulary to both verbalise and recognise what happened to him and Simon as kids. I like to also think that, for a myriad of reasons and a myriad of people, Tommy has made that conscious effort to heal as well, to improve and try his damndest to break the cycle of abuse (even if that effort was ultimately cut short by forces far outside his own control.).

I'm not trying to say that Simon himself is actively perpatuating it, but he's had next to no guidance regarding the navigation of his own trauma, nor mightn't he fully recognise how deeply a 'bad childhood' might have effected him. I also see Simon's joining the army as both a blessing and a curse for him, because it probably did save his life: he got away from his dad, got strong enough to cast his father out of his home and life, got enough money to support the family that mattered to him and step up to be the 'man of the house', in his eyes. But it also, predictably, created a kind of situation where Simon got caught up in this machismo echo chamber/mob mentality reinforcing the more aggressive/violent aspects of himself in this wild cycle of adrenaline and dopamine and psoitive reinforcement for a mission well done. Rinse and repeat for two decades, and there's a guy with a lot of his self worth tied up in conventional but ultimately detrimental masculine qualities; where he's possibly too proud to recognise he's actively hurting from the things that happened to him as a child, let alone reach out to anyone in order to begin processing it in a constructive way. Why should he? He's Lieutenant fucking Riley.

It's a very interesting contrast, to me, that while Simon is the one who started out the more stable of the two brothers, the script is flipped between them when Simon returns from Roba's captivity. I wonder if Tommy feels a sense of eagerness to repay the debt he feels he owes Simon, for the former taking care of him during his recovery as a teen. I wonder if Simon feels resentful for 'losing' his place as the Riley patriarch/protector/provider to his younger brother, who got married and had a son and carved a place in the community for himself, all while Simon was running from his issues on some battlefield, in turn being greviously harmed by it and now has to battle with his own recovery.

They have such capacity for very deep love, they're connected both by their brotherhood and by the immense hurt their father caused. They also hold as deep a capability for harm and anger against the other, "This is my brother and I need a shovel to love him." kind of deal. Idk, ghost of their father still lingers where the skin is thin, and their shared proximity makes it seep. lol, lmao even

Augh, but I'm rambling, the thought of Tommy trying to gently broach the subject of autism/being autistic, and Simon having that kneejerk reaction of hypervigilance, aggression, anger at being 'accused' of such a thing, man. A constant cycle of trying to reach out and rejecting and reaching out and rejecting!! If only they had more time, maybe something kinder could have happened

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

fiona gallagher and debbie gallagher.

something i’ve noticed in the shameless fandom is that some (a lot of) people hate debbie and love fiona, and others hate fiona and love debbie. what honestly confuses me is why more people don’t love them both so much?

so, to start off- they both share three important things about their characters. grew up/matured far too quickly, constantly self-destruct, and are the only girls. these three things make it so that they’re more similar, but also make it so that they are always fighting with eachother and the fandom is always putting them against eachother.

in fiona’s case, she had no choice but to grow up too quickly. actually, that’s the case for every gallagher, but especially her, since she was first, and the second that lip was born (when she was 5) she became a mother. she had no choice, it was either raise her siblings, or let them die. she further started self-destructing by having sex at a young age, and once she started doing that she did it frequently, to the point where she connected it to her worth. she got into toxic relationships, and jumped from relationship to relationship without every catching a break (that’s a direct quote from shameless) and throughout the show, fucks herself over whenever things are going well. for example, going on a bender while on probation. and, a lot of the people who hate her (irl and in the show) are misogynist’s or people who don’t bother to understand her well enough to hate her.

in debbie’s case, she grew up too fast also not by choice, except there came a point where she started to mature quicker on purpose when she no longer needed to act 23 at 13. one of her first lines is, “you’re almost nine, carl. you’re going to need to start pulling your weight.” she’s a year older than him so clearly she has already done her part and stepped up, and throughout the first two seasons you see her acting so mature, yet so childish. she goes from kidnapping a child to innocently playing with a baby doll and naming her “gin-gin”. then, there comes a point where fiona has taken legal guardianship of the kids, and has a good job. she has an opportunity to relax, but she doesn’t. debbie is traumatized, and abandoned, and scared, so she confides in the comfort she’s seen work for her older sister, older guys. she dresses a certain way, sleeps with a twenty year old guy (whatever your thoughts are on that situation doesn’t matter in this case), and ends up getting herself pregnant and carrying the child to term. this is all pure self-destruction. then she continues to self-destruct, ruining friendship’s, relationship’s, even her bond with her family members. all of her hurt and trauma from childhood led her straight into the depths of hell. and what’s one of the major reasons she’s hated in the show and in real life? you guessed it! because she’s a woman. and like her sister, another reason she’s hated is because people refuse to read into her character and only see what’s on the surface.

fiona and debbie are two hurt girls who didn’t recieve enough love and so they self-destructed. but, do you want to know the most ironic thing? that’s what every single gallagher ever has done.

frank is a drunk and a drug addict who never bothered to attempt to recover, even when it was for his kids, and even when it was for himself.

lip is an alcoholic who has purposefully ruined his relationships and his schooling just because. he, unlike his father, has tried to recover, but fails.

ian also ruins his relationships to destruct himself, and like his sisters, starting having sex with older guys at a young age. we even see him burn himself “just to feel something”. in ian’s case, though, he gets a happy ending. not everybody really gets that.

carl doesn’t self-destruct as much, but at one point with kelly, he did. he gave up on west point, he gave up on becoming a cop, he gave up on everything and just decided to work at fast food until the alcoholism, substance abuse, and mental illness came to him.

liam honestly didn’t get the time to destruct himself… he was so young throughout the entire show. however, there was that part where he found this potential family for him that were all black and related to monica, and he felt seen by them. but then he robbed them all and ruined it. i’m not sure this really counts as much, though.

but the boys never get as much criticism, because why would they. they’re boys.

fiona and debbie should feel more connected. when fiona leaves, debbie takes on her role and tries to hold everything together, but instead, everything falls apart. debbie has really always wanted to be like fiona, and i always see people on tiktok saying “debbie’s really trying to be fiona💀” and shit, but it’s honestly true, she is like her. just not in the best ways.

anyways, that’s my rant. i have more to say but this is all that’s really important.

[waitingonavision]

Moisés “Mo” Bondia! Official OC Info Post

Age: 55 (his age during the film)

Gender: AMAB/male (cis); he/him pronouns

Height: 5’6” (170 cm)

Physical description: Has glasses with oval frames, medium brown skin tone, and dark curly hair (3A?) with a puff on the front right side and grey streaks on the both sides; bearded. Wide-set eyes, broad nose; he’s lightly freckled on his cheeks and has dimples.

Dresses no differently than the townspeople but does wear a Sephardic style kippah (aka a yarmulke; photo is for reference) on his head. He’s on the chubby side, with round cheeks and a little double chin.

His clothing palette consists of goldish-browns and blues.

More art and info under the cut!

I’m still trying to tweak his clothing style...

Personality: Mostly soft-spoken but has a bit of a mischievous/joking streak; very dorky sense of humor. Patient for the most part; has a calm, deliberate way of speaking. On the guarded side–vigilant around new people, though he tries to be as open and friendly as possible. Has a poor sense of direction.

Enjoys wine (the doofy jokes really come out when drunk) and singing (but is bad at it). He is a big Jewish nerd™. His family escaped with their chumash (the Torah/Five Books of Moses), a prayer book or two, and a few other things.

His name, Bondia, means “good day” (from the Hebrew surname, Yom Tov). It’s shaped his outlook on life, despite, or because of, the trauma of his childhood–he was five when he and his parents fled the bandits (at the beginning of Encanto).

Background [cw for parental death and depression]: Moisés and his parents, Ester (mother) and Jonás (father), have been in the Encanto since its creation. His parents both passed away by the time he’s in his mid-late 20s. Because he’s really the only Jew in the Encanto, he feels like the odd one out (in that sense, he has a kinship with Bruno and, to an extent, Mirabel). The townspeople get along with him, despite his differences.

Ester’s and Jonás’ deaths occurred one after the other and hit Mo very hard, and he went through a period of depression and, just, not taking care of himself very well. He wasn’t always chubby (fairly average build in his teens and early twenties), and actually lost an unhealthy amount of weight after his parents’ deaths but eventually recovered–he’s able to sympathize with Bruno in this way. He is body confident and prefers himself chubby.

Relationship with the Madrigals and others: After the Madrigals discover Judaica among their heirlooms/possessions, Mo falls into the role of a rabbi and helps the family explore their Jewish ancestry and reclaim that part of their identity. He worries about his motivation (e.g., having more Jews around will make him less lonely, is that why he’s doing what he’s doing?) and wonders if the Madrigals, especially Bruno, are actually interested (he is/they are).

Bruno becomes Mo’s study partner. Mo helps Bruno through the conversion process, doing his best to offer support when Bruno struggles with guilt over leaving Catholicism. They are not romantically involved, though I’ve toyed with the idea of a queerplatonic relationship. (Mo is likely panromantic and maybe ace.)

He and the Padre have an odd friendship. They spar over theology and general religion a lot, getting into intense debates, yet they can be seen chatting companionably at the bar(?)/other places.

Other info: Works as the Encanto’s calligrapher. He knows Spanish and Hebrew, and maybe some Ladino (Judeo-Spanish). There are a lot of challenges to being Jewish in the Encanto, but he and eventually the Madrigals make it work.

He likes flowers and sketching landscapes.

Pokémon AU info: He has a bunch of Litwick that hang out around him (8, + 1 shiny) and provide light on Shabbat. Also trains a Bramblin that eventually evolves into a Brambleghast, a Golurk, and a Smeargle. He picks up a stray Mareep.

The Litwick are a reference to a menorah. Bramblin reminds me of the burning bush, so I gave it to Mo. Golurk seems to be based on the Golem of Prague from Jewish legend. Smeargle reflects his work as a calligrapher. And Mareep because Moses is a shepherd in the Torah.

Appearances:

my fic, “A Time for Building”

this art post/compilation of Encanto OCs by @cheetee​

other random bits of info via asks

[mochegato]

Even the Losers

Chapter 15

Chapter 1     Chapter 14

Possible trigger warning.  I mention that sexual assault and worse has happened during some akuma attacks.  I don’t describe anything or say who it happened to (it didn’t happen to anyone we know) but wanted to warn readers that it is brought up.

This room really was a ridiculous room, Marinette decided.  The dining table was large enough to seat twenty.  Who needed a casual dining table that large?  Honestly.  Not to mention, a dining table that large meant there was more than enough room for Alfred to join them, but he never did.

And bringing the food out on silver trays. Did they do that just because she was here?  She kind of hoped it was because the idea of doing it everyday…  She looked over to Adrien to roll her eyes at the opulence, but he just went with it like it was completely expected.  Marinette shook her head.  Damn rich people.  She looked up just in time to catch Duke’s eyes.  He looked at the silver trays with a pointed look and rolled his eyes. Marinette giggled and nodded back.

“I forgot to ask the other day,” Dick started with a disarming smile.  “How did you two meet and when?”

And there it was again.  A perfectly normal question.  A very common question.  A question they would expect to be asked.  But there was something off in the way he asked it.  Something that just triggered her senses.  She could feel a difference in it, like its very existence disrupted the peace of the dinner.

Adrien looked over at her with a broad smile and nodded to her, letting her know she was supposed to answer it.  She plastered on a friendly smile.  “We met in school, actually.”

“Oh? Maternelle or older?”  Dick smiled again, his face perfectly emulating interest in his sister’s friend.  Markov would never be able to tell the difference.  But Marinette could.  He was fishing.  She just didn’t know what he was fishing for.

“Older,” she answered curtly.

Dick seemed to get the message that she was not happy and backed off, metaphorically and literally, leaning away from them in his chair.  His smooth smile morphed into a mock frown.  “Oh that’s a shame.  I was hoping for stories or pictures of baby Marinette.”

“Oh, baby Mari was adorable,” Adrien gushed, with a teasing grin to Marinette.

Tim quirked his head to the side.  “I thought you said you two didn’t meet until you were older.”

Adrien’s grin widened.  “We didn’t.  Not until we were in collège and she yelled at me for something I didn’t do.”

“I didn’t yell at you,” Marinette objected in mock offense, slapping his arm. “I informed you that you were a contemptible dirtbag in a harsh tone.”

Jason barked a laugh.  “Right, big difference.”

Marinette whirled on him, her serious expression contradicted by her lips trying to quirk up at the corners at his teasing.  “There is!  It was a quietly harsh tone.  There was no yelling.”  She turned back to Adrien.  “And I apologized for that.”

“Yeah, like years later and not because you wanted to,” he rolled his eyes.

“Only because I couldn’t really talk to you for, like, ever after that,” she groused playfully.  She pushed her food around on her plate with a pout.

“Apologies are hard,” Cass nodded in agreement.

Marinette beamed at her.  “Yes.  Thank you, Cass.  See,” she motioned to Cass so Adrien would look, “Cass has my back.  She agrees.”

“With what?” Duke laughed.

“Your input is not needed!” Marinette chastised him, trying hard not to laugh.  But when Duke cracked up and started laughing hard enough to have him gasping for breath, so did Marinette.

“Okay but…” Tim started after they’d had enough time to recover.

“Oh, right!” Adrien shook his head.  “There was an akuma that de-aged people.  A mom sad her son was going off to university, so her power was to turn everyone into toddlers again.  Marinette got hit pushing me out of the way of the beam. She turned into the cutest, pudgiest, little toddler you’ve ever seen.”  

Marinette batted his hands away when he leaned over to pinch her cheeks.  He chuckled at Marinette’s pout.  “I hated that one.  I felt so helpless,” she moaned.

“I loved it,” Adrien smiled.  “I got to see all of you guys as babies.  Most of you guys knew each other since childhood so you knew what each other looked like.  Alya and I were the odd ones out.  Plus, no pain.”  He looked back to the rest of the family.  “That was rare; an akuma that didn’t cause massive amounts of pain or trauma.”

“Were they that bad?” Duke asked hesitantly, afraid of the answer he was going to get back.  He had purposefully not looked too hard into akumas precisely because he was afraid of the answer.

Marinette stared intently at her plate in thought, trying to condense the experience into light, dinner topic worthy descriptions because she desperately did not want to discuss akumas tonight… or ever again. The very thought caused shivers down her spine.  “They were… most weren’t… didn’t affect…”  Her words got cut off as her body froze with realization.  Her face scrunched up in pain and she gasped after not having breathed for the last few seconds.  She suddenly pushed away from the table and stood up.  “I think… I need to leave.”

Bruce stood up at the same time and reached out for her. “Marinette are you okay?”  His concern amped up when Cass stood up as well and frowned with concern.

Adrien got to her quicker, gently laying his hands on her arms.  “Hey, we don’t have to talk about it.  We can talk about something else.  You talked with M. Fox this morning, right?  We can talk about that.”

Marinette shook her head.  “I can’t…” she couldn’t finish her sentence, her breath was becoming more ragged the longer she stood there.

“Way to go, Timmy,” Jason groused.

“I didn’t do this!” Tim objected motioning toward Marinette and standing up too.  He wasn’t exactly sure what standing up was supposed to accomplish. She didn’t know him and definitely wouldn’t be comfortable with him trying to comfort her.  It was more of a show of support.  Whatever was going on, he didn’t want to stay sitting like it was nothing.

She looked toward Bruce, her eyes slightly glazed over.  “You… you knew.  You knew about what happened when I was fourteen… and fifteen… and sixteen.  You said you checked in on me frequently, so there’s no way you didn’t know.  You knew and you just… rather than admit I was…”  She looked down at the floor, her face scrunching further as she tried to reconcile the new information.  She backed away more and shook her head, no longer really hearing anything in the room, including Adrien’s loud gasp of realization.  “I… I can’t… be here.  I have to… I need time to…”  

She turned and rushed through the door before anyone could stop her.  She could feel herself shutting down and she needed to stop it.  She knew she needed to stop letting herself turn numb.  She gritted her teeth as her frustration with herself increased.  Why couldn’t she just react normally?  Nobody else on her team did this.  None of their friends reacted this way anymore.  What was wrong with her that she did?

And she had to do it there, in front of everyone. She had to do it in front of him.  Why couldn’t she hold it together for one freaking dinner?  She’s gone through worse.  Why couldn’t she just have DEALT with it, like an adult?  Now she probably ruined the start of their relationship. He was probably going to hate her. He didn’t want to know about that stuff. He didn’t want to deal with those kinds of problems.  Those were her issues, not his.  

He wanted a daughter for the press, not a hot mess of insecurities and anxiety.  He wanted a happy, light, cheery child.  That’s why he sent her away, so that’s who she would become.  That’s probably why Dick was trying to ask all those questions, so they could know just what kind of a broken, messed up, embarrassment of a disaster they were taking on with her.  They needed to know what to prepare for when the press started getting involved.

Back in the dining room, Jason had gone from laughing, to confused, to concerned, to fucking pissed in a matter of seconds.  “What did she go through?” Jason asked through gritted teeth.

Adrien glared at Bruce waiting for him to answer the question.  Bruce looked down dejectedly and Adrien scoffed.  He didn’t bother ripping his glare away from Bruce when he answered for him. “She means Hawkmoth.  She means M. Wayne knew what Hawkmoth was doing and let her stay there when he could have pulled her out at any time.  She means he let her stay and get tormented rather than admit she was his daughter.”

“That is not why I didn’t pull her out of Paris,” Bruce insisted weakly.

“I thought the damage done by Hawkmoth was all reversed,” Duke offered.

“Oh, the physical damage was reversed, but the psychological wasn’t.  The memories weren’t.  Hawkmoth used people’s negative emotions to turn them into monsters, AS YOU KNOW,” he snarled at Bruce.  “For years, if you had a bad day, if you got sad, if you grieved, you could end up killing or torturing or raping someone, maybe someone you cared about, maybe someone you loved, maybe more than one.  

“Didn’t even have to be something big it could just be… my best friend got akumatized because my father said he couldn’t throw me a party for my birthday.  A kid Marinette babysat got akumatized because her mother took away a toy that wasn’t hers, it was Marinette’s actually, so she felt responsible for getting Manon akumatized.  Marinette’s best friends, five of them at once, got akumatized because she didn’t want to tell them something private.  Like that didn’t wrack her with guilt for years.  It didn’t take much to turn you into a nightmare.  In fact, one little kid got akumatized several times because he had a nightmare.  All it took was one moment of feeling down.  If you were lucky, really lucky, you just… stopped feeling… anything.”

Everyone was silent for a few minutes.  Adrien’s glare never wavered the entire time. Finally Dick spoke up softly. “And was Marinette… lucky.”

Adrien sneered at Bruce, “Oh, Marinette was very lucky.  She only got tortured a few times… per month.  She only lost a few limbs.  She only got targeted most of the time.  She only died four or five times, that she remembers, the actual number is significantly higher.  All despite my father targeting her specifically.  You know, nothing worth too much concern. She only watched the people she loved get tortured, screaming for her in agony before they died painful deaths a handful of times.  She only sometimes still goes completely numb rather than feel things.  Not even just bad things, good things too.  If it’s too much, she shuts down so she doesn’t expose herself, so Hawkmoth can’t get her, because we needed her.  It’s automatic.  It’s subconscious.  It’s been five years and she still has to fight the instant reaction.”  

Bruce finally spoke up apprehensively.  God, he really, really didn’t want to know the answer to his next question, but at the same time, he needed to know.  “You mentioned akumas could kill, torture, rape… You said Marinette had been tortured and killed.  Was she ever…”

Adrien’s face scrunched up in anger and frustration. “You don’t get to ask that,” he screamed.  “You didn’t care then, you don’t get to pretend like you care now.  You want an answer to your question, you’ll have to ask her yourself, if you have the balls for it.  Personally, I don’t think you do.  So use your imagination.  I guarantee anything you can imagine, can’t even come close to the things she had to live through.”

He looked down for a moment to try to collect himself.  When he looked back up it was an icy, coldness that made Tim collapse back into his chair.  “So now you need to stop lying to her that you always loved her, you cared at all.”

Damian growled and lunged forward in his chair. “You can’t tell him what he feels. You don’t get to say how he treats one of his children.  You aren’t a part of this family.”

Adrien turned his icy glare to Damian.  “And she is?  Holding her at arm’s length?  Keeping her at a distance?  Not letting her get too close?  Randomly freezing up around her.  Keeping family secrets from her.  Clamming up as soon as she’s nearby.  Sending each other secret looks over her head when you think she won’t see.  She’s not stupid.  She sees what you’re doing, what you’re all doing, she’s just too nice to point it out, too hopeful you’ll actually accept her one day.”  He turned to look at Damian with disgust.  “I might not be a part of this thing you call a family, but I am a part of hers.”  Damian only put up a semblance of a fight when Cass pulled him back down into his chair with a disappointed look.

“You kept in contact to make yourself feel better not because you cared.  Because if you did?  If you did, there’s no way you let her stay in Paris when it would have been so easy for you to do something.  There’s no way you let her get hurt and killed over and over again just so you didn’t have to admit you were related to her.  Nobody who gives even the slightest fuck about anybody, a stranger let alone family, your child, would willingly let them go through that.  Lets them live knowing that crying about a stubbed toe could make them into a killer.

“You could have done something, anything and yet you did nothing.  You didn’t even try.  She wouldn’t have accepted.  She… she was the only reason some of us survived and she knew that.  She was our hope.  She saved us and protected us.  Repeatedly. At her own expense.  Without her…” he looked away.  When he spoke again, his voice was considerably quieter and colder.

“And she knew it.  And she took it all on herself.  She didn’t even tell most people, anyone but me and one other friend really, what she went through and not even all of it.  There’s still things I know she saw but she won’t tell me about. Her own parents didn’t know because she didn’t want them to become akumas, which they’d done before over minor things.  So she dealt with it on her own.  My father barely ever let me out so I couldn’t be there for her almost ever. So she had nobody.  She made sure she didn’t.  Because she didn’t want to be the cause of more suffering.

“So she wouldn’t have taken you up on any offers anyway because she’d never abandon the people she cares about.”  He looked back up to level Bruce with an icy glare that made him lose his breath.  “Guess she gets that from her mother.”

He started to walk away but turned back to the family as he got to the door.  “You know, Marinette and I are a lot alike.  You can do anything you want to us and we’ll probably apologize to you for inconveniencing you.  But you hurt someone we care about?  Not even Hell is far enough away for you to hide in.

“So she’ll forgive you.  That’s who she is.  She will.  Hell, she’ll probably come crawling back in a day or two to apologize to you for the scene she created.  For making you feel uncomfortable.  But I won’t ever forget what you did, what you didn’t do, what you subjected her to. No matter what else you ever do for her, you will not be forgiven.” He stepped closer to Bruce, the ice in his eyes turning darker.  “And if you ever treat her like that again, they’ll never find your body.”

Damian scowled and jumped up.  “Are you threatening my father?”

Adrien didn’t look at him when he responded, continuing to glare at Bruce with a dark, warped look that even made Damian raise an eyebrow.  “I am.” He didn’t even bother slamming the door as he stormed out.  As soon as he passed the threshold, he took off sprinting after Marinette.  She didn’t have the car keys so she was walking… in Gotham… while she was a target.  He cursed and picked up his speed to get to the car.

“B?” Dick asked cautiously.

“No.  No, no, no.” He shook his head violently and looked down, trying to steady his ragged breathing.  “I asked her parents.  I checked. They said she was fine.  They said it was okay.”  He looked up at Dick with haunted eyes.  “I checked.  I made sure.”

“Well you didn’t fucking check well enough did you?” Jason growled.  “You never asked her.”  He threw his napkin on the table and stalked out after Adrien to help comfort Marinette.  Duke looked between them for a moment before sprinting after Jason.

The rest of the family looked down at their plates, except Bruce who wasn’t looking at anything.  He pushed away from the table and stumbled back to his room, a sudden wave of nausea slamming into his body.  Dick opened his mouth a few times only to snap it shut again mutely.  Cass frowned but continued eating slowly. This was new information, but it didn’t change who Marinette was to her.  It was the same Marinette from earlier in the day.  But now she knew more.  Maybe they could bond over childhood trauma like she and Stephanie had.

Damian furrowed his brow and scowled at his food, unable to determine how to interpret the new information and blame Marinette for it. She had done it to herself, clearly. She had allowed herself to stay in that situation.  Obviously it was her own fault she suffered through that… like he had.  Not knowing who to be mad at, he shoved away from the table and went down to the cave to train.

Tim blankly watched him go.  This… this was unsalvageable.  This was… they’d let her down in so many ways.  Him with the gala.  Dick with the questioning Adrien.  Damian with the accusing her and insulting Adrien.  The entire family with the keeping secrets.  And Bruce with the… everything.  How were they supposed to bring this back?  They were worse than his family, his previous family.  The Drakes just ignored him.  They were actively destroying her.  

He took a deep breath and pushed away from the table too.  He would go down to the cave but Damian was already there.  He wanted to patrol, to actually protect someone, like he hadn’t protected her.  He stood up and made his way to the grandfather clock.  Fuck Demon Spawn.  Let him try to fight him right now.  Tim wasn’t in the mood and wouldn’t hold back.  Heaven help any rogues out tonight.

Chapter 16

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[animeomegas]

Omega!Narutoverse Future Family Headcanons

This is a compilation of my headcanons about future families for my favourite Naruto boys (excluding Kakashi who is childfree in my headcanons.) 

This is very long, so I’ve put most of it under a cut <3 Enjoy~

Naruto:  : 4 children – Son (omega), adopted daughter (alpha), twin sons (betas). 

Has his son about four years before he becomes Hokage.

His son is a huge daddy’s boy type and clings to Naruto every chance that he gets. 

Naruto never lets his role as Hokage take him away from his son any more than absolutely necessary. Does he take his son into his office? Absolutely. He puts down a little play pen on the floor while he works :’). 

His son loves cuddles so much and he is so gentle. 

He doesn’t like pranks though which makes Naruto a little sad but he would never do anything to make his little one sad. 

Male omegas can be identified from birth, so you both knew he was, but even if you didn’t it’s very obvious. He makes his own little nest next to Naruto’s but ends up crawling into Naruto’s for cuddles every time. 

As he gets older, he attends the academy, but he hates it so much. He reminds me a little of a young Itachi, a pacifist to the core. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone! He begs you and Naruto to let him attend the civilian school, and of course you let him. 

Naruto gets a lot of shit for allowing this from some parties *cough* the council *cough*. The Hokage’s children should be powerful ninjas according to them, but Naruto will always prioritise his children’s happiness. Naruto shields his son from the hate as much as possible, but some slips through.

 The transition is easier if you are a civilian, your son feels a little more secure if that’s the case, and he would consider following your footsteps depending on what you do. If you run a little business, he would definitely want to work with you. If you’re also a ninja he can feel left out and unsure, but he grows into such a quietly confident person, who starts a little business. 

Not being a ninja also means he can be there for his younger siblings. He is a dedicated older brother who is always there for them. He has a room for each other them at his house and loads of medical supplies for when they come back from missions injured and won’t go to the hospital. He always patches them up. 

All his younger siblings respect him so much. He is a very reliable person, and his siblings get so offended if they hear any anti-civilian talk from the ninjas they work with.

When Naruto is about a year into working as Hokage, he goes to visit the orphanage, a place that he reformed hugely as soon as he could. It’s so much nicer than it was and he’s so happy. 

But there is one girl that he sees there, and she’s being bullied by some of the other kids. At only three years old, Naruto’s heart breaks for her. Turns out that she’s being teased for being a female alpha. Times have changed a lot, but there are still some horrible stereotypes about male omegas and female alphas, even if those aren’t the norm anymore. 

He intervenes and wipes away her tears, uncomfortably reminded of his own stay at the orphanage when he was her age. He wraps up the visit and leaves, but he just can’t get here out of his head. 

He’s been wanting another child, but he’s still in a vulnerable position so early into being Hokage that he can’t afford the time off for maternity leave. 

Hesitantly, he brings up the idea of adoption to you, when you respond positively, he’s like great 😊, I have one picked already. 

It’s only about a fortnight later that you’re picking her up and bringing her home. At first, she is very shy and reserved but when she gets comfortable, you learn that she is the opposite. 

She’s very forthright and opinionated, she always says what she feels and stands up for injustice. 

Her favourite thing is to come home and tell you and Naruto about her day. She never leaves out any detail and has been known to demand to go and see Naruto while he’s working so that she can tell him about something that happened at school. 

Naruto ends up unwillingly up to date with all the academy drama. 

She’s quite serious and likes to have grown up conversations and sit at the grown ups table. 

She ends up attending the academy and she just thrives on all the history and politics lessons! She great at negotiating and learning about people. 

She makes strong friends and has a tight knit friendship group that she keeps all the way to adulthood. 

She ends up making Chunin pretty quickly but waits a long while before taking the Jounin exam. She ends up specialising in international relations. 

She works as an ambassador for Konoha and gets to travel around all the countries. She adores her job, but she does sometimes miss her family. Naruto gets sad when he sends her for long missions, knowing that he can’t come and see her for that time, but there’s no one he would trust more to act on behalf on Konoha and she always brings back souvenirs for everyone.

The twins are quite a bit younger than the other two. Six years younger than their older sister, and eight years younger than their older brother. 

In a better position now, Naruto wants to try for one final child. 

Of course, you get twins. 

It takes a bit of re-planning, but Naruto is overjoyed at the fact that he’s pregnant with twins! He gives birth to identical twin boys. You can’t tell from birth whether a baby is a male alpha or male beta, and they end up showing signs of being betas when they’re about 12.

These boys are little troublemakers, and Naruto rejoices and finally having some of his children who likes pranks like he does!

They excel at strategy and trap making when they join the academy but the oldest struggles a little with the more academic side. 

Naruto is so patient in helping him because he knows what it’s like to be a physical learner in an academic environment. 

They are the babies of the family and they get away with everything haha. 

When they end up graduating, they are put on the same genin team and they continue to work together for their entire careers. They are similar to Izumo and Kotestu. They know each other so well and both have complimentary skills, so they make a formidable duo on the battlefield. 

Naruto hates sending them on dangerous missions though. If they ever didn’t come back, I don’t think Naruto would recover, knowing that he sent them to the place that they died. 

These two also definitely take on a genin team when they first get promoted to jounin, and they’re great teachers! I can’t decide if they would have one together, or if they would have one each and compete in ridiculous challenges like whose genin team can get the most d ranks done in one day. 

They remind people of Kakashi and Gai in a lot of ways. 

Sasuke:  1 child – daughter (beta).

Sasuke has a daughter in his late twenties, after he’s had some time to deal with his trauma. 

He’s undeniably in a better place but he struggles badly with PPD, making the first year very difficult on your family. 

Eventually things get better though, and you work together to raise your daughter. 

She is wicked smart, very much into scholarly things, but she also loves weapons, particularly any sort of blade. Sasuke teaches her how to use a sword and they bond a lot over it. 

She’s pretty quiet and withdrawn, preferring to read a book or practice with her weapons than socialise. Sasuke tries to get her to make more friends but she calls him out on being a hypocrite and he’s so offended that he drops the issue. 

She does well in the academy but she lowkey hates going. She likes going more if either you or Sasuke are there to pick her up and walk home with her, she doesn’t like walking home alone because the Uchiha compound is so damn far away and isolated. 

When she awakens her sharigan when she’s a chunin, Sasuke has a pretty bad reaction. The sharigan isn’t associated with anything good in his mind, so he freaks out when his daughter activates it. You need to give him some time and support and he’ll come around. He’s the only one who can train her after all. 

Sasuke is so proud of his daughter when she makes Jounin, which of course, she does. I could see her taking on a powerful advisory role for the Hokage as a jounin.

She is someone who believes that there is a lot to learn from history, and is a great advisory asset in helping to avoid past mistakes.

Itachi: Canon = none / Non-massacre Au = 2 children. Son (omega), daughter (beta). 

Has a son shortly after you get married. 

Itachi is a family man through and through and can’t wait to retire from being a ninja (which he hates) to being able to raise his children full time. 

The day Itachi gets moved from the active list to the reserves list after he becomes pregnant is one of the happiest days of his life. 

His son is very responsible and serious. 

He likes to follow Itachi around and help him clean and cook and run errands. He always tidies up his toys and keeps his room clean, and he almost always behaves respectfully and sensibly. 

Itachi never forces him to do too much though, he wants his son to have a fun childhood like he never had. 

Itachi is over the moon when his son shows an interest in calligraphy, happy that his son is picking up a healthy hobby. 

He buys him all the supplies and gets him a teacher if he wants one. It warms Itachi’s heart to see his son interested in something other than chores for once. 

Despite the pressure from the clan for his children to attend the academy, Itachi puts his foot down for one of the first times in his life, saying that his children will only become ninja if they want to. 

His son does in fact want to attend the academy. 

Itachi kind of wishes he didn’t. 

Itachi’s son shows a huge proficiency for fuinjutsu, his calligraphy skills coming in handy. Seeing as the skill is so rare, he becomes one of the leading experts in Konoha. 

Itachi is very supportive and lowkey glad that his son is so powerful and can defend himself. Itachi is also very glad that his son can continue with his fuuinjustsu passion long after he retires from being an active ninja. 

Itachi hopes that safety net (producing seals for other ninjas and continuing to earn money from his hobby) will mean his son can retire whenever he wants and not have to worry. Rather than becoming stuck in the shinobi lifestyle.

Itachi’s daughter is born five years after his son, an age gap that was larger than he would have liked, but he had a pretty traumatic birth the first time around and he needed to give his body some time to recover.

Itachi puts a lot of emphasis on a loving relationship between his children, and his daughter adores her older brother so much! She follows him around and tries to copy him all the time, and he help her with homework and plays with her. 

It makes Itachi very, very happy to see them bond. 

Itachi’s daughter is a beta and has everyone wrapped around her finger from the moment she is born. 

She’s charming, well spoken, and polite but with a very sarcastic personality. 

She has a very similar sense of humour to Itachi actually. A sort of under the breath commentary style. Goodness help anyone who finds themselves opposing Itachi and his daughter. 

Academy teachers get put in their place so fast when they join forces, the teachers don’t even know what happened. 

As Itachi’s daughter joins the academy, she follows after her uncle and develops fangirls and fanboys… She’s very popular. Very popular. 

And she loves it. 

Itachi is not as fond. 

He is not above staring coldly at children for badgering his beloved daughter. 

When she grows up, she works as a ninja, favouring a more jack of all trades kind of style. She likes to learn a little bit of everything. 

She’s the same way with relationships too. She never gets married or mated, preferring casual relationships and has no interest in children, she lives her life doing whatever she wants with whoever she wants. 

Itachi is very proud of her, and secretly very amused when his clan constantly tries and fails to control her.

Shikamaru: 1 child – daughter (alpha)

Shikamaru has a child at about 25, and he knew from the get-go that he was a one and done kind of guy.

He’s not a fan at all of the infant stage and does not want to do it more than once. 

The Nara clan have a very high proportion of alphas, so Shikamaru kinda expected his child to be one. And lo and behold she was. 

His daughter is the spitting image of him in every way. She is the most mellow alpha ever. So much so that most people assume she’s a beta, and she doesn’t really care enough to correct them about it. 

She is also very close to her grandparents, who dote on her and spoil her as much as they can. 

She excels at school in the same way her father did before her, retaining average marks despite being miles ahead of most of her peers.

Shikamaru teaches her how to play shogi and all about the beauty of napping. She takes to them both like a duck to water. She is so much like Shikamaru that everyone comments on it constantly. 

Although, while she loves a good cloud gazing session with her father, she actually takes to creative writing as her favourite hobby. She uses a pseudonym to avoid attention, but she ends up writing a series of books that becomes one of the most popular book series in the shinobi nations. 

Shikamaru is so insanely proud that his daughter can have both a successful ninja career and a successful hobby/side career. He brags to anyone who knows her pseudonym constantly, including you and his parents. 

He also keeps a set of first edition, signed copies of all her books. He reads them when she’s away on long missions sometimes, as a way of feeling closer to her.

Shikamaru and his daughter remain incredibly close all their lives.

Shino: 1 child – daughter (omega)

Shino had a child slightly later than most of his friends, at around 34. 

Shino’s daughter is a very curious child! She’s quiet and withdrawn around strangers but very talkative with her family and close friends.

Her favourite place to be is on Shino’s lap. And when around strangers, she always hides behind him, or buries her face into his shoulder. 

Shino loves to spend time with his daughter outside. He teaches her all about insects and plants, leading her around the woods after when she can still barely walk. 

Shibi does the same with her, and those two are very close. 

Shino is fiercely protective of his daughter, and never forces her into doing things she isn’t comfortable with. He defends her right to be quiet and clingy, and it takes some convincing to get him to understand that she needs to make friends outside of her immediate family. 

When she cries for anything, Shino gives in straight away, as long as she isn’t wanting to do anything extremely dangerous. Because of this, she develops quite the sweet tooth, having had as many cookies as she wanted as a child. 

Shino’s daughter ends up teaching at the academy as a career chunin, because despite being shy around adults, she is fantastic with children, very patient and understanding. 

Shino is very happy with her choices, because he was a little worried that she would end up scarred from a shinobi career, and he hates any situation in which he can’t protect her. 

She has her own children pretty young, and Shino is just a good a grandfather as he is a father.

Neji: 2 children – adopted daughter (beta), adopted son (alpha)

Neji is about 30 when he decides he wants to try to have a baby. 

And he’s 32 when he finally comes to terms with the fact that he isn’t going to be able to conceive naturally because of the suppressant abuse he endured as a child. 

Then, tragically, one of the branch members of his clan dies giving birth. Her mate can’t handle the stress and dies shortly afterwards, leaving their two-year-old daughter and newborn son behind. 

Dying after a mate dies is not super uncommon but is much rarer in the cases where children are involved, so this exact situation doesn’t happen very often. 

His heart breaks for them and he is close to begging you to adopt them with him. 

And soon enough you have two children, siblings, and both Hyuugas like Neji. 

You would never forget Neji’s face when he held his children for the first time. He would never let them be branded with the seal that has impacted his life so much. He would sooner run away from the clan forever.

Neji’s daughter takes a little while to adjust to her new parents, still distraught and grieving over the loss of her previous parents. 

Neji understands and gets her a therapist, but he finds it difficult to watch his child suffer. 

The first time she crawled into bed with you and Neji after a nightmare, Neji cried because she was finally starting to trust you both. 

Neji’s daughter is a beta and when she recovers from her childhood trauma, she shows her true colours as a limelight lover! 

She loves acting and dancing and singing whenever and wherever she can. She plans little plays for you and Neji, sitting you down to perform them for you every weekend. Neji is very proud! 

But he doesn’t really know what to do when his daughter says she doesn’t want to be a ninja. 

He loves and supports her, of course, but he’s thrown off, not really expecting it. 

Eventually, he agrees to send her to a civilian school, and she immediately flourishes there, making so many friends, even starting a little after school performance style club. 

Neji is so incredibly proud when she makes it as a famous actress. He lowkey brags constantly to his friends. 

“Oh, your child just got promoted to chunin? How lovely. My daughter made more money this year than any chunin will see in their life…” Sips tea. 

Neji’s daughter is so glamourous and outgoing and famous, but she never forgets her family, and loves to spoil you, Neji and her younger brother with her money.

Neji’s son doesn’t remember his biological parents and fits into your family seamlessly from day one. As far as he’s concerned, you and Neji are his only parents. 

Just like his older sister, this boy is very extroverted, but rather than singing all the time, he talks. He’s the chattiest person you could ever meet. 

Introverted Neji isn’t 100% sure about how to parent such extroverted children, he just doesn’t understand that they don’t enjoy too much solitary activity time. 

He’s feels a lot better if you’re an extrovert, that way, he can have some alone time to recharge while you handle the children. 

If you’re also an introvert… well, let’s hope Hinata was serious about her babysitting offer. 

Neji’s son talks to everyone as I already mentioned, and adults think he is the cutest thing ever. 

As he grows up, he always helps old people carry their shopping, he helps lost children find their parents, he is basically the alpha every parent dreams of their omega child bringing home. 

He’s very charming and Neji is a lot less surprised when his son says he doesn’t want to be a ninja. 

Eventually ends up working in the orphanage. 

The children adore him so, so much, and he loves his job dearly. 

Neji brags about him too. 

“Wow, your child got top marks in the academy? My child was hand-making birthday gifts for some children at the orphanage when he was 11. He decided to do it all by himself…” sips more tea. 

Whenever she’s in Konoha, his older sister turns up and gives all the kids at the orphanage gifts. She’s like a fun, rich aunt for all of them. 

Neither of Neji’s children have children of their own, as they find their respective careers to be the most fulfilling thing for them.

Neji is a very proud father and is happy when his children are happy.

Iruka: None, or 2 children (he’s happy with either) – adopted son (omega), adopted daughter (omega)

Iruka would be happy with no children because he’s so dedicated to his work and his students, but he also adores children and wouldn’t mind having some of his own. This is an au in which he decides to have children. 

He adopts his son at age 27, pretty soon after the war, choosing to adopt an older child who has less of a chance of being adopted. 

A six-year-old omega with a bright smile and loud laugh, Iruka is immediately taken with him. The war had left many orphans, and it was hard on Iruka to walk around the orphanage, knowing he couldn’t adopt them all. 

Iruka throws as much love as he can as his new son, taking time off work to bond with him properly, making sure to scent him loads and get him used to his new family environment. 

Iruka is thrilled when his son shows a knack for pranks.

He plays the disapproving parent in public, but honestly, he loves it, as long as things don’t go too far. 

Iruka’s son is a very kind-hearted person, if a little rambunctious, and he also has a huge nesting instinct. 

You knew he was an omega when you adopted him, but it was very clear, nonetheless. He has a permanent nest in his room that he likes to chill in with his friends when they come over (he’s very popular with the other kids in his class.). 

When he gets a little older, he goes to the academy, walking to and from every day with Iruka, and develops a passion for medicine when he’s a genin. 

He has great chakra control and eventually ends up working full time at the hospital as an adult. 

He chose a similar path to Iruka, in that he works as a ninja but is primarily based in the village, rarely leaving on missions. 

He makes sure to come home for dinner at least once a week after he’s moved out, no matter how busy the hospital gets. 

Iruka is so proud that his son is so talented and selfless, that sometimes it makes him tear up. 

Iruka knows that he doesn’t want just one child. 

When his parents died, he was all alone and it was horrible for him, so he knows he wants to have two children, so that when you and him die, they’re not alone. 

Iruka is very ready to adopt again about two years after he adopted his son. 

Iruka found the adoption process so rewarding that he wants to do it again over having a biological child. 

He adopts a little girl this time, five years old and also an omega. When Iruka was meeting the children, this girl brought him a paper flower that she had folded as a gift and his heart just melted right then and there. 

She fits in perfectly to your family, your son adored her immediately! 

With three omegas living in your house now, you were very much outnumbered. It was a common occurrence to find yourself missing all your warm clothes, them having been borrowed and buried inside one of the three nests (minimum) nests in your house. 

Iruka’s daughter is a gentle soul, but she is also strong. She appears like an easy target because she is soft spoken and reserved but she has a strong sense of justice and always stands up for herself and others. 

When she’s young, she likes the idea of going into medicine like her older brother as she admires and looks up to him, but she doesn’t like the realities of the job very much. 

She’s great at chakra control, but the idea of wrangling disobedient, injured shinobi doesn’t appeal to her. 

Until one day, on her way home from a friend’s house, she finds an injured stray dog. She brings it home and begs you and Iruka to keep him. So, your family of four turns into a family of five, and she becomes obsessed with veterinary medicine. 

As an adult, she ends up working at the veterinary clinic in the Inuzuka compound. She is committed to helping as many animals as she can, with a particular soft spot for dogs. 

She also joins the rest of her family for dinners at least once a week. Iruka is so overwhelmingly proud that he has two medic children, because he knows how talented you have to be to do that. 

He is also very happy that both his children stay mostly within the village. The war made Iruka a little paranoid, and he doesn’t worry so much when his children are safe within the village walls.

Gaara: 2 children – daughter (alpha), son (alpha)

Gaara has his children the youngest out of everyone his age that he knows. He had his daughter when he had just turned 21, and his son five years later when he was 26. 

His daughter is Gaara’s sweetheart. 

He adores her so much and spends as much time as he can with her. He is so gentle with her and loving all the time. 

Gaara’s daughter is very energetic and playful, but also quite sensitive. 

She loves positive attention, loves to play with everyone who will engage with her. 

She’s a very family-oriented person and loves spending time with Kankuro and Temari when you and Gaara are busy. 

However, because you, Gaara, Temari and Kankuro always treated her so gently, she was quite sensitive to people being angry or shouting at her. 

Once, her teacher at school shouted at her for talking in class and she ran straight to the Kazekage’s office crying. Gaara was furious. He hates when his children cry, so much. He let her stay with him for the rest of the day to calm her down, sending you a message to let you know he was looking after her. 

Gaara’s daughter visited him constantly, often bringing little lunchboxes of food for him, learning to new recipes constantly. 

Trying to surprise him, she develops a great skill in cooking. 

She decides, in the end, not to follow the shinobi route. She opens her own restaurant in Suna, charming customers with her amazing hostess skills and phenomenal cooking. 

She allows all her family to eat for free, but they all pay anyway, because they love to support her. Gaara, especially, always leaves a huge tip for her and her staff.

Gaara’s son is born five years after his daughter, another alpha, leaving Gaara very outnumbered, with both his siblings, his mate and his children all being alphas. 

Gaara’s son is very quiet and tactile. 

He loves cuddles and hugs but doesn’t speak very much. 

He enjoys spending time with Gaara in Gaara’s nest, despite not having nesting instincts of his own. 

Gaara’s son is very close to you and Gaara. He always tells you when something is bothering him, and although he doesn’t speak much, he chooses his words carefully and they always mean something.

He actually excels at shinobi school, both in academics and in sparring, and moves up the ranks quickly. He spends a lot of time training with Kankuro and gets into puppetry. 

Even when he becomes a jounin, he spends time with Gaara in his nest, still loving physical affection. 

Gaara enjoys hosting family gatherings for everyone, his daughter cooks loads of dishes for it, his son makes sure to take time off missions to attend, and sometimes Temari drags Shikamaru to Suna as well to join them all. 

Gaara smiles more often than not now, feeling so proud of the life he crafted for himself, and the family he worked hard to create.

(Phew! That was a lot! I hope you enjoyed, let me know what you thought and send me your own headcanons!!! <3)

[sakuramidnight15]

-FF OC Information-

[Gacha Club Mod Ver. Below]

Character Bio

Name: Kenichi Gaspard

(Japanese: ガスパール健一)

Romaji: Gasupāru Ken'ichi

Qoute: "Tch, get out of my way or you'll be messing with me."

V/A: Masami Itou (Japanese)

Gender: Male

Age: 20

Birthday: October 1

Star Sign: Libra

Eye Color: Maroon Red

Hair Color: Raven Black

Height: 187 cm

Race: Human

Species: High-Skilled Claymore

Homeland: Light Kingdom

Family: Tyrone Gaspard (Father)-(Deceased)

Safia Florentine (Mother)

Riana Florentine (Younger Sister)

Loin Gaspard (Uncle)

_____________________________________

Fun Facts

Dominant Hand: Ambidextrous

Favorite Color: Black, Maroon, Red, Grey, and White

Favorite Food: Dark Coffee, Anything that is edible to eat, Salty-flavored Food,

Least Favorite Food: Anything that is uneditable, Too Salty, Kale Tea, His uncle's cooking,

Likes: Supporting his family, Quiet Places, Sword training, Teaching anyone a lesson if you messed with him, His younger sister, His food souls, Yvette,

Dislikes: Increasing Workload, Judgmental People, His mother over-working (Mostly), His past (Mostly), His father's death (Mostly), His younger sister getting tormented to death by a 'woman' in the past (Mostly), Greed, Nobles, Anyone harming his family and Yvette (In secret for Yvette),

Hobbies: High-skilled Cooking, Taking Good Care of her Food Souls, Star gazing, Roasting someone, Playing the violin or piano with his sister, Malewife,

Talents: High IQ, Fast Memorization, Taking Good Care of her Food Souls, Fast Agility, Physical and Weaponry Self-defense and Strength, Stealth Master, Claymore Abilities,

Nicknames: Kenichi or Ken (From his family and friends, Mostly)

Master Attendant (From his food souls, Mostly)

Big Bro (From his younger sister)

Other Nicknames:

N/A

_____________________________________

Appearance and Personality

Appearance: Kenichi has a slender and muscular male body build, which it looks pretty average when looking at a distance. He has long and messy raven black hair which he ties it up into a single ponytail and has maroon red eyes. Kenichi is a very stern man with a rash attitude mixed with an intimidating behavior.

Personality: Kenichi is the eldest child and only son in his family, who lives in the decent part of the light kingdom. Apparently, he had a very difficult childhood before trauma came.

Ever since the death of his father while mother was six months pregnant with his sister inside of her tummy, both his mother and his uncle were having some difficulties for a stable living before his younger sister was born.

So instead of playing with the other kids outside a d making any friends, all he did was to ask his uncle if there's anything do to to get his mother to feel better and even helped his uncle on his work while his mother rested during her pregnancy, because he didn't want to lose another parent after his father's death.

After his younger sister was born and turned ten while he turned fifteen, there was a very traumatic event that permanently traumatized Kenichi and his sister eternally forever. He had never forgotten about it, ever.

The current Kenichi we are seeing is now cold with a rash attitude, isn't a fond of anyone who messed with him but can beat you up if you do something. In other simple words, a typical bad boy with an appearance of an ruthless devil and still has it after reaching to age twenty.

Despite his rash and cold attitude, he still offers support for his family and his younger sister who is recovering from the trauma event the siblings faced together, he doesn't like anyone who are judgemental at him and his family.

Deep inside of him... Is a completely different person than his usual bad boy attitude if you are now close to him. He is supportive, patient, and even an understanding person. Can be a capable house-husband or male wife. But can be a little tsundere about it while blushing.

This handsome yet rude guy... Surely, it's either he's easy or hard to handle with.

_____________________________________

Trivia

-The name 'Kenichi' can be written using different kanji characters and can mean: 賢一, "wise, one" 健一, "healthy, one". While his surname 'Gaspard' is primarily a male name of French origin that means Treasurer. Form of Jasper or Casper.

-He's based on a few characters. Ichigo Kurosaki (From Bleach), Sebastian Michaelis (From Black Butler), Inuyasha (From Inuyasha), Sasaki Inui (From Acchi Kocci), and Issei Hyoudou (From Highschool DxD).

-Has met Yvette after his incident, and of course he bullied slightly till they reached to adult. It soon to be revealed that he slightly regret it after having a crush on her later. Seems to be looking for a way to make it up to her.

-Isn't a fond of his past, all of it. He wouldn't mentioned it if you asked him about it.

-He knows how to handle house and restaurant work easily since he knows how to handle workload.

-His younger sister is currently recovering from the trauma she got. Kenichi and his food souls oftens visits her to make sure she's doing okay.

-His sister wanted Yvette and her brother to get together soon. Started to get impatient afterward, which Kenichi told him not to remind it.

-Seems to know about Yvette's left hand because his trauma event was on the same day for Yvette's incident with her left hand, but he doesn't know that Yvette's father was actually her adoptive father.

-His father had died in a explosion accident when he was seven. He was slightly jealous that some kids still have their fathers while he didn't.

-Some of his foods souls we're hoping for Kenichi to confess to Yvette soon, much to his dismay and embarrassment.

-He and his younger sister got involved in a kidnapping case by a noble woman, who didn't hesitate to verbally and physically abuse both of them after getting kidnapped, his younger and him nearly died from her but they were recused by their mother who had founded them.

-His voice sounds menacing and dark, still the same tone when getting angry. Which is why I chose Masami Itou to be his voice actor.

-Plays the violin and piano with passion when he plays with his sister.

-Typical tsundere.

-Knows how to handle his words at someone, he got it from his mother.

[phdmama]

ok the ask game you just reblogged is so cute i had to send you some 🥺 🥺

bicycle, bells, eyebags, fallen log

<3

oh my gosh, thank you anon!! :-D I don't think I've seen it going around before!

okay!

bicycle: what are you talented at?

well, dang, just leap in with the tough ones ha ha. Let's see. I think I'm... a good musician and I have a decent singing voice. I don't know if I am a talented writer per se, but I think I do okay with it sometimes (that's me trying really hard not to be self-deprecating!). I'm pretty good at math and statistics.

Just answered bells here!

eyebags: what do you think makes a person attractive?

Kindness and humor, absolutely. I like people with integrity and people who have stuff that they're super passionate about! I pretty much fell in love with my husband on our second date when we spent a couple of hours talking about philosophy like the GIANT NERDS we are.

In terms of like, physical stuff, my tastes are very broad, especially as I've gotten older. Self-confidence and an easy smile are pretty devestatingly sexy, honestly.

fallen log: something you’ve gotten over that you never thought you would

I'm gonna go ahead and put this under a cut because I'll be talking about some darker/hard topics (mental disorders, trauma, violence) so feel free to skip it if you want to!

So I have a pretty profound and difficult history of a whole bunch of psychiatric problems that can be probably be summed up as Complex PTSD stemming both from big-T trauma in my childhood coupled with some ways that my parents... made some mistakes, let's say. And I collected more trauma along the way, as one does.

It manifested in suicidal depression, alcohol abuse, self-harm from an early age, a life-threatening eating disorder, putting myself into terrible and unsafe situations and relationships, including a man who was regularly very very violent with me... I could go on and on, but I think you get the point.

I never thought I'd survive college. I never thought I'd recover from my ED. Or stop self-harming. Or come through my depression. And I did. I survived. Now, the depression stuff is never going to be gone, that's just brain chemistry at this point, but I'm so much better at managing it.

I don't self-harm anymore. Ever. I don't even want to. I sometimes struggle with body/food stuff but I do not starve myself and I do not purge, ever. And I don't want to. I have a life that's really big and full and messy and I live it. I love it. I have a family, a partner who loves me, friends who are so amazing and I'm so so lucky to have them.

So I guess essentially, I survived it all despite my own best efforts not to at times, and even the horrific trauma just... isn't a huge part of my day to day life. My life is really big and full and yeah, that's absolutely a piece of it, but I'm so thankful to be here, I try every single day to focus on my gratitude and my blessings because my life is really bountiful! If you'd told me in my early-mid twenties that I'd be here, able to live like this, I never ever would have believed you.

That's probably waaaay more info than you wanted ha ha! xox

[moiraineswife]

Jasnah - The Facade Meta

Today we’re going to discuss the stormlight of my life, your life, your cat’s life: Jasnah Kholin. Topics of discussion include (but will likely not be limited to): the face she wears, the effect her childhood and what we know if it has had on her, madness, her mother, her perceived invincibility, and whatever else strikes me as relevant in the midst of this chaotic clusterfuck of yelling tarted up as character analysis. 

Now. To business:

Let us begin at the beginning (of what we know) and talk about Jasnah’s childhood illness, and what this has done to her in terms of her relationship with her mother, her outlook on life, and her perception of, well, perception…

“It’s your daughter,” Dalinar guessed. “Her lunacy.”

“Jasnah is fine, and recovering. It’s not that.”  (OB, 49, Born Unto Light)

Peppered through Dalinar’s flashbacks in Oathbringer are small hints at the dark side of Jasnah’s childhood. We’ve had hints before that Jasnah’s life has not always been...entirely typical for a princess.

Her existence as a radiant was a hint itself, as it's implied most of them are ‘broken’ in some way.

The others are more obvious: Kaladin’s depression, Shallan’s PTSD, anxiety, and DID, Dalinar’s repressed memories, and alcoholism etc,etc.

With Jasnah, you know it has to be there, but it’s harder to see. To use Shallan’s metaphor, she’s like a cracked vase, but the cracked side has been turned to the wall, so the outside world sees only smooth perfection.

This flashback comment is the most obvious indication at what caused Jasnah to break. A fairly shocking one for a reader as 'Jasnah' and 'lunacy' seem to match as well as chasmfiends and tea parties.

It also provides some rather awful context for this segment a few chapters earlier:

“Something stirred deep within her. Glimmers of memory from a dark room, screaming her voice ragged. A childhood illness nobody else seemed to remember, for all it had done to her.

“It had taught her that people she loved could still hurt her.”   (O, 47, So Much Is Lost)

We know, given Shallan’s research into Taln at the behest of the Ghostbloods, that the current treatment for madness involves confining the person in darkness.

It seems like far too much of a coincidence that Jasnah, diagnosed with lunacy, would have memories of screaming herself hoarse in a dark room that could somehow be unconnected to this.

Based on my shoddy maths, she was around 11 or 12 at this point, which is marked by many, especially Navani, as a turning point in her life. There was a profound change in how she acted with those around her following this.

“She wouldn’t let me be a mother to her, Dalinar,” Navani said, staring into the distance. “Do you know that? It was almost like . . . like once Jasnah climbed into adolescence, she no longer needed a mother. I would try to get close to her, and there was this coldness, like even being near me reminded her that she had once been a child. What happened to my little girl, so full of questions?” (WoR, 67, Spit and Bile)

It seems like too much of a coincidence, again, to assume that Jasnah’s childhood illness and her confinement had nothing to do with her reluctance to allow Navani to mother her any more.

Jasnah herself reflects that her imprisonment, for lack of a better word, taught her that people she loved could still hurt her. It seems very likely that this refers to Navani and Gavilar, as they would have allowed this treatment to continue. It’s also likely the reason for the change in their relationship afterwards.

Navani's presence didn't remind her she had been a child; it reminded her of what had been done to her.

Navani’s little girl was branded insane and locked away in a dark room with her parents' consent. This removed her ability to trust in Navani to mother and protect her. She kept her distance, she kept herself aloof and removed from everyone, and that’s something that hasn’t changed over twenty years later.

She takes no wards, an expected thing for a woman of her rank. She's unmarried, well past the age she should be. She has no friends, the closest she has are both "pen pals" she communicates with via spanreed.

Jasnah, of all the characters in Stormlight, is the one least emotionally connected. She clearly loves her family, and is devoted to them...But again it's from a distance.

She works in the shadows with assassins to protect them. She studies the end of the world a world away from everyone she loves.

When we see her in Kharbranth for the first time with Shallan, she’s alone.

The servants she uses seem to belong to the Palaneum. She travels alone, she researches and works and bears her burdens alone.

The sole exception is Ivory and she doesn't really have a choice with him BUT to have him with her.

I am NOT suggesting that Jasnah doesn’t actually care about her family/Shallan - we see repeatedly that she absolutely does.

Poignantly, the first thing Renarin’s visions predict that turns out to be false is the lack of love that Jasnah has - they claim she will choose logic and kill her cousin, but she chooses to save him instead.

It’s clear that Jasnah cares very deeply...but she also deliberately distances herself, both physically and emotionally, from other people.

(continued below)

Jasnah is so independent that it’s almost a flaw. She’s an interesting opposite to Kaladin, in this regard.

Kaladin defines himself so much by those around him, his family, his men, those under his care and protection, that that almost becomes a flaw in him. He destroys himself to protect them, and every failure wrecks him.

Jasnah keeps everyone away. She operates alone, in secret, and she clearly struggles to let people get close to her.

The reasons for this are twofold, I feel.

The first one is assassins: Jasnah has been ‘killed’ by one such assassination attempt, has survived another, who made multiple attempts on her life in the form of Kabsal, and has almost certainly experienced more beyond that.

Her casual expectation that Kabsal is trying to use Shallan to get close to her, likely, though she doesn’t say it, to kill her - which turns out to be true.

She knows firsthand how easy it is for someone with enough money and influence to place spies and assassins into a setting- she does it herself all the time. And it resulted in the death of her father.

In a lot of ways, she’s as paranoid about assassination as Elhokar is - she just expresses it in a far more subtle/rational way. Where Elhokar rants and panics, Jasnah blocks up air vents and rejects rooms in the 90000 foot, lost for centuries, tower with balconies because they're a security flaw.

The second reason for her emotional isolation, I believe, is what caused her initial withdrawal from Navani.

Being believed mad, locked in a dark room, screaming for help and being ignored, and knowing that your parents, the people whom you went to with questions and looked to for safety and protection are at least partially responsible, all at the age of eleven is...fairly damaging.

Jasnah hides the effects of her trauma far better than Kaladin or Shallan. This is probably partially because she’s older and has been dealing with it for longer.

By this point, her trauma reactions (which went, by her own admission, unaddressed by her family after what happened, which is traumatising in itself), have melded in with her personality/are brushed off as simply Jasnah being Jasnah.  

“I know what people say of me. I should hope that I am not as harsh as some say, though a woman could have far worse than a reputation for sternness. It can serve one well.”  (TWoK, 8, Nearer the Flame).

As a matter of fact, we know full well that Jasnah ISN’T as harsh or stern as she’s claimed to be. Shallan repeatedly affirms to Kabsal, and to a reader, that Jasnah is not what she expected - a stern, harsh mistress. She also notes that Jasnah believes herself to be one - likely due to everyone else perceiving her that way.

I think the perception of Jasnah is one that she’s cultivated deliberately - a stern, aloof, even harsh person. Not one anyone would want to be close to. Also not someone anyone would associate with weakness, or needing to be cared for or protected.

More than assassins, I think Jasnah fears people who love her with good intentions, and the ability to assert those good intentions upon her, because it's "for her own good".

When she was a child it led to her imprisonment, something which still triggers traumatic flashbacks over ten years later. She fears having people she loves hurt her. And so she keeps them away, and cultivates for herself a presence that doesn’t need to be cared for, that almost doesn’t need or want to be loved, so that can never happen again.

She rejects, most notably and strongly, her mother, and any implication of a husband. This has led to speculation about her sexuality - maybe she’s gay - though it seems fairly acceptable in Alethkar for a person to be gay (they don’t even have to fill out social reassignment forms!). I

It might be more frowned upon in noble society, due to the expectation of forming political marriages, and while I don’t necessarily doubt it (give me queer Jasnah, Brandon, I beg of you, I’m a starving lesbian and I need this) the only commentary we have from Jasnah on the subject sems to suggest a different, sadder, motive:

Jasnah relaxed visibly. “Yes, well, it did seem a workable solution. I had wondered, however, if you’d be offended.”

“Why on the winds would I be offended?”

“Because of the restriction of freedom implicit in a marriage,” Jasnah said. “And if not that, because the offer was made without consulting you.

[...]

“It doesn’t bother you at all?” Jasnah said. “The idea of being beholden to another, particularly a man?”

“It’s not like I’m being sold into slavery,” Shallan said with a laugh.

“No. I suppose not.” Jasnah shook herself, her poise returning.

(WoR, 1, Santhid).

This is the only time, after an entire book of content in which Jasnah, amongst other things: Soulcasts three men into oblivion, is almost assassinated repeatedly, is betrayed by the first person she’s taken in and trusted in a long time, and is researching the literal end of the world, that Shallan notes Jasnah looking nervous/uncomfortable in discussing anything.

And it’s about marriage.

Jasnah views marriage as being a ‘restriction of freedom’ and finds it distasteful because it encompasses the idea ‘of being beholden to another’.

Anything that even implicitly binds her to another or puts them in her power is something she wants nothing to do with. And, legally, if she were ever to be accused of lunacy again, the two people most likely to have the authority to make a decision on her treatment/send her back to the ardents would be either a parent, or a husband.

The first she’s distanced herself from in pretty much every way since the first event, and the second she’s refused to entertain for years, to the point that high society whispers that she must be gay.

I also think she's uncomfortable because she sees what she did here - setting up a betrothal, which she views as a restriction of freedom - for Shallan, without consulting her, as the same thing that was done to her as a child.

A restriction of freedom for Shallan’s own good. The same justification that was used to imprison her. It's obviously not the same, but Jasnah views marriage as a kind of imprisonment. So in her mind it is.

Jasnah also has huge trust issues. She just covers them with what appears to be personality traits - of being independent, and aloof - but that’s largely just a cover for her own insecurities, and her fear of ever having her freedoms restricted again.

This idea also gives a little bit more of a twist (or dramatic gut punch, thanks Brandon), to her advice to Shallan about perception and power:

“Power is an illusion of perception.”

Shallan frowned.

“Don’t mistake me,” Jasnah continued. “Some kinds of power are real—power to command armies, power to Soulcast. These come into play far less often than you would think. On an individual basis, in most interactions, this thing we call power—authority—exists only as it is perceived.

“You say I have wealth. This is true, but you have also seen that I do not often use it. You say I have authority as the sister of a king. I do. And yet, the men of this ship would treat me exactly the same way if I were a beggar who had convinced them I was the sister to a king. In that case, my authority is not a real thing. It is mere vapors—an illusion. I can create that illusion for them, as can you.”  (WoR, 1, Santhid)

Jasnah is talking here with Shallan about being more confident, assertive, and being able to have people do what you want (Something Navani later notes Jasnah is very good at doing).

But I think Jasnah uses this same idea - the power of perception, as a defence mechanism against her trauma, a way to protect herself.

We dismiss her isolation as aloofness. We dismiss her lack of emotional reaction as a cornerstone of the "strong female character" trope. But I think it's deeper than that. Because Jasnah isn't ACTUALLY like that deep down. It's a perception she works very hard to achieve.

Jasnah uses logic in a similar way to how Shallan uses art and drawing, or how Kaladin uses training with the spear. It’s a distraction, a grounding technique, something she can calm herself with. It’s an anchor and a crutch all at the same time.

Jasnah is logical to a fault, to the point that it makes others see her as a monster lacking empathy. I don’t think, at any point in the last few books, we’ve seen Jasnah genuinely distressed/angry/displaying emotion to the point she’d be considered out of control.

Almost all the other POV characters have had moments of weakness/breakdowns/extremely poignant emotional displays. But not Jasnah. All we ever see from Jasnah is the controlled, cultivated perception that she wants us to see. Something which I think is rooted in her trauma.

Logic is the antithesis of lunacy. Rational thought is the direct counter to madness. If the whole world sees Jasnah as logical, utterly in control of herself, if that is the perception she has everyone believe at all times then she can’t be accused of madness again.

Madness, at least in Jasnah’s mind, is an outburst of excessive, uncontrolled emotion. It is the opposite of logic. It’s acting impulsively, without thought, based purely on emotions. Ivory supports this idea:

“Ivory, you think all humans are unstable.”

“Not you,” he said, lifting his chin. “You are like a spren. You think by facts. You change not on simple whims. You are as you are.”

She gave him a flat stare.

“Mostly,” he added. “Mostly. But it is, Jasnah. Compared to other humans, you are practically a stone!” (O, 39, Notes)

Even Ivory, who has been closer to Jasnah in recent years than anyone we know of in the series so far, characterises her this way.

She rejects this idea, telling Ivory that:

 “You call me logical,” Jasnah whispered. “It’s untrue, as I let my passions rule me as much as many.”  (O, 39, Notes)  I think this is true, she does let her passions rule her, but she doesn’t let anyone, even Ivory, see that from her.

That's deliberate. She deliberately makes herself out to be this logic-driven robot, with no feeling or passion.

To the world, Jasnah Kholin is the consummate scholar, the eternally logical thinker, untouched by empathy or feeling. This is how she wants them to think of her.

We know that it’s not true. We know that Jasnah is driven by emotions - her guilt at feeling like she failed Gavilar, her fear for what’s coming for the world, her love for her family, her true passion for scholarship and knowledge.

This is particularly notable when set against a character who exemplifies the opposite in so many ways: Kaladin.

“Yes. The answer is obvious. We need to find the Heralds.”

Kaladin nodded in agreement.

“Then,” Jasnah added, “we need to kill them.”

“What?” Kaladin demanded. “Woman, are you insane?”

“The Stormfather laid it out,” Jasnah said, unperturbed. “The Heralds made a pact. When they died, their souls traveled to Damnation and trapped the spirits of the Voidbringers, preventing them from returning.”

“Yeah. Then the Heralds were tortured until they broke.”

“The Stormfather said their pact was weakened, but did not say it was destroyed,” Jasnah said. “I suggest that we at least see if one of them is willing to return to Damnation. Perhaps they can still prevent the spirits of the enemy from being reborn. It’s either that, or we completely exterminate the parshmen so that the enemy has no hosts.” She met Kaladin’s eyes. “In the face of such an atrocity, I would consider the sacrifice of one or more Heralds to be a small price.”

“Storms!” Kaladin said, standing up straight. “Have you no sympathy?”

“I have plenty, bridgeman. Fortunately, I temper it with logic.”  (O, 39, Notes)

Ah, the old ‘punt the Heralds back to Damnation to buy us time’ argument. Lovely.

Jasnah and Kaladin are at two different ends of the sympathy-logic spectrum and it was kind of inevitable they’d clash. But I think it makes Jasnah’s assertions more...Stark and shocking, when she pitches them to Kaladin.

What she suggests IS logical. And it’s actually the same sort of logic that led the Heralds themselves to abandon Taln to Damnation in the first place: “better that one man should suffer than ten.”

It’s a cold, harsh, brutal logic, and it’s very typical of how Jasnah likes to present herself when she’s speaking to others.

The killing of the footpads in Kharbranth is another prime example - it’s all cold, dissected logic when she reasons through it with Shallan afterwards. (Though I imagine if we saw Jasnah’s POV of it in the moment, it would be very different than what she presents).

Because what I find most interesting about the Heralds argument is that we get Jasnah, just Jasnah, away from anyone who has to view her performance of perception, reflecting on the situation. And her internal thoughts/her private reactions are very different from those she displays in public.

“These words trouble you,” he said, stepping up to her again and resting his jet-black fingers on the paper. “Why? You have read many troubling things.”

[...]

Something stirred deep within her. Glimmers of memory from a dark room, screaming her voice ragged. A childhood illness nobody else seemed to remember, for all it had done to her.

It had taught her that people she loved could still hurt her.

“Have you ever wondered how it would feel to lose your sanity, Ivory?”

Ivory nodded. “I have wondered this. How could I not? Considering what the ancient fathers are.”

“You call me logical,” Jasnah whispered. “It’s untrue, as I let my passions rule me as much as many. In my times of peace, however, my mind has always been the one thing I could rely upon.”

Except once.

She shook her head, picking up the paper again. “I fear losing that, Ivory. It terrifies me. How would it have felt, to be these Heralds? To suffer your mind slowly becoming untrustworthy? Are they too far gone to know? Or are there lucid moments, where they strain and sort through memories … trying frantically to decide which are reliable and which are fabrications…”

She shivered.  (O, 39, Notes).

In an ironic (fuck you Brandon) twist: I think Jasnah knows EXACTLY what she’s suggesting they do to the Heralds. She’s also probably the person in that room who has the most experience with/has contemplated most what they would be condemning them to, and who therefore empathises with them the most.

It’s STRONGLY implied in this passage that Jasnah has experienced some sort of hallucinations in the past. Possibly this is connected to some kind of neurodivergence. I think this more likely than the alternative - that she was seeing into Shadesmar, because I believe that her imprisonment was what caused her to ‘break’ and enabled her to form her spren bond in the first place. But it’s possible. 

Regardless of what’s happened in the past, now, Jasnah’s mind is her sanctuary. If she only ever knows one thing it’s her own mind. She’s a rationalist. She puts her faith in things that she can know intuitively, via logic, like maths - things that exist independently of god, that cannot be doubted. Their truth is tied to their very existence. All that's required to know it is to know her own mind and reason. Losing that is quite literally the worst thing she can think of.

And honestly? Taln’s story probably really fucks with her. Because what he went through is what she went through, too, as a child.

Taln was dismissed as a madman, because no one believed what he said, even though it was true. Truth doesn’t matter; not when it comes to being perceived mad. Nor does being right. Taln was telling the truth. Taln was right. Taln was a goddamn Herald. And they still decided he was mad and locked him away in a dark room, alone, the same way they did to her.

Jasnah knows what that feels like. Jasnah empathises with Taln and the other Heralds more than probably anyone else. But she speaks of condemning these people to that fate, to the greatest hell she can think of, calmly, and rationally. But that’s absolutely not what she really feels/thinks. There is...Such a stark difference, when you really sit and think about it, in the Jasnah that she lets everyone see, and the Jasnah that exists only behind closed doors.

She could see Jasnah’s face, hand against her temple, staring at the pages spread before her. Jasnah’s eyes were haunted, her expression haggard.

This was not the Jasnah that Shallan was accustomed to seeing. The confidence had been overwhelmed by exhaustion, the poise replaced by worry. Jasnah started to write something, but stopped after just a few words. She set down the pen, closing her eyes and massaging her temples. A few dizzy-looking spren, like jets of dust rising into the air, appeared around Jasnah’s head. Exhaustionspren.

Shallan pulled back, suddenly feeling as if she’d intruded upon an intimate moment. Jasnah with her defenses down. (WoR, 6, Terrible Destruction).

The text itself characterises Jasnah’s mask as a defence. A defence against being known, a defence against being seen as anything other than perfectly logical. Having this mask so firmly and so constantly in place is a lot of work. It’s almost a compulsion for her at this point - the refusal to let anyone else in, the strict adherence to logic, regardless of her own feelings or how it makes others see her. Better to be emotionless and in control, utterly, unquestionably sane and rational, than to ever go back to being considered mad.

This, ironically, isn't rational behaviour. It's a trauma response. I'm stating this, the idea that being emotionless/always rational prevents anyone viewing her as insane again (though, again ironically, this is exactly what Kaladin accuses her of being (OUCH)). But I think these are facts in Jasnah's mind? It's her coping mechanism. It's a really bad one. But that's what it is.

As an interesting side note - I think the only time we ever see Jasnah draw emotion spren is when she’s on her own (or assumes she’s on her own, as in this passage, or too exhausted to keep them away entirely - like the single fearspren she draws later in this chapter).

This feels notable because every other character who features in the books, even minor side characters, draws emotion spren of one sort or another at some point in the text.

Jasnah, for all that she’s on screen, draws very little. This may be a function of her ability to tap into Shadesmar, to keep them away, remove any trace of emotion spren from spawning around her. That or she just has such a tight hold on her emotions that she doesn’t draw them.

Either way, I think it’s (another) sign that her behaviour isn’t entirely natural. Spren are everywhere on Roshar, you draw them when you feel a powerful emotion - that’s a natural day-to-day occurrence there.

Unless you’re Jasnah.

Maybe that’s straying a little too far into the realms of what’s reasonable, but I do still think that Jasnah’s output, especially when it contrasts, often very strongly, with her internal feelings, is a coping mechanism/a response to the trauma she endured as a child.

Madness is a fairly strong theme in Stormlight, a few of the characters discuss it/experience it. Syl asks Kaladin fairly directly what it is:

“What is madness?” she asked, sitting with one leg up against her chest, vaporous skirt flickering around her calves and vanishing into mist.

“It’s when men don’t think right,” Kaladin said, glad for the conversation to distract him.

“Men never seem to think right.”

“Madness is worse than normal,” Kaladin said with a smile. “It really just depends on the people around you. How different are you from them? The person that stands out is mad, I guess.” *(TWOK)��

Dalinar’s TWOK arc deals very strongly with madness and the ability to trust your own mind. Taln is, as has been noted, locked away for being mad. Several of the Heralds and the Fused are described as mad after what they've been put through. It's something I expect to be explored further as the series progresses.

Jasnah, I think, is the character who tries so hard never to seem that way. Never to be unhinged, or unbalanced, or affected by what's happened to her. But of course we know that she is.

I think, though, that it’s easy to write off Jasnah's trauma. The other characters all have flaws that are very obvious/things that make them obviously ‘broken’ in terms of their spren bond and the oaths they need to speak.

Kaladin suffers from depression, and from crippling guilt, and taking on too much responsibility. But also with his anger, and his hatred towards those who have wronged him, and how that can push him to blame them/avoid responsibility for what’s happened to him. Basically, his inability to let go or move forwards.

Shallan has the opposite problem, and an inability to look back/face the past. She repressed memories of trauma, and wove lies over them to protect herself, which she had to overcome to progress.

Dalinar had his alcoholism, and prior to that, his ‘addiction’ (which I think is absolutely how it’s written/the parallels are pretty obvious) to The Thrill. He had to accept responsibility, and guilt, and grief, and pain. He had to acknowledge that he had been a bad person, who was not worthy of Evi, but also that he’s capable of change, and improving himself, and becoming a better man.

Their trauma responses are loud, and obvious, and messy. They're aware of them, a reader is aware of them, the other characters are aware of them. "They stand out" if you like.

Jasnah does everything she can to ensure the effects of her trauma never stand out. To the point that other characters fairly consistently characterise Jasnah as perfect/an ideal woman.

I’m NOT saying that the text ACTUALLY presents Jasnah as being perfect/without any flaws (that’s...that’s kinda the point of this entire meta) but the characters gloss over these things/her flaws are perceived as good things?

She’s seen as so aloof, so unflappable, so commanding, and in control. She’s highly intelligent, she’s beautiful, she’s a cunning tactician and politician. Shallan claims that she’s almost always right, which Renarin backs up. Dalinar trusts and respects her, and wants her back at the war camps to aid them. She’s a highly revered scholar, respected, and brilliant. She is, in a way, almost beyond human, let alone being flawed or broken like the rest of them.

Jasnah grimaced at the thought. Shallan was always surprised to see visible emotion from her. Emotion was something relatable, something human—and Shallan’s mental image of Jasnah Kholin was of someone almost divine. (WoR, 1, Santhid).

Shallan reflects that seeing her as divine is a weird way to consider a heretic, and we’re kind of led along into that thread. But it’s also very...Othering?

It’s a “positive” kind of othering: she’s divine/superhuman, that’s great! Only it’s...It’s not? It’s so easy to see Jasnah as beyond human, and that makes us forget what she’s endured, and ignore the walls she’s put up and the profound effect that it’s had on her. And the fact that this is not healthy at all.

It's so unhealthy to be put on a pedestal this way. And it's unhealthy to cultivate a persona that makes the only response to you one that sees you as beyond human/without typical human reactions and emotions?

Shallan can be a bit whimsical and can romanticise/idealise people, but even Navani, another deeply scholarly, rational, and logical thinker, categorises Jasnah in a similar way.

She’s dismissive of the idea that Jasnah can have died. Even when others (like Adolin) start getting worried about the ship’s delay, Navani is sure that Jasnah is fine.

Part of this is, I assume, due to the fact that Jasnah is a radiant and, as the Diagram predicts, they survive when they should have been killed - so Navani has had this idea reinforced with empirical evidence over the years, which is noted in the text.

However, when Shallan first brings her the news of Jasnah’s death she refuses to believe it. Even after Shallan tells Navani she watched Jasnah stabbed through the heart, Navani still refers to her as being ‘unconscious’ (which...is actually correct, in this instance) but that is besides my point: regardless of reason or logic, people presume that Jasnah is beyond such mortal, trivial, human things like death:

‘Though Jasnah had been away for some time, her loss was unexpected. I, like many, assumed her to be immortal.’

If she’s beyond death, she’s certainly beyond something like trauma, or being broken, or damaged.

“You’re still human,” Shallan said, reaching across, putting her hand on Navani’s knee. “We can’t all be emotionless chunks of rock like Jasnah.”

Navani smiled. “She sometimes had the empathy of a corpse, didn’t she?”

“Comes from being too brilliant,” Shallan said. “You grow accustomed to everyone else being something of an idiot, trying to keep up with you.”

[...]

How surreal it was to imagine Jasnah as a child being held by a mother. (Wor, 77, Trust).

More ‘othering’, less positive than the divine, but it clearly categorises Jasnah as something other than human, and in this case, it fixates on her lack of (perceived) emotion.

Jasnah has so defined herself by her lack of emotional response to things that even those closest to her -her ward and her mother - view her as emotionless, like a rock, a corpse, dead. Ivory also says this in a previous quote “you are like spren” / “you are practically a stone.” Jasnah is categorised as strong, invulnerable to emotion, beyond human, something other. 

Though Jasnah, as she herself admits, makes decisions based on emotion.

For all that she says about pursuing the footpads in Kharbranth as purely an act of logic/civic duty, I think you can sense the emotion in that moment.

“Besides, men like those…” There was something in her voice, an edge Shallan had never heard before.

What was done to you? Shallan wondered with horror. And who did it? (TWOK, 36, The Lesson)

Shallan can sense it. This is the point where Jasnah’s mask is at its most strong. She defends, calmly and rationally, what she had done. But I think at this point Shallan, and the reader, gets the sense that when Jasnah is her MOST logical and composed, she’s also her most vulnerable and emotional.

She does the same thing in the scene with Kaldin discussing the fates of the Heralds - yet we actually see later, not just through Shallan, the emotions, and the turmoil, and the direct, traumatic flashbacks Jasnah is experiencing in that moment. All covered up with logic and reason.

I think what Brandon is doing with Jasnah is really clever. Because I think media has conditioned us to accept these cold, aloof characters.

Characters who have become hardened to the world, and numbed by their experiences with violence and trauma. So we accept these things more readily as personality traits/a symptom of modern media.

I think especially with female characters. The "strong female character" who isn't allowed to cry lest she be called hysterical, who can't react to trauma or she's weak, who can't have an outburst of emotion or she's mad.

With Jasnah, I think Brandon is continuing to show how trauma expresses itself differently in different people. And I think, once explored more directly, Jasnah will become a condemnation of the easy acceptance/idealisation of these kinds of traits. What she’s doing is not okay. It’s not healthy. It’s as self-destructive as what Shallan, or Kaladin, or Dalinar was doing, we've just been conditioned to accept and even praise it.

Jasnah has so much pressure piled upon her to be perfect. She’s made an illusion so believable even those closest to her can’t see through it. She comes across as divine, as something other than human, as emotionless, and absolute. She’s become a constant in the world of those around her. She’s a law of nature more than a person - like a spren.

Except she’s not.

She’s human.

And she’s broken.

And she’s suffering a trauma that makes her afraid to be even a little bit human - because then they might think her mad again, and she’ll lose everything, and she can’t handle that.

I’m FASCINATED to see Jasnah’s interactions (if we get any on-screen) with Taln and Ash. It will probably give a big insight into her character, her relation to madness/her past illness, and I think it will bring out an interesting side of her, which I’m curious to see.

But I'm also really interested to see how Brandon explores the idea of the "ideal traumatised woman' and how that's absolutely bullshit and completely unhealthy.

Jasnah is, on the surface, everything men demand from a "strong female character". She's been exposed to trauma but she doesn't "let it define her" (ie she doesn't seemingly react to it at all). She's beautiful, and she's intelligent, she's a (literal) Queen, she's a fighter/skilled warrior, she's never "overly-emotional" - she reacts to trauma exactly as she's "supposed" to - as defined by men, she's the epitome of a stereotypical "strong female character".

Except there are obvious flaws in that ideal. The first one being: she does not exist for men. Fairly obviously. She point blank refuses a husband.

Also: it's been implied, as per this meta, that this is NOT an ideal anyone should aim for. It's actually very unhealthy and self-destructive and I really, REALLY hope that when Brandon finally digs into Jasnah that this is something he explores.

Jasnah is not perfect. She is not unbreakable, and invincible, and beyond emotion. And she shouldn't be. She shouldn't be idealised.

She's a person. A human being. And she should be able to express herself and process her trauma in a healthy way that allows her to heal and grow. She shouldn't be forced into anyone's ideal of who or what she should be.

I'm just...Really really excited for Jasnah's arc and what Brandon can say through her and the harmful tropes regarding women's trauma he can explore and god...can I just have the next six stormlight books now please?

[juupajaa]

Apparently you're some kind of recovery goddess so I wanted to ask you about this. I got my ED in my teens, like most people, but I never actually developed a sex drive. I'm now in my twenties and I recently got help, and I was just wondering whether it actually develops later on if I recover? I mean, I don't mind, but just wondering if it would change. Do you know anything about this? Thanks lots in advance x

Yes I am in fact a recovery goddess, welcome! Your question is so large that I can't give you any straightforward answer but I can give you neat factoids to think about.

EDs do have a very real link to sexuality and sex drive. It's not present in everyone's ED but it is common to have a connection there, especially with EDs that start in our teens or childhood aka the early stages of sexual development.

There's at least two major ways your ED and sexuality can connect that I can think of and they can both be present at the same time:

One: Anxiety about puberty and becoming sexually mature (aka an adult). Growing up too fast, feeling unready to become an adult, fearing the adult expectations and experiences etc. These feelings are very common among EDs, and from what I've seen, especially in anorexia. Whether it's conscious or not, people can form an ED to freeze themselves in whatever age they currently are, as if to stop the process of growing up to be an independent adult. I've even heard speculation from evolutionary psychology that this (sabotaging your sexual health) could be a very old mechanism to prevent unwanted pregnancies. A desire to be taken care of, to be looked after like a child is also common here. Things like being viewed as a sexual being, attractive to others, and even to feel attraction to others can feel frightening and lead to an ED forming. Of course, other factors play into EDs as well and it's never as simple as just one thing.

Two: Sabotaging your desirability after a bad sexual experience, shaming around sexuality, or even sexual abuse and trauma. This is commonly reported among all kinds of ED sufferers. Trying to make yourself look unattractive to the general population, whether it is skeletal, or obese, is a way to protect yourself from further mistreatment, and to repel sexual advances or shaming. This is of course very harmful to your relationship with your own sexuality and body image, but it's a coping mechanism people can develop when they don't receive proper support after bad experiences.

Of course, there's a chance your ED had nothing to do with your sexuality, as there are people with EDs who have healthy sex lives and sexualities. It could be that you're simply not there yet and need more time to explore your sexuality, or perhaps you're somewhere in the asexual spectrum. There are a lot of ways things might fall in your personal case, so I recommend you think about your feelings and experiences and how they connect to your ED, if they connect at all.

For reference, I'm 27 and I still can't for the life of me see myself having sex with anybody, although I am getting more comfortable with the idea every year that goes by. Healing from my ED definitely helped me to start seeing myself as an adult who is in fact sexually mature and that it is fine. It doesn't mean I have to do anything I don't want to, but I shouldn't try to stop myself from being an adult or hurting myself for being one.

Good luck in recovery! It's time for a lot of soul searching and learning and I hope you take your time with it. Take all the help you're offerend with an open mind and dig deep. I learned so much about myself in recovery, about who I am and what I want and fear, and it has helped me to become more secure and independent than I ever thought I could be. It's a long and hard process but the rewards are so massive that it really is worth the pain.

[ttttaehyungie]

masked | myg x reader

masked | min yoongi x reader oneshot

☘  pairing | min yoongi x vigilante superhero!reader ☘  genre | college au, superhero au, humor, romance ☘  rating | NC-17 ☘  word count | 5.2k ☘  warnings | swear words, major violence/fight scenes, some childhood trauma, sexual humor (it’s like,,, one word but i’ll just tag it anyway) ☘  summary | Between academics in the day and crime-fighting at night, and your dumb rivalry with that one pain-in-the-ass, fellow vigilante Vulture, you simply don’t have time for dating. But, damn, is it hard when your partner for project work is as cute as he is. ☘  a/n | y’aaallllll this was so enjoyable to write :’) I hope you all have as much fun reading as I did writing this!

Submitted as part of BWC’s 1st Anniversary Contest.

A fist flies towards your face. You dodge leftwards. You grab the hooligan’s arm where it lingers in the air from the failed punch. Twist. He yelps. But you show no mercy. You hold tight to his arm and spin sharply on your feet. Using the momentum from your movement, you throw him over your shoulder. Thud.

He’s dazed. You seize the chance to kick him over onto his front. Locking his arms behind him, you pin him down with a knee as you fumble around in your backpack for the ropes to bind him.

A giddy excitement bubbles up, effervescent in your chest. Finally! After weeks of failed attempts, you’re so close to a solid capture. It’s just a pickpocket; small fry, really. But it’s a capture nonetheless.

Just as long as- you peek upwards to check- ok. It seems you’re in the clear. Vulture isn’t here. Wait-

Something rustles to your right. You jump in shock.

The thug takes advantage of the shift in your weight. He wrestles his arms free and pushes himself up, and you go tumbling off him. Before you can recover, he’s already sprinting off into the distance. No! He’s getting away!

In panicked desperation, you raise a hand and shoot out a force field. Dumb move. It only boosts him forward, aiding his escape. Ugh. Your victory slips like sand through your fingers.

Crack. A flash of blue pops into the middle of the street.

You roll your eyes. Part of you is relieved that the thief is not getting away. But for the most part? Unbridled annoyance.

You slump back on the ground to watch Vulture teleport in, capture the thief that you’d spent the last twenty minutes pursuing, and teleport out. All under two minutes.

Just as he’s been doing for the last few weeks. Damn. When will you ever catch a break?

“Rough night?”

Seems like your stifled yawn was not concealed well enough. Feeling slightly self-conscious, you shoot him a sheepish smile.

“Yeah. Busy fighting those assignments, y’know.”

He hums in understanding. “Let’s take a five minute break. I’m getting tired too.”

You nod. Yoongi stretches his arms out above his head and leans to the side to get in a good side stretch. Meanwhile, you avert your eyes. The sliver of skin that peeks out from where his shirt rides up has your cheeks growing warm.

“I’m gonna fill my bottle,” you announce, getting up from your shared table. “Do you want anything?”

“I’m good. Thanks.”

The water fountain is just outside the library, but the short walk from the discussion pod and back is enough for you to shake off the drowsy haze you were in. By the time you return to the tiny room- they really weren’t kidding when they called it a pod- the spring is back in your step.

Yoongi looks up as you step back into the room and flashes you a smile. It’s small, but disarming as hell. Your heartbeat picks up.

“Recharged and ready to fight this project?” he jibes.

Right. The project. The project that you’re paired up for, literally for no other reason than sheer convenience. You just happened to be sitting next to each other when it was announced. But it’s fine. You’re chill, Yoongi’s chill. And that’s why you knew it was ok to just turn to him and ask, “Wanna pair up?”

The project is the only reason the two of you are talking. It’s not that you didn’t have any other opportunity to. Not at all. You’re both in the same course and you live in the same dorm.

And it’s not that you dislike the guy. In fact, far from it. If you’re being totally honest, Yoongi is 100% your type. Chill, and a laidback sense of humor with his light jokes. And not to mention, real easy on the eyes. With his platinum blonde hair- his dark roots just beginning to peek through- and striking eyes, all topped off with that heartstopping smirk of his, there is only one conclusion to be drawn. Yoongi is objectively attractive.

You’ve acknowledged this the moment you set your eyes on him at your dorm orientation tour. His blonde hair was freshly bleached at that point and pulled back in a snapback, showing off the bold, black brows that complemented his sharp, feline eyes.

It was uncontrollable. He’s just the kind of attractive that exerts a magnetic pull on your gaze, drawing you in relentlessly no matter how many times you avert your eyes.

And the kind of attractive that makes you lose track of what’s happening. You realized belatedly that you’d zoned out from the tour.

“-survival tips. Make sure you collect your laundry from the dryer promptly. One, because people who hog the machines are inconsiderate assholes. Two, because the dorm cat has a habit of stealing socks and underwear. So unless you like the idea of your unmentionables as surprise gifts for your neighbors- in which case, you’re a psychopath-, please just collect your laundry on time.”

A quick glance at the group around you confirmed that you’re not the only one bewildered by Jin’s words.

“Oh!” Jin’s voice cut through the buzz of confusion. “Just one last thing. There’s a strict no dating rule between the RA and students. I know, I know. It’s hard resisting this gorgeous face. But let’s all give it our best attempt, alright?”

You remember scoffing internally at Jin’s words. There’s just one simple rule you have for yourself in college. No dating.

Between your studies in the day and crime-fighting at night, you simply don’t have the time for it.

And it’s this same rule you have to remind yourself of as you tear your eyes away from the sight of Yoongi casually running his hand through his hair as he contemplates the project.

Just one last loop and- fuck. Did the loser call for backup? You drop the ropes to throw up a force field. The aluminum bat gets flung off into the distance, careening off your invisible force field. Thank god you heard the heavy footsteps approaching. You’ve been on the receiving end of baseball bat attacks, and let’s just say you’ve come to empathize greatly with baseballs after that experience.

You swivel to face him. Block his hook. Uppercut. The thug staggers backwards, clutching his jaw.

There’s movement in your periphery. The first guy has disentangled himself from the ropes. You spot him just as he breaks into a run. Shit. He’s escaping.

A kick lands itself in your side, sending you to the ground. Snap. A cold sense of dread fills the pit of your stomach as the visual of your wrist bent at an awkward angle registers in your mind. The tingling pain blooms as you shake it out.

But you don’t have time to take care of that right now. You’ll have to rely on the adrenaline to keep you going.

You take a second to check if your mask is still in place- alright, you’re good. Turning your attention back to the asshole that attacked you, you fix him with a glare. Before this, it was just a moral obligation to stand against lawlessness. Now, it’s personal.

You recover into a squat. Swipe a kick at his feet. He lands heavily. From his crumpled position on the ground, he makes a grab for you. But you shoot out a force field. The wind’s knocked out of him with the way he’s sandwiched between your blow and the hard asphalt.

Your kick is unnecessarily hard as you roll him onto his front. But an eye for an eye, y’know.

Learning from your earlier mistakes, you tie this one up swiftly.

“Ooh, kinky,” he mutters.

Your sharp retort sits tantalizingly on the tip of your tongue. But it’s too risky to speak. It’s far easier to get recognized by your voice than one would think. You would know. Even after over a decade, the memory of that gravelly voice still haunts you.

“I guess we’re doing this the hard way.” Smash! “I repeat. Where’s the safe?!”

No, you’ll never be able to forget it.

The thug beneath you grunts as you tug the knot extra tight. He deserves it anyway.

Now here’s the only part you hate about successful captures- lugging the offenders to the police station. It’s times like this you really wish you had a different superpower; superstrength, or superspeed, or, dare you say it, teleportation. You’ve considered using your force fields to lob the criminals forward, but all superpowers have their limits. It takes too much out of you to do that and you’ll be too drained to get back to the dorm by the end of it.

And so, with little care for how unglamorous it looks, you drag the thug all the way to the police station two blocks down.

It’s as you’re nearing the station, tasting the sweet relief of your task finally coming to an end, that you hear it- crack. The flash of blue pops up right before the station.

If it weren’t for the flash of blue and prominent crack sound, you wouldn’t have noticed him. Dressed head to toe in black- much like your own get-up-, Vulture manifests out of nowhere, together with a burly, scar-faced man. The other thug from earlier.

This is the closest you’ve been to Vulture. Before this, you’ve only ever seen him in the distance as he pops in to pick up your thugs and pops back out. But now, you’re close enough to pick up on the narrow gold trim that subtly lines his otherwise midnight black mask.

The thug in your hands groans at the sight of his accomplice having been caught. Vulture’s head whips towards you, finally alerted to your presence. Hurriedly, he drops ol’ scarface at the doorstep of the station and teleports out.

Damn, looks like you’ll be playing ding dong ditch by yourself again tonight.

Depositing the thug next to his accomplice, you thump on the door of the station twice and sprint back into the cover of the night.

The pain is truly setting in now. The adrenaline from earlier is all gone and there’s nothing sedating the pain. As if indignant from being ignored, the gnawing pain in your wrist comes biting back now with a vengeance.

But you’re already on campus grounds, so it’s just one more dash across the green, skirt stealthily around the building, up the tree to your second-storey dorm room, and you’ll be home free.

Your wrist throbs. At this point, you crave nothing more than to be showered and tucked into your bed in your jammies. Exhaustion from the entire ordeal laces your bones as you sneak your way back to the dorm.

Ok, it’s just round the corner now and- your heart leaps in your chest when you spot the shadow. Shit. In your impatience you’ve become complacent. You spin to identify the source and oh, thank god. It’s just the dorm cat skulking around in the quiet of the night.

Climbing the tree into your room has never been the easiest thing, but it’s made ten times harder with your wrist out of commission. But somehow, you manage it.

After a quick shower, you head to the shared kitchen to grab some ice for your wrist. You opt to leave the kitchen lights off, the shroud of darkness like a comforting blanket.

“Fancy seeing you awake.”

You jolt. Oh. Yoongi. You weren’t really banking on anyone else being awake.

“I could say the same to you,” you say, hand over your heart. “What are you doing up? It’s three am.”

He raises his water jug in reply. “What about you?”

“Lost track of time doing assignments,” you make up on the fly. “And then I tripped over my books in my sleepy state and busted my wrist.”

“Oh damn,” he says, hoisting himself off where he was leaning against the counter. “Can I take a look?”

His fingers are gentle as they turn your wrist to examine the damage. You try not to stare at how long and pretty they are. How is this even fair? How is it that even his fingers are attractive?

“It’s pretty swollen.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Let me get you an ice pack.”

You don’t trust your voice, so you just nod, and move to sit.

He digs out someone’s bag of frozen peas and places it gently over your wrist where it lays on the table. The next fifteen minutes is spent in quiet conversation. Despite his quiet exterior, you discover that Yoongi is surprisingly easy to talk to. Of course, you’ve talked to him during your project meetings. But the content of your conversations then are largely restricted to the task at hand.

But here, in the midnight darkness, you find that the hushed words and laughter flow with such easy chemistry, and you desperately try not to fall any harder for him.

You take the peas- half-melted and dripping now- and dump it on the table. Wiping your wrist off on your shirt, you retrieve your bandage from your pocket and attempt to tie it yourself as Yoongi watches.

“Need help?” he offers.

“M’fine,” you reply distractedly.

“Really?”

Your family’s always lamented your obstinate nature, and you guess it’s not baseless.

Yoongi’s hand grasps yours. “Let me.”

Before your hand starts shaking from the nervous energy that’s growing in you, you let go of the bandage resignedly.

His expression is plain as he binds your wrist, as if this is a daily occurrence for him. Maybe it is. His movements look practiced, and the bandage is just tight enough that it restricts movement without cutting off blood circulation.

“You’re good at this,” you say. “Is there some secret side to you that you’re not revealing?”

He laughs a little. “I used to play basketball, and injuries were really common.”

You watch in fascination at the expert movements of his hands. Tucking the end of the bandage in, he pats your newly bandaged wrist lightly.

“All done.”

“Thanks, Yoongi.”

“Take care of yourself. I still need you alive for our project.”

Accompanying the usual morning bleariness that plagues you whenever you have just woken up, this morning it’s coupled with a dull ache in your wrist. Right. Your sprained wrist.

Shifting carefully to avoid placing any weight on your injured arm, you sit up to inspect the dressing. It’s a little mussed up, but its structural integrity is largely intact. Good, you won’t have to redo the bandaging then.

Or worse still, ask Yoongi to patch you up again.

Memories of the dimly lit kitchen come back to you, the faint glow of the corridor lights falling on the contours of his face, the high planes illuminated in an orange luminescence.

In the low light, the way his hands moved as they wrapped your wrist up wasn’t any less elegant and entrancing. The pressure that it exerted on your tender flesh was gentle, taking care not to aggravate the swollen injury.

Fuck. As if you weren’t already having a hard time holding off your feelings for him. Feelings had been bubbling up in you ever since orientation and they grew ever more persistent with each project meeting.

Why did he have to be attractive and nice? It would have been much simpler if he were just an asshole. But no, his personality just had to be as attractive as his appearance, didn’t it?

You stretch to work out the residual sleepiness, but your right rib aches in protest. Lifting your shirt and inspecting it in the mirror, a purplish bruise greets you. That sidekick really did a number on you.

Mornings like this really make you think twice about your decision to walk down the vigilante path. Mornings when the twinging pain of injuries sustained and the fatigue from having spent half the night patrolling the streets is just a little too much to bear. Mornings like this really have you wondering if you should just give it up for a normal college student’s life.

It’s truly tempting. The prospect of getting more than three hours of sleep per night is so delicious. Cuts and bruises would be a rarity. And the fluttery feeling of having a crush on a cute guy wouldn’t have to be marked as a distraction and suppressed into oblivion anymore. You want it. So much. Mornings like this, you really want to call it quits.

But your memory prevents you from doing so.

The way your mum’s hand trembled around yours as she urgently pulled you to the backroom is seared into your mind forever. Even now, your hand quivers.

Her eyes are wide with fear as she whispers, “Stay quiet.”

“The supers will be here soon, right, mum?” you ask.

“That’s right, ____.” She tucks your hair behind your ear with a shaky hand. “We just have to wait for the supers to get here.”

With that, she closes the door and the darkness envelops you. The padlock clicks just outside the door.

“Where’s the safe?” A gruff voice asks. Shivers trail down your spine.

“The cops are on their way,” you can hear your dad respond. Pride fills you at his bravery. “Look, you don’t have to do this. You can walk away right now and-”

“I guess we’re doing this the hard way.” Smash! “I repeat. Where’s the safe?!”

You can hear your mum’s pleas between hiccuped sobs.

“Well if you’re not going to tell me,” the voice continues, “I’ll just have to use brute force.”

More destruction ensues. You wince with every crash, keeping a lid on the whimpers that threaten to escape you. Where are the cops?! Where are the supers?!

“A locked door. Is that an indication of something?” The voice is close now; only the door stands between you.

Bam! The door before you rattles violently. You, too, shake in fear.

“I’ll tell you where it is!” Your dad panickedly relents. “The safe. I’ll tell you where the safe is.”

“Glad you changed your mind, old man.” The footsteps retreat.

And as you emerged from the room later that night, your nine-year-old eyes taking in the wreckage and the distinct absence of help from the police or from the supers that supposedly kept your city safe, your dreams shattered just like the glass shards that laid scattered across your parents’ store.

Ever since you discovered your powers at age five, it became your ambition to become a super. With a flashy power like yours, the chances of it happening were reasonably high.

But all that changed when your parents’ store was mugged. The supers you so admired were nowhere to be found. They were simply too busy fighting other bigger fish out there. And the police? It was a known fact that they’d gotten complacent ever since the advent of the supers.

And that left smaller stores- stores like your family’s- unprotected and susceptible to attacks by ruffian gangs that reigned in the streets. No one cares for petty crime. Not when there are bigger battles to fight out there. It was a flaw in the system.

A flaw that you aim to address through your vigilantism. What use were your flashy powers and lofty ambitions when you just remained frozen in inaction when the time calls for it? The gnawing guilt morphed into a thirst for redemption. You would become the defender of the streets.

So as lonely and draining as it is to live this life of masked identities, you can’t possibly give it up. Your conscience won’t let you.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come out to the streets just days after sustaining your injury. But after icing and resting it for a day, you swear your wrist is feeling much better. Plus, you skipped your usual nightly patrols last night, but the guilt and worry had left you restlessly tossing and turning in bed. So here you are, mask on and back out on the streets.

The thug takes a swing at you. Normally you would have countered it with a block to follow quickly with a punch of your own. But with your wrist out of commission, you choose to duck down. Even your force fields would cause your wrists to absorb some impact, so the moves at your disposal are severely limited today.

You land a roundhouse kick to his side. He sputters. But he responds swiftly with a counterattack.

You’ve tried to attack mainly from your legs. Even so, your wrist feels the effects of the fight. Wrapped in its bandage, albeit sloppier than Yoongi’s expert dressing the other night but still secure enough, your sprained wrist throbs dully from the exertion.

In an attempt to soothe the ache, you roll it out- ah, the pain flares up your arm. You take deep breaths to work through the pain. You have to keep moving.

But it seems the thug has noticed your weakness. He moves quickly. Grabs your wrist and twists.

“AHHH!” The shrill scream of agony that escapes you is reflexive.

Somewhere in the midst of the white hot pain, you manage to scrape together enough sense of mind to shoot out a force field. It’s weak, and it adds yet another layer to your pain, but it’ll suffice. The thug stumbles back off-kilter.

You cradle your aggravated injury to your chest and blink back the tears. This was a bad idea. Maybe you should just give it up for tonight. It won’t be the first time a thug has gotten away, after all.

But it seems that he hasn’t had enough. He storms towards you, his face curled into a sneer.

You clench your fists. It protests in pain, but you ignore it and lower yourself into a fighting stance. You’re not sure what you can do now with the state that you’re in, but you have no choice.

Just as he picks up into a run, he’s yanked back. The immensity of the relief that washes through you as you hear that crack is so overwhelming, your legs go slightly jelly.

Vulture materializes, in his usual all-black attire, from beanie to combat boots. The gold trim of his mask glints ominously under the moonlight.

The thug takes a knee to the stomach. Vulture’s movements are so quick and sharp, the thug retches slightly. A right hook follows, without missing a beat. The thug veers to his right from its impact. But Vulture doesn’t give him an inch. He throws a left uppercut. A solid kick to the chest seamlessly completes the combo. The thug collapses in a heap on the ground.

Vulture moves like a predator on the hunt. The pace at which he stalks forward is completely unhurried. The lowlife attempts to crawl away, but he’s jerked back by the collar.

Still clutching your wrist, you watch dumbly as Vulture teleports away with the thug before you can get a word of gratitude in.

When you finally rouse from slumber the next morning, it’s from being jolted awake by the unmuffled blare of a car horn. The soundproofing in your room is shitty, but not normally this shitty. Turning to the window through which you slipped into your room last night, you realize it’s open. You were probably too tired to remember to shut it last night.

You pad over to the window, meaning to close it, when you step on something cool and smooth, but very unfamiliar. You retract your foot and look down.

Icy fear grips you. The sensation of it under your foot may have been unfamiliar, but the sight of it is definitely not. Laying on your floor is a black mask lined with gold trim.

What does this mean? Is it supposed to be a sign? Is it some sick joke? Has Vulture figured out who you are? What does he want from you?

Picking it up in your hands and skimming your thumb over the textured leather, you recall the way Vulture defended you last night. Sure, you get frustrated when he swipes your captures. But you can’t deny that, ultimately, you’re on the same side.

But having operated wordlessly all this while, and only coming in for the kill, Vulture remains an enigma. You can’t be sure of his real agenda when you’ve never fought side by side with him, let alone exchanged a word. But you can’t blame him either. You haven’t been one to break the silence either.

Perhaps you will have to now.

As it turns out, you don’t get the chance to. Break the silence, that is. For the third night in a row now, Vulture is a no show.

And for the third night in a row, the criminal gets away.

You’re tempted to blame it on your sprained wrist. But you can’t help but recall all the times thugs have slipped out of your grasp, only to be picked off by Vulture. Honestly, these last three days have you reluctantly acknowledging that your job is much harder without your silent partner.

You strain your ears in anticipation of a crack sound. But for the third night in a row, you’re left disappointed.

What’s up with all these no-shows lately?

You groan as the call gets diverted to voicemail yet again. It’s the seventh call you’ve dialled to Yoongi. Checking the time, it’s now half an hour past your agreed upon meeting time.

You slam your laptop shut. This is ridiculous. Does he think that his cute face will let him get away with everything? Just because he’s produced nothing but quality work in your pairwork so far doesn’t excuse anything.

Ok. Maybe you’re being a little harsh on him. Maybe.

But can you be blamed for being in such a crappy mood? After the shit show that was the last few nights of crime-fighting, you’re already in a foul mood. And now, hauling your sleep-deprived self out of bed and to the library at eight in the morning on a Saturday morning, only to have your partner pull a no-show? Who wouldn’t be pissed?

You shove your things into your bag and trudge back to the dorm. If you get to his room and he’s still in bed… No one can hold you responsible for what you’ll do next.

But you spot him, squatting by the shrubs that line the dorm, as you’re making your way across the green, and he’s very much awake.

You march up to him, intending to tap him on the shoulder and give him a piece of your mind.

“That damn cat,” you hear him mutter. You pause, curiosity piqued. “THIS is why dogs are man’s best friend, not cats. Holly would NEVER.”

“Looking for something?” you ask. He jumps, and turns around.

“Oh, ____,” he says, standing up from his crouched position. “Yeah, I lost something.”

“Funny, because I was looking for something too for the past-” you check your watch dramatically “- half an hour now.”

He gasps. You can pinpoint the exact moment the realization hits him. “I’m so sorry! It totally slipped my mind.”

You sigh. He’s honestly too cute. As it turns out, the answer is yes. His cute face will indeed let him get away with everything; your anger is completely diffused.

“Let’s just take a break this week,” you say.

“You don’t have to do that on my account. Just give me five minutes to grab my stuff.”

“Nah, we’ve made sufficient progress on this assignment that we’ve earned it. And you look like you’re too troubled by whatever you’ve lost anyway,” you say with a wave of your hand.

You pause, weighing your next words. But damn your soft spot for him. “Hey, do you want an extra pair of eyes to help you look?”

He considers your offer for a second. Then, hesitantly, he says, “Ok. Yeah. That’d be great actually.”

“So what are you looking for?”

He purses his lips. Did the cat really steal his underwear? Whatever he’s lost must be pretty embarrassing if it’s this hard to tell you.

Finally, he sighs and spits it out. “I know it sounds weird but I’m looking for a mask.”

You feel your jaw go slack.

“A mask?” you echo hollowly. “Like a ski mask?”

“No, um.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Y’know what, forget I said anything. I’m sure I’ll find it myself.”

He turns back to inspecting the bush. But now you have to know.

“Is it a black mask? With gold trim?”

Yoongi freezes for a second. It’s all the answer you need.

He laughs, and you can tell it’s forced. “Have you seen it?”

“No way.” It’s a mumble at first, then it all comes tumbling out of your mouth. “No way. No way! YOU’RE Vulture?!”

“Vult- What?!”

“Right. Sorry. That’s just the name I gave you because you keep swiping my thugs. And yes, I’ve seen it. Seen it every night you pop in and steal my captures.”

“Wait,” he says, his eyes growing wide as he comprehends what you’re saying. “YOU’RE that hot vigilante with the cool force fields? The one who can’t keep the thugs restrained for nuts?”

“Is that what you think of me?”

“Hey. You have no grounds to complain. Not when you call me Vulture.”

“I’m so tired,” you manage to whine through a whisper. “We bagged three criminals tonight. Can’t you just teleport us back to the dorm?”

“You know we can’t do that, love,” he whispers, rubbing your back. “My powers aren’t the most stealthy. And c’mon, we’re almost there.”

Behind your own mask, you smile contentedly. The lonely nights of crime-fighting have become not so lonely after all.

As it turns out, your synergy with Yoongi is not limited to academic work. It’s been a month now and your teamwork functions like a well-oiled machine, your force fields weakening the thugs and directing them to where Yoongi waits in the shadows to teleport them off to jail where they belong.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, barely maintaining your hushed tone. The dorm cat slinks round the corner, yanking you out of your thoughts.

“That damn cat,” Yoongi mutters.

You pinch his ear, one of the few exposed parts of his body in this attire. “If not for ‘that damn cat’, we wouldn’t have gotten together. You have much to thank this cat for.”

You can’t see it but you know that he’s rolling his eyes.

“You have no defence because you know I’m right,” you taunt.

“Fine, you are,” he says and begins to lift his mask to lean in for a kiss.

You pull it back down. “Don’t get distracted now. We can cuddle later when we’re back safe, ok?”

He huffs, but there’s a spring in his step that was not there before.

And as the two of you round the corner to clamber back up to the safety of your room, the dorm cat watches with eyes aglow in the moonlight.

Your window clicks shut. It’s safe now. Jin shape-shifts out of his cat form and smirks to himself. He still remembers the mutually stolen side glances from orientation. How could he not ship your two dorky asses?

And all the sneaking around that both of you were doing every night, unaware that you both had a masked companion in each other?

But ah, it seems that you’ve finally got your shit together. All he did was nudge you in the right direction. Looks like it worked. Mission accomplished.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

am really interested in seeing nat with an early chris. the moment where she says that his hands are his and he deserves the mind that moves his hands, i would love to see more of a gentle caring nat towards the scared chris like that 🥺

CW: Conditioned silence/kneeling, trauma recovery, recovering whumpee, references to pet whump

“Hey, there.” 

Nat has twenty years of this, more or less, under her belt. Twenty years of time since she walked away from creating this mess and dedicated herself to trying to mitigate the damage, one rescue at a time. It feels like saving a single honeybee while whole colonies are fed into a woodchipper, some days, but she tells herself the same platitudes she tells all of them, too:

Even one life saved is worth the risk, and worth the effort.

She doesn’t use terms like value or cost, with the rescues. They know they exist to be exchanged for money, it’s teaching them that they exist outside of what they can produce or perform for an owner that’s the hard part. 

Twenty years of keeping her voice low, just like this, and still every single rescue is a whole person, and it always feels a little bit new.

“Do you need some help?”

The newest rescue in their house, the teenage Romantic that only rarely moves out from behind the bed and then retreats right back into his room as soon as he’s spooked, pauses where he stands in the doorway. It’s not right to say he pauses - he freezes, there, like a deer caught in headlights midway through flashing the white tail that signifies it wants to run.

His eyes are wide, and so very green. A smattering of pale freckles across his pale skin, sickly from being kept indoors so often, pulls at Nat’s heartstrings in a very particular way. Strawberry blond hair that flirts with copper is clipped just so, to hang into his eyes just a little bit. 

It kills Nat, but she can see why it was cut that way. It makes his expressions seem even more plaintive. 

“Um.” The boy’s voice is low, soft and uncertain, and his hands close tightly around the sides of the doorframe he leans against, as though using it to hold himself up. “I’m. Um. I’m, I’m... I, I, I was, I did-” He flinches, winces back away from her. “Um. N-Never, I’m, I’m, I’m sorry, never-... never mind-”

Shifting back on his feet, ready to flee, torn between the carefully conditioned obedience that tries to hold him until he’s dismissed and the fear that pushes him to run. She’s seen it a hundred times, by now. 

Nat doesn’t get up or try to go after him - she’d be a threat, if she did that. Instead, she only folds her hands in her lap, in plain view, and gives him a slight, soothing smile. 

“You’re okay,” She says, gently. “You’re okay. Jake said you ate some chicken on Thursday, did you feel better after that?”

The boy watches her, and slowly nods. His shoulders hunch up a little towards his chin. 

“Good. That’s good, kiddo.”

There might be a flicker - the slightest hint - of a smile at the nickname. All the boy’s expressions happen in the faintest shades of themselves. He’s not the first one to have learned to regulate even the twitch of an eyebrow, the shift of a muscle near the corner of his mouth.

“So. That’s a plate of fried chicken, and then... have you eaten anything since?”

Another hesitation. Then a slight shake of the head.

“Did you come here to tell me you might be hungry?”

No response this time, except for his knuckles going white where he clings to the dark wooden doorframe, one of the beautiful parts of living in such an old house. His eyes are locked on her face, trying to read danger there, a threat, anger that he dared ask for anything that hadn’t been offered. She can read it all. She’d read this book before, of course, but every single time the story unfolds a little differently. 

“Well. I’m hungry, and I was about to head over into the kitchen and make a couple of turkey and swiss sandwiches with extra mustard and some barbecue potato chips. Because I, for one, am starving.

The boy bounces, just once, on the balls of his feet and then goes carefully back to still again. He’s like some kind of carved statue, everywhere he manages to go - hidden behind the bed or standing in the doorway to the home office, he looks like he’s been carved from stone by some outstanding sculptor, brought only halfway to life.

“I... like... turkey sandwiches,” He offers, his voice low and tentative. “Ma’am.”

“Oh, please.” Nat waves one hand. “Where I come from, you only ma’am old people, and don’t you listen to Jake saying that they ma’am and sir everybody in the south, we live by Midwest rules around here.”

The boy, who no longer understands those kinds of regional differences, continues simply to stare at her. 

She smiles and moves slowly to her feet - even as slow as she can possibly go, he still flinches back at first, his hands dropping to twist into the hem of the oversized shirt he’s wearing with a pair of mesh basketball shorts he’d found in the back of the bedroom closet, abandoned by some prior rescue. 

He backs up for her to move past him towards the kitchen, then follows her on silent bare feet, a teenage ghost wandering the halls of a house full of them all, deposited here as shades and told to find their way back to life.

Words aren’t worth much, in the grand scheme of things. What helps a rescue isn’t words - most of them have had reassurance and comfort twisted and spun and turned into the very phrases used to most wound them. 

What helps a rescue is a simple action, repeated without expectation of repayment. Nat makes a sandwich, and then another. She puts more potato chips on his plate than hers. And she doesn’t try to make him sit at the table. They’ve already learned he wasn’t allowed to do that. Instead, she carries both plates into the living room and sets his down on the coffee table.

He sinks to his knees with a perfect, practiced motion Nat has seen nearly every day since she walked away from WRU and started her first safehouse. They teach them all to kneel, no matter their designation. 

They all know how to kneel more than they are allowed to remember how to breathe.

He watches her for permission, and she knows it will take time before she can stop giving it. 

“Go ahead, kiddo.”

His hands raise to pick up the sandwich, gentle as can be. “Thank... thank, thank-...” He winces, pressing his fingers into the sandwich even harder, leaving divots in the soft white bread, little impressions like a man pushing his hand into clay. “Thank you, m-... Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo. You can sit with me on the couch, if you’d like.”

His eyes flicker to the couch and then back to her, trying to decide what she wants him to do. “I like the floor,” He says, finally. His voice is strangely flat, each word drops like a carefully chosen stone when he speaks like this. “Pets belong-”

“Sssshhh, you don’t have to say that stuff here. Do whatever makes you comfortable.” Nat sits herself down, takes a bite, and then carefully peels up the sandwich to slide a few potato chips between the top layer of swiss and the bread. She hums, and catches the boy watching her, looking at his own chips, then back up at her. She grins. “Childhood habit.”

He blinks, and then echoes her motion, his fingers long and thin. “Child... childhood?”

They’re always fascinated by stories about childhoods and families, all the things they must have had in some form, and lost, and can’t remember.

“I grew up a farm kid, did I ever tell you that? No, of course not, you’ve been here four days. Anyway, my dad was a farmer...”

He starts to eat the sandwich as she speaks, in careful bites that are gradually distracted by her words into larger ones. By the time she runs out of stories, he’s eaten every bite on his plate, and shifted from his knee to sitting cross-legged on the floor.

His eyes are still locked on her, but she can see that there is something new his expression.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions, @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump, @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth

[sadselfhelp]

Who I Am, And Why I Created This Blog.

TRIGGER WARNINGS - Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Child Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Violence, Drug Overdose, Suicide, Psychotic Breaks. 

Take a walk with me, let me show you around the mind of The Sad Hatter.

There's a lot going on in my head right now, and I feel like I'm on the precipice of something. I'm standing on a cliff's edge and I'm either going to plummet or I'm going to fly. It's been building inside me for a long time, and I can't contain it anymore. So here it is, here's me laid bare, because I need to say this, I need to put it into words. I need to purge it all. To try and make sense of all of this shit in my brain, I think it's time I organize it. I don't know where to begin, but I guess I start at the beginning and make use of the ability to edit.

Before you read this, please be aware of the trigger warnings. And please understand that this is the most honest and open I have been, I really am stripped bare in this piece of writing. It’s not at all pretty, and am I not guiltless in parts. This may well alter whatever opinion you have of me. 

I guess the beginning is birth, right? But I don't want to rehash all that trauma, so let me speed through it. Twenty-Eight years ago I was born, violently. I'm serious, I ripped my way out of the womb, and tore that thing apart. I guess I can sort of understand why my mother couldn't love me after that was my first act, collapsing her womb. So let me speedrun this part of the story. Mum didn't want me, gave me to my dad who raised me as a single parent with the help of his parents, until he met my stepmother. Shockingly, she didn't want me either, but because she couldn't get rid of me she decided to physical and psychological torture was the next best thing. 

When I was eleven years old I snapped and didn't want to put up with it anymore, so I wrote a goodbye note and then snuck into the medicine cabinet and took a bunch of pills. Spoiler alert, I didn't die. I did however end up in a children's home, cue more abuse, little bit of bullying and sexual assault etc.... I snapped again, but instead of turning my anger inwards, I became an absolute bastard. Ok, I still turned it inwards a bit, I had a lot of anger, and now I have a few hundred scars to prove it. But, it turns out that violence can beget violence, and I acted out in every possible way. Racked up a horrifying rap sheet, assault, vandalism, arson, and finally... GBH. I was supposed to get put in a secure unit (child prison – Scottish Edition) but I was always able to talk myself out of trouble. 

See, I was this tiny little white girl with big sad eyes and a hell of a sob story, even at the bottom of the food chain I still had privilege. So instead of getting locked up, I just got sent to a different home. And here's the really messed up part, this home was better. The staff were nicer, and nobody hurt me. My behavior literally changed overnight. I went from being charged by the police on a weekly basis, to never getting so much as a pocket money sanction. I will never excuse my actions, nor condone them, but after years of guilt I finally realized that the bad things I did were in retaliation to a bad situation, and though I wasn’t acting like a good person, I’m not a bad person, just a messed up one. 

I still refused to go to school though, because though I didn't yet know it at the time, I had severe social anxiety. I was smart, a little too smart to be honest, and I found myself thriving with a private tutor. When the time came to sit my exams, someone fucked up, and despite having record breaking test scores on the pre-exams, I never actually got to sit my standard grades (think SAT's – Scottish Edition). I'm still bitter about that. So by this point in the story, I'm 16, and legally an adult, too old for a children's home. I got turfed to a hostel, and the next few parts of the story are pretty fuzzy to me. 

This is where my mental health really started to deteriorate. I bounced between homeless hostels and B&B's for a year or so, until I got a my first flat/apartment. By that point, I was utterly fucked in the head. I was blacking out frequently, for anywhere between a couple of minutes to three days. I would come back to myself in sometimes compromising positions, and once there was blood. A lot of blood, splashed all over the walls. Then there was the time I suddenly found myself standing in the kitchen, about to plunge a knife into my own chest.

Nobody ever did tell me what the hell that was about. Or maybe they did and I just... forgot? But because I was extremely suicidal, a doctor finally decided to do something, and the police and the paramedics came to my door to take me to the psychiatric hospital. I spent ten months there while I cycled through various anti-psychotics and anti-depressants, and was 'rehabilitated into society'. The second I was out, I made the worst decision I have ever made in my life. If I can give you one piece of advice, one lesson to take from my shitshow of a life, it's this: Don't move hundreds of miles away to be with the guy you met online while you were having a psychotic break.

I've never really thought of myself as a victim, but I guess I'm the only one who saw it that way. Ben, that was his name, Ben was a monster, and I didn't know it until it was too late. He never hit me, never lifted a hand to me, he never had to. He could put a knife in my hand and make me hurt myself for his entertainment. I had told him everything, so he knew exactly how to break me down, how to make me want to bleed. He locked me in a house and used me up. And when I had enough, and tried to break free of him, he would just tell the police I was mentally ill and they would smile sympathetically and give me back to him.

But then my dad had a breakdown. My dad, who when he found out what my stepmother was doing to me, buried his head in the sand and packed my little suitcase for me. I hadn't spoken to him in a while until he reached out from the same psychiatric ward I had not long vacated. He had cracked under the realization that I had never lied about her, and the guilt broke him apart. I could have hated him, if it had happened a few years earlier then I would have. But I had experienced enough of the world to learn a few things, like how easily it is to fuck up, and that no matter how strong you are, you aren't immune to monsters. The truth was he was as much a victim of her evil as I was. She had manipulated him, played with his head, used his insecurities against him. So I helped him through his issues, the way I wished someone had helped me. That doesn't really make me a good person, it just makes me human.

But my dad got better, and found his footing. And when he did, he realized something wasn't right with me, and I told him the truth about Ben. My dad had left me to suffer at the hands of an abuser once before, and he wasn't going to allow it to happen again. He came and got me, and he took me home. He moved me in with him, gave me his bed and slept on the couch. After a couple of months, he helped me get my own place.

And that's the happy ending, right? All the trauma was over, I was safe, that's where the story should end. Right? I bet you're not naive enough to believe that, but I sure as hell was. I thought I would recover and that everything would be ok. I thought that with safety, there would come the chance to heal. I thought my wounds would scab over, and I would have my scars but at least I would be able to move without bleeding out. But that's not how trauma works. I had two decades worth of trauma, abuse, and hell.

I just... faded. I didn't crack, I didn't crumble, I didn't break, I just stopped. For five years I sat in one room of my home, drowning inside myself. Last year I got handed a lifeline, and now I live somewhere better. I'm not really allowed to live independently so I actually live in kind of retirement village of all places. I have my own house, but it's got intercoms and emergency cords everywhere, I get checked on daily by on on-site worker. And I'm trying to get better, I really am. It's just not that easy.

There's more to the whole story that I maybe should have put in, like the fact that my mother was a drug addict when she was pregnant with me, and that may have been the reason some of my organs didn't properly form and/or formed wrong. My lung split in half when I was a baby, and parts of my stomach are missing. Or that my mother is full on batshit insane. I could have had a perfect childhood and I still would have been mentally ill. Hell, I was seeing psychologists at five years old. Take my sketchy genetics, add twenty years of severe traumas, and well... I'm a little fucked up. Because a lot of medical conditions use acronyms, my full list of diagnosis looks like I'm collecting the fucking alphabet.

I have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), and Agoraphobia. I also have a Pulmonary Sequestration, Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia, the stomach and lung issues. Immune Hemolytic Anemia, I'm basically allergic to my own blood. Plus, ya know, my liver recently decided to just fucking nope out, the pissy lil bitch is failing. I also may or may not have cancer, I don't know because I pussied out of the tests. At this point I am a walking, decaying corpse that is held together by glitter glue and bitterness.

So... why exactly am I writing this? And why am I even considering posting this? I mean, my problems aren't as bad as some other people's. We've all got shit to deal with, especially in 2020. The whole world is falling apart, so what right do I have to sit here pouting and pouring my problems out? Well, for a start, I guess this is my blog, I can post whatever, and it's up to everyone else if they read it.

So here it is, you have the backstory, so here's what it's all been leading up to.

I'm struggling. Like, really struggling. I'm stuck on this cliff, and I want off, any way I can. Whether I fall or fly, I just want free. I can't live like this anymore, because I can't breathe.

The fucking agonizing duality of being socially anxious and too easily overstimulated, and yet feeling fucking empty inside if you're not surrounded by action and noise. The world is too noisy for my brain, but my brain is too noisy for the world. I get antsy if I'm not doing at least a thousand different tasks, but I get overwhelmed if I try to do anything at all. It leads to short bursts of mania, followed by weeks of depression. But underneath all of that, under all the dramatic showboating, and the dark humor, under all the bravado... I'm really just sad.

Years ago, when I first came up with the moniker "The Sad Hatter", I said it was because I may be mad, but my madness was born of sadness. I'm just sad. I carry it with me where my heart should be. So I named myself Sad, and I put on the hat, and I wore my sadness like armor, turned it into an act, and made a spectacle of it. "I'm The Sad Hatter, and I'm mentally ill but that's alright, I'm going to be just fine!" I told you all I had my issues, and I'll come close to opening up about how bad those issues are, I'll give little chunks of information at intermittent intervals, and then two hours later I'll act like it never happened. I'll admit I was close to killing myself, and then two days later I'll post dog photo's and act like I'm all better.

I'm writing this because I'm sad. And tomorrow, I'll act like I'm not. But when I waver again, I'll come back here and I'll open up again. And along the way, maybe you're reading this and realizing you aren't alone in feeling overwhelmed. Maybe you're realizing you're not the only one who isn't healing neatly and in a timely manner. Maybe you're reading this and gaining some insight into the struggles someone you care about is facing. Maybe my opening up is can help somebody else, I really hope so, but I know it's helping one person. It's helping me.

This blog, it's about living with myself. It's about living with The Sad Hatter.

[thebluelemontree]

I don't know if you've already answered a similar question, if you have I apologize and will look better for it. But do you think Sandor and Sansa would still love each with how much they've both changed? They've almost become new people, but still the same beings.

It’s no problem. I’ve written about that here and probably touched on this in many other posts. 

I wouldn’t frame the question as would they “still love each other with how much they’ve both changed.” It implies that their feelings were already understood as love by them when they were together. What they had was a confusing mess of conflicting emotions that neither were fully capable of understanding or accepting at the time. Each had their reasons for why that was so, which goes to some of the issues that stood between them. While there is chemistry, intimacy, and empathy shown, IMO, it’s better to think of them as possessing the building blocks that can lead to love in the future.  

On the other hand, there was also:

The fact that she’s too young, immature, and unready for a consummated romance with anyone. She needs space and time to grow up and figure out what she wants. Until AFFC, she’s still only comfortable consciously fantasizing about Loras Tyrell, who is non-threatening, conventionally attractive, and uncomplicated. They are still relatively chaste/borderline erotic fantasies. The unkiss takes time for her to consciously accept and embrace as reciprocated erotic desire.  

The fact that he has no idea how to express himself without resorting to the language of violence that he understands best.

The fact that he copes with the unresolved childhood trauma and PTSD in unhealthy ways like his abrasive Hound persona, his overly-cynical worldview, and sometimes abusing alcohol when he’s under stress.

His immaturity and inability to simply ask for and accept the emotional support he wants (which she was perfectly willing to give) without freaking out over being vulnerable with someone. 

The fact that they are on opposite sides of a war where Sansa’s family is in open rebellion against her captors who Sandor owes fealty to. 

The fact that she’s the king’s betrothed. She’s his property. To explicitly act upon any romantic attraction would be considered treason, punishable by torture and death.  

The fact that there is a massive class disparity between them that overshadows the age difference in their world. That’s one reason why neither can put a name to this thing between them. A future queen / high lord’s daughter from an ancient house should not be fraternizing with a non-knight from a house only three generations old. That’s why they struggle even knowing what to call each other because using first names shows too much familiarity and intimacy. This would be true even without any of the other conflicts. Class controls everything in Westeros. 

And yes, he still owes her a big heartfelt apology for his abhorrent behavior during the Blackwater, and he should beg her forgiveness.  

Most of these points I elaborate on in more detail in the links above. If you notice, though, most of these things have either been resolved or are in the process of being resolved. None of these issues were ever insurmountable obstacles. 

The ways in which Sansa and Sandor have evolved even in their separation has been largely positive and complementary of each other. They haven’t grown apart or become incompatibly different at all. If anything, it’s pushed their feelings further along, and it’s clear they are very much on each other’s minds. Since we can see Sansa’s perspective firsthand, she’s only thought about Sandor more since he left.  

Sansa has grown and matured a lot more when we see her in the TWOW sample chapter. Had the five-year gap panned out, she would be legally an adult in Westeros; however, dropping it doesn’t seem to have affected GRRM’s intentions for any of his POVs. She’s in the company of unconventional, sexually mature women in their early twenties who can be role models in navigating adult relationships. The sassy way she takes no shit from a brutally honest Harrold Hardyng shows she has confidence and the ability to go toe-to-toe with Sandor’s gruff personality without getting flustered and running away. After she wipes the floor with him with her wit, she ends up winning Harry over to the point he’s begging for her favor. There is no point in the sample chapter where she voices any anxieties about not feeling ready for marriage, sex, or children. This no longer seems to be an issue for her, so we can assume she feels okay with having an adult relationship at this point.   

Her time as a bastard girl has made her warmer and friendlier. She was always kind, but proprieties and courtesies can also read as aloof and re-enforcing strict class boundaries. Can you imagine Kings Landing!Sansa hugging someone like Lothor Brune, a landless knight, as she does in TWOW? Or preferring the company of a sex-positive widow who enjoys taking lovers or a bastard girl over the “perfect sister” she saw in Margaery Tyrell and her cousins? Hell no. That would never happen. This new Sansa lacks those prejudices and is openly affectionate towards people she was raised to keep at arm’s length. Once she loosened up and stopped reciting courtesies, people actually got to know her and like her for who she is. That’s what Sandor always wanted from her, right? To drop the courtesies and flattering bullshit and just be a real person with him, not a talking parrot. While that criticism was harsh and rudely put, it had a lot of truth to it. It seems to have made Sansa into a happier person and more in touch with her authentic self. Now that she has accepted in Feast that she wanted Sandor like that, what is there to stop her from acting on it later?

The Quiet Isle didn’t exist before Feast. It was written for Sandor to recover and rehabilitate. Not just physically, but he’s getting what constitutes psychological counseling and a treatment plan that deals directly with his worst traits. He appears to meet with the Elder Brother often enough because the latter seems to know quite a bit about Sandor’s backstory, what his issues are, and exactly who Sansa Stark is. The rest of the time, he must observe the no talking rule and do meaningful work as a novice. This man, who once flaunted his contempt for those who couldn’t defend themselves as weak and deserving of death, is put to work digging graves for the innocent victims of violence. All day long, he has to look at the faces of men, women, and children killed by evil men with that philosophy. One brother even yells at him for carelessly tossing dirt around with the shovel, and he silently takes it. No smart ass backtalk. In the evening, he has to serve food and clear plates for men he would have once mocked. They’re men of faith, they’ve renounced violence, and Sandor sits lower in status than them. To Sandor’s credit, he humbly submits to all this in a show of respect and humility. It’s like he wants to learn these lessons they are offering and is allowing himself to be schooled. Now Sandor may always be Sandor on some level (if Stranger kicking down the stable doors and refusing to be gelded is any indication). Still, it does look like he’s become a gentler, healthier, and sober version of himself. The only part of Sandor that Sansa rejected was the Hound, and it’s both stated in the text and by George himself that the Hound is dead. Period. And yeah, it seems like Sandor is in a place where he is unlikely to backslide into old behavior, and he can make that heartfelt and necessary apology to Sansa. I don't think Sandor could ever be okay with moving their relationship forward without making amends first. It wouldn't sit right with his sense of remorse and personal responsibility, which is a good thing. 

All these changes are for the better for them as individuals and as a possible future couple. Contrary to your ask, I would say a positive, fully-fledged romance with "HEA" potential wouldn’t be possible or believable without all the growth and changes they've undergone. When they reunite, they can do so on more equal footing. 

Not that there aren’t more conflicts to overcome. They both are currently wanted fugitives for murders they didn’t commit, so they both need to clear their names and reclaim their true identities. There is still the matter of Sansa’s marital status as Tyrion isn’t dead but their marriage was also unconsummated. She could try to have her marriage officially annulled by the Faith somehow, but to do that, she’ll have to take the risk of revealing her true identity. Again, these don’t seem like plots that won’t be resolved anyway at some point. What about that class divide though? Well, the Starks aren’t like Tywin or Cersei, and they actually value things like faithful service. No reason why Sandor couldn’t be awarded a lordship and lands in gratitude for saving the lives of both Arya and Sansa. I’m just sayin’.  

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Sweet Pea//no matter what gets in my way

Request: May I please request a Sweet Pea x female reader that’s based off of the song ‘Come for You’ by Nickelback?

hey! before i start chatting at you all, just wanted to let you know about any trigger warnings, so: there’s mentions of therapy, childhood trauma (not in detail, its mainly sweet pea talking about growing up on the southside), emotions and a car accident (near the end) i hope you enjoy!!! have a great day/night!! also the plot of this is completely different to the meaning of the song/music video. just thought i’d let you know!

“This is quite possibly the stupidest thing I have ever been told to do. And I used to take orders from Jones on a daily basis.” Sweet Pea huffs, flopping onto your bed. A pout takes over his appearance as he stares up at the stars decorating the ceiling and you send him a sympathetic smile, despite the fact that he isn’t paying attention to you. 

“I don’t think its that bad.” You drop your bag on the floor and lie next to him, nudging him with your elbow. He looks at you, the frown on his face somehow worsening, but when you smile at him, it flickers for just a second, the corners of his lips curling up a little. 

“Really?” 

“Well, yeah. You’ve been through a lot. There’s a lot of trauma tucked up in that big head of yours, and if your therapist thinks that you should maybe write down how you’re feeling, then maybe its worth a shot.” You shrug, not tearing your gaze away from the ceiling and he stares at you for a few seconds. His eyebrows furrow as he thinks about what you said. Maybe you were right? 

Thats stupid, you’re always right.

“Why do you always have to be the logical one?” He huffs and you smile, turning on your side to face him. Stray hairs fall in front of your face and he tucks them behind your ear almost as soon as they fall. 

“Because when I’m friends with you, someone has to be.” 

“Yeah, fair.” The two of you laugh before a peaceful silence falls over the room. The sounds of traffic coming from the street below drifts through your open window and it makes Sweet Pea sit up quickly. 

“I thought I said, don’t leave your window open when we’re out.” 

“I forgot.” You roll your eyes, now joining him in staring out the window. A soft breeze causes the curtains to move gently and the sunlight streams in, casting your room in a golden glow. 

“You won’t forget when we’re robbed.” 

“We’re not gonna get robbed.” You huff and start to unpack your bag. 

“Sure we’re not. This is New York City we’re talking about.” He watches you move around your small room, and he smiles to himself. It seems like the light follows you around, casting you in a constant shimmer. 

“We’ve lived for two years and we haven’t been robbe-” 

“Finish that sentence...I dare you.” He cuts you off, sending you a glare to which you just roll your eyes at. Sweet Pea is as threatening as a puppy to you and he knows it. But it doesn’t stop him from pulling his ridiculously adorable faces when he tries to be scary. 

“Aww, you’re so cute.” You pat his head and his scowl falls into a pout. “See, adorable.” You pinch his cheek making him bat your hand away. 

“You’re the worst.” 

“I know.” You smile sweetly at him. 

“I’m going to my room.” He huffs, clearly annoyed at how unaffected by him you are and his reaction only makes your smile widen. 

“Are you going to write about your crush in your diary? Don’t worry I won’t peek.” You tease and he grumbles to himself while walking out. He’s just about to slam your door closed when you call after him again making him stop.

“Yeah?” 

“I am really proud of you, you know?” You tell him honestly and his expression softens, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he looks down at the scuffed floor. 

“For what?” He asks once he finally recovers from the unexpected compliment. To be honest, he doesn’t know what he expected. You always make sure to say something nice to him at least once a day, and he always tries to return the favour. 

He’s just not as good as expressing his feelings as you. Thats probably another things he needs to discuss at his next session. But now he feels a little less stupid for writing in a diary if it means he gets better at talking to you. 

“For how far you’ve come. When we were in High School you never would have thought about any of this stuff. But you are and I think thats great. So, as your best friend and number one supporter, I am so incredibly proud of you. So much so, that I got you a present.” You quickly run towards your dresser, digging through the top drawer before pulling out a wrapped present with a little bow on it. 

He smiles as he takes it from you, looking at you one last time before quickly unwrapping it. “Whats this?” 

“A notebook.” You reply teasingly and he rolls his eyes at you. 

You’d bought it a few weeks ago because it had reminded you of Sweet Pea. You’d been waiting to use it, but when Sweet Pea had told you about what his therapist said, you realized that he would have much more important things to write in it than whatever you would eventually come up with. 

“I mean, whats on it?” 

“Ohh. Its a Sweet Pea. Seriously? Its your name and you don’t even know what they look like. You’ve gone through twenty years of your life and not even googled it once?” 

“First of all, you know Sweet Pea isn’t actually my name. It’s-” 

“Yes, yes. I know what you’re name is. I have been your friend for the past twenty years.” You interrupt, waving your arm at him and he grabs it, pushing it away from him. The two of you play fight for a few minutes before you eventually give in and he finally lets you out of the headlock he had you in. 

You huff, smoothing your hair out and he chuckles, ruffling it back up when you’ve finished. 

“I hate you.” You hit his arm and he feigns hurt. “We’ve been friends- 

“Not long enough.” He interrupts, a bright grin on his face.

“Too long.” You grumble. 

“Shut up.” 

“Get out.” 

“Gladly.” He smiles sarcastically and you flip him off. 

“I am really proud of you though...seriously.” You say, and he stops in the doorway. He clutches the notebook to his chest and he glances at it, a soft smile on his face before turning around to face you, the usual smirk appearing. 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t go on about it.” 

You just shake your head at him making him chuckles before actually leaving, still slamming the door behind him. Once he’s sat down, he reluctantly places the notebook on his bed, the pale pink flowers stand out against the light blue background and he takes a deep breath, grabbing a pen from his nightstand before opening the cover. 

The pen hovers over the blank page. What the hell is he supposed to write about? His trauma? His feelings? And is so, what trauma? Which feelings? This was a stupid idea. But the he remembers how proud you were of him, and he looks at the cover of the book one last time, deciding that maybe this is something he needs to do. No matter how scary it feels. Plus, he’s done far worse things...a pen and a piece of paper can’t hurt him. 

Dear Diary, 

God, how old do I sound? Anyway, dear stupid diary? Well, now I sound even more ridiculous. My actual therapist and my unofficial therapist (y/n, remember her because she’s going to be mentioned a lot) recommended that i write how I feel down. 

I don’t have to show anyone if I don’t want to and I don’t evem even have to read it myself. But apparently its supposed to help, so I suppose I’ll give it a go. Dr Smith told me that a good place to start is to write down why I think I’m in therapy. And to that I told her that there wasn’t a big enough notebook in the world. I suppose I’ll just have to write in tiny letters to cram everything in here because I want to keep this notebook for as long as possible. So time to be honest? 

When you grew grow up on the southside, you learn to grow up a lot quicker than you should. You see a lot of shit that even adults shouldn’t be witnessing, let alone kids. Its like you’re always waiting for the clouds to lift from the darkness of the life you lead, but they never do. And by the time you get to like, 11, you’re more like a soldier than a kid. I’ve known how to fight for as long as I remember and I remember back then, before me and Y/n moved to New York, I felt like I was constantly a little wounded. I needed time to heal, but in Riverdale, on the southside, there is no time. 

Oh, by the way Y/n is my best friend. We’ve been neighbors since we were born and we’ve been practically inseparable. Whatever memories I have of my life, good and bad, she’s always in them. And when we were younger we made a pact that when we gradated, we would leave Riverdale as soon as possible and go somewhere completely different. So we worked (some jobs more legal than others), and we saved up as much money as possible to get an apartment. That was two years ago and we still live in the same shitty apartment, but now its just more out of comfort than anything else. We like it here and we have some great memories here, so even though we probably could get a nicer place, we probably won’t. 

Anyway. I try not to dwell on the past. I don’t succeed though. I suppose during school I had to just keep up appearance. I was in a gang, still am technically and I love the serpents. But its not the best environment to be around. Y/n is always talking about self love and stuff like that and to be honest, I always thought it was kind of just a girl thing. But then I went on twitter and learnt what toxic masculinity is, and with the help of Y/n, Toni and Fangs, I realized that its okay to feel the way I do. Its completely normal and I should get help for it. Which is now why I’m doing this. 

So yeah, thats it. I mean thats not it, it. But you know what i mean. Well I suppose you don’t, you’re an inanimate object but whatever. Now how do I end this. 

Bye? Bye 

To his surprise, he actually feels a little bit better. Maybe this won’t be too bad. And maybe in a little bit, he’ll feel confident enough to show people. Who knows? Maybe writing is something he could actually be good at. 

----

“You’re an ass.” You shout from your bed. What had started off as a good day has ended in the worst possible way. 

You honestly don’t know how you got here. One minute you and Sweet Pea are talking about what to make for dinner, and the next thing, you’re screaming and shouting at each other while simultaneously pissing the neighbours off. 

“I know!” He spits back and you narrow your eyes at him. 

“Get out.” There’s no playfulness in your voice, not like usual. Its just filled with spite and it makes him feel a little sick. There’s only one other time that you’ve talked to him like that, and it was when he called your boyfriend at the time an self-centered dick. He wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t the point. 

You stopped talking to him for a week after that, but when he turned up at your trailer with flowers and Pop’s takeout, you forgave him instantly. Hugging him tightly and spending the rest of the night watching movies. 

But now, neither of you know how you’ve ended up here so he doesn’t know how to make it up to you. So he does the next best thing. 

“Gladly.” He scowls, slamming the door behind him. He hears a soft thud and knows instantly that you’ve thrown a cushion at him. “Real immature Y/n.” 

“Get fucked.” You shout back and he huffs loudly before slamming his own door shut. 

The bed shakes as he throws himself down on it and he burrows his face into the grey pillow. His hand reaches underneath it and his fingers brush against something cold. His eyebrows furrow in confusion as he pulls it out and all the anger that he was feeling disappears. 

The blue catches his eye first, and then the green of the stem and then finally the pale, delicate petals. He hadn’t even thought of the notebook since he finished writing in it the first time. He sighs, his fingers tracing over the pattern, and he squeezes his eyes closed. His head drops back onto the pillow, not even bothering to move the diary from underneath his face and he moves his hand over to the cluttered night stand to find a pen. 

Dear Diary

Hey, so I know I’m supposed to be talking about my feelings and my trauma and shit and i know I kind of forgot about you, but life got in the way and I don’t have time to write down all my stupid emotions in a arguably very pretty book.

Anyway. I fucked up. I upset Y/n and I don’t know how to make it better because I honestly don’t know how we started arguing in the first place. We’ve only ever had one huge argument like this, and after a week it ended. But this time it feels different. This time my chest is aching and my head is hurting. I have this weird feeling in my stomach and I really don’t know what to do. I figured if you’re supposed to be helping me...then help me. 

I think she thinks I don’t care. That I’ve just dropped our friendship, and everything that comes along with it on the ground and then stomped on it over and over again. 

So, who knows what I’m going to do. I think saying sorry might be the best place to start. 

Hey, look at that. You did help...thanks I suppose.

Bye.

Sweet Pea doesn’t even bother closing the book, he just drops the pen in the middle of it and jumps up, kicking his leg out of the unmade duvet and stumbling out the door. 

He hesitates outside of your room, wondering the best way to go around it. Should he just walk in like he usually does? Or should he knock? 

“Y/n?”  

“...what?” You sniffle and he looks at the floor, unsure of what to say next. 

“Can I er-Can I come in?” 

“That depends.” 

“On?” He wonders. 

“If you’re still gonna be an ass.” He can tell by just the tone of your voice that you’re a little less pissed than you were ten minutes, but only by a little bit. Like 5%, and he lets out a small chuckle before opening the door. 

You’re sat on you bed, your legs tucked into your chest and when the door opens you send him a glare before dramatically looking in the opposite direction. He rolls his eyes but sits opposite you anyway. 

“I’m sorry okay.” 

Silence. 

“Please Y/n.” 

Still silence. 

“Okay, fine. I’m sorry I was being an ass. I don’t even know what we were arguing about and it kinda just snowballed into one big fight. But if it makes you feel any better, the ten minutes I spent in my room I missed you. Like that JLS song, every seconds like an hour or something like that. Anyway the point is, I’m sorry and I missed you so much that I even wrote in my stupid diary. So there’s that. Now please can you forgive me because I hate fighting with you, you’re like the only person I don’t like fighting with...and I’ll buy us takeout to make up for it.” 

“1. Its ‘every minute’s like an hour, every hour’s like a da-’ 

“I don’t need a full rendition.” 

“And 2. You’re diary is not stupid and even though I also don’t like fighting with you either, I’m glad you wrote in it again...so yes, you’re forgiven. And I’m sorry too. I was also arguing with you.” You mumble reluctantly, trying to hide a smile and he smirks, poking at your cheeks teasingly. “Leave me alone.” You grumble, swatting his hand away. 

“So, are we friends again?” He asks, his heart suddenly starts pounding, but you punching him in the arm distracts him from whatever medical problem he is currently experiencing. 

“Yeah...dingus.” 

“Aww, I love you too.” For some reason, both of you feel a blush spreading up your necks after he speaks and the two of you look away for a few seconds. 

“So.” You break the slightly awkward tension. In the twenty years of friendship, you have literally never experienced any kind of awkwardness, but that was weird, for some reason those four specific words had some sort of effect on you both, and now you’re not entirely sure what to do. “What are we having for dinner?” 

“Oh, I er. I dunno.” He shrugs. “Whatever you want...my treat.” 

“Yeah, it better be.” You try to joke but it doesn’t really work. Instead the room feels weird. There seems to be some sort of tension lingering, but its not anger...so who knows what it is? All you know is that you need to both leave.

So you stand. Unfortunately he does the same and the two of you end up bumping into each other. His hands reach out to steady you, grabbing your shoulders and the two of you laugh, although its more forced than anything. 

“I’m gonna go check the menu on the fridge” 

“I need to pee.” He says at the same time. 

“Oh.” You say, slightly surprised and he mentally curses himself. But he really doesn’t know why. He’s told you a lot worse about his bodily functions, and every time you also mutter a small ‘gross’, followed by a laugh. But this just feels icky. “Okay.” 

He gestures for you to leave first, and you do gladly. That whole encounter was weird and you vow never to argue with him again if it makes you feel like that. All strange and awkward and unsure what to do with yourself while trying to calm your heartbeat down. 

---

Dear...should I give you a name or is that weird? What could I call you? Who the hell knows? I’ll come back to that later. I’m feeling better. I think writing is this is actually working. Its only been two months, but I’m actually becoming a lot better at talking about my feelings and shit. Its like I was blindfolded (kinky) to being able to feel, but now I’m seeing. Talking is great! I’m still a little wary about talking about myself to just anyone, lets be real, anyone can be a snitch, or from another gang. 

But I think I’m better at communicating my thoughts and emotions with the people I love like the most. I feel like before I was very close minded, not in like the usual way...because if you know me personally I’m very vocal about human rights and stuff...thats not the point. But I was very closed minded about my own emotions and how to deal with them. But now, thanks to Dr Smith and Y/n, I’m actually starting to believe in myself. Maybe this is how Y/n see’s me. Huh...she must think I’m great. 

I know what it means to let someone in and I think I kind of like it. But that’s also where I have one small issue. 

I know that I’m supposed to talk about my trauma and shit, but I’ve been doing this for like two months so I think I’m good now. Well, not good. But I need to talk about something else thats much more important than whatever is happening in my brain. 

Its Y/n. 

Now usually, if I had any issues involving her, I would talk to Toni and Fangs, but they just involved birthday presents and who is that dickwad talking her on a date? But I can’t talk to anyone about this problem, because I know exactly what Toni and Fangs will say. They’ll say its because we’re in love...we’re not. 

Its just, ever since our fight. Things have been weird around here. We can barely be in the same room as one another for more than five minutes without one or both of us saying something incredibly stupid. And usually, I’m fine with losing friends, its just part of life. But I don’t want to lose her. I’ve been losing sleep over this. Every time I think about her not being here, my palms get sweaty and there’s like a heavy weight on my chest. It sucks. 

Y/n has organized a movie night for us tonight. I think she can feel the tension too and I think its driving her just as mad. She always seems so unsure around me now, and despite how hard she tries, she is terrible at trying to hide it. 

I don’t really know what to do and I know you can’t reply unless you’re something from Harry Potter, but I just thought if I wrote it down, I might get some ideas. 

Spoilers...I didn’t. 

“Sweet Pea!” You’re yelling makes him jump and slam the book closed, despite you being nowhere near him. 

“Coming!” He replies, quickly scribbling the end of his stream of thoughts before closing the book again and throwing in under his bed. 

Gotta go...byeeeee

“Hey.” You’re already sat on the sofa by the time he leaves his room. The film is  set up, waiting for one of you to press play and two pizza’s are sat on the coffee table. 

He smiles as he sits down on the other end of the couch, remembering all the other movie nights you guys have had. He enjoyed the ones back home when it was all four of you. But some of his favourites have been with just you. The film is usually forgotten about half way through, and you just spend the rest of the night talking and laughing and playing stupid games, before falling asleep on top of each other at like 5am. 

But as he looks over at you, staring straight at the tv, his chest aches. Usually you would end up sitting as close to each other as possible, but now, you’re both sat as far away as you can be. 

He can’t remember the last time you laughed at something he said, or you told him a stupid story from work. It feels like you’re just two strangers living as roommates instead of two best friends. 

“Do you want me to press play?” You wonder and he nods. The opening titles play, casting the room in a soft glow and Sweet Pea watches you silently while shadows flicker across your face. “What?” You say suddenly, locking eyes with him. 

“I-er. Nothing.” He stumbles and you send him a look. 

“Okay.” You reply. You don’t believe him, but you give him the benefit of the doubt anyway, and start watching the film again. 

You really don’t know what you were expecting to get from this night but you have a feeling you’re not going to get it. Things have been awkward for over a month now. And its the worst. You feel a little lost without him to be honest. You used to spend all your time together, but now you can’t remember the last time you spent more than five minutes together without one of you making up some excuse to leave. 

You miss him, and you miss how you used to be and you have no idea how to get back to the point...if you can.

Its the first time in twenty years that you’ve actually seen a film all the way through. And its torture. The closing credits play, and you stretch before standing. 

“Do you want anything?” You look down and him but he just shrugs before unlocking his phone. 

“Hey, if you ever get lost in the middle of the woods with a creepy ghost lady trying to track you down and tear you limb from limb. I’d search forever for you and then I’d bring you home...possessed or not.” You stop on your way to the kitchen, a small smile appearing on your face as you see a flicker of how you used to be.

”Awww...you’re so sweet.” You smile sweetly at him and he feels a blush creep up his cheeks, although, he’s not really sure why. 

“I know.” He says smugly making you roll your eyes. 

Its silent. So very silent. 

What do people say to each other? 

How do you have a conversation?

“Well, goodnight.” You both say at the same time. You quickly shut your bedroom door behind you and Sweet Pea goes to his room. You slide down the door, your head falling into your hands while you squeeze your eyes shut. 

He does the same in his own room and both of you wonder the same thing 

what the hell happened? 

----

List of diary names: 

- Doris 

- Petunia 

- Harry 

- Louis

- Liam 

- Niall

- Z

Wait, hold on a minute somebody’s calling me. Who calls anymore? And why am I telling you this, you’re a diary? Whatever...oh shit, I’m gonna mis

“Hello?” He answers lazily, barely pulling his attention from the tv playing some cheesy sitcom. His notebook lies closed on his lap, and his fingers trace over the pattern as he waits for a reply. 

“Hello. Is this a, er...Sweet Pea?” A woman asks, there’s a hint of confusion in her tone and he rolls his eyes.

“Yep.” 

“Hi. This is Dr Floyd from the New York City Hospital. You’re listed as Y/n Y/l/n’s emergency contact.” He sits up quickly, almost dropping the phone and his eyes widen. The TV, his diary, the rest of the world is completely forgotten. 

“Is she okay?” He swears he can heart his heartbeat in his ears while he waits for a reply. 

The Dr takes far too long to respond. The few seconds seem to drag on for days while he waits to hear if you’re okay. Its already felt like you’re not around anymore, but what if you are really not going to be hear anymore.

He doesn’t even want to think about that, his chest tightening and he has to hold back a sob. 

“She has been brought in after a car collision. She was crossing the street when a car hit her. I just want-” 

“I’m on my way.” He’s already replied and hung up before she can finish her sentence, grabbing his keys and jacket before running out the front door. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever ran so fast or so far and by the time he makes it to the hospital, he’s sure he looks like he should be in one of the wards. But it doesn’t matter when he finds you. Your eyes are closed and you look so peaceful in your bed. 

The room is a bright white, with faded green furniture that hasn’t been updated since the 70′s are dotted across the room. A blanket covering your body, a green chair with an awful pattern by your bedside, green curtains that are more sun damage than fabric. 

“Shit? Are you dead.” He mumbles, more to himself than to you as he cautiously walks through the door. 

“Nah, just lying down. Whats up?” You ask, opening an eye to look at him. 

“Whats up? Seriously I have just ran to the hospital because I got a call saying you’d been hit by a car. And you ask me whats up?” He huffs, sitting in the chair.  

“Yeah...so whats up?” 

“Nothing much.” He shrugs before realizing where he is again. “Actually a lot is up. You’re body in the air is whats up from what I heard.” 

“You are so dramatic. You always have been. Its just a mild concussion and a few cuts and bruises. I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure.” He looks you up and down, his eyes scanning every part of you, looking out for something the doctors might of missed. When he’s sure you’re okay, he lets his gaze rest on your scratched and bruised face and he lets out a deep sigh. 

Despite the bruises blooming on your cheeks, you still look as pretty as usual and his eyes widen as that thought dawns on him.

“What? Are you okay?” You ask, now worried as you try and sit up, but he’s quickly pushing you back down. 

“I er. I’m fine.” He stutters. “I think I just realized something.” He admits, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks while he looks at the scratchy blanket covering you...shit. 

“Pea?” You ask, your voice quiet. He’s never heard you so unsure of something before. Almost like you’re scared to know the answer to your question. “Are we okay now?” 

“What do you mean?” He forces the words out. He knows exactly what you mean. But now he thinks he’s figured out what’s been wrong the whole time. You may have been scared to hear the answer to your question, but he is absolutely terrified to answer it himself. 

Its been so obvious but he’s been so oblivious. Toni and Fangs were right. Or at least half right. He’s in love with you. And that makes his heart race, but for good or bad reasons, he doesn’t know. 

“Its just. When I saw that car I thought I was going to die. And I remembered us and how we aren’t as close as we were and I realized, that if I was going to die, my biggest regret would be not making things with us right again. I don’t know whats happened over these past few months that have made us not know how to act like human beings around each other. But I know I want it to stop. I miss you Pea. And I don’t ever want to feel that alone ever again...in my bedroom or by the side of the road.” You admit, your eyes trained on the blanket while your fingers play with the frayed edges. 

He slumps in the chair, letting out a long breath while your words settle in. 

“Did you really think you were going to die?” He asks after a few seconds and you look at him surprised. 

“Yeah. One minute I’m crossing an empty road and then all I heard was a high pitched screech and then this car was coming towards me.” You say shakily and he grabs your hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “The thing is though. For a spilt second I made eye contact withe the driver and she looked almost as scared as I did.” You laugh humorously and he sends you a sympathetic smile. “When I was lying on the pavement. I was looking up at everyone panicking around me, and all I thought about was you and how you weren’t there. And how if I died, I never would have got to say goo-” You’re cut off by your own sobs and he quickly wraps his arms around you. His chin resting on your head while he cries his own silent tears. 

“Its okay.” He whispers. “You’re okay now. We’re okay.” 

“I’m glad.” You give him a teary smile once he lets go, and you notice him wiping his own tears away. You grab his hand again and squeeze it reassuringly. The gesture makes his cheeks heat up a little and he has to look away for a little bit until they go back to normal. “Hey.” You start, wanting to distract the two of you. “How many cars do you think you could take on?” 

“Me?” He raises an eyebrow. “A solid ten. If not more. And I’d fight any that tried to get to you too.” 

“You’re so sweet.” You giggle. 

“I know.” He smirks. 

“I keep meaning to ask, how’s your diary going? Have you doodled your crushes name in hearts yet?” You tease making him roll his eyes. 

“Shut up.” He mumbles. 

“Hmm...nah.”

“Its going good. I’m kinda worried though.” 

“About?” You wonder. 

“What if I’m too good at expressing my emotions.” He asks seriously and you have to stifle a laugh. 

“How can you be too good at that?” 

“I could just constantly tell people what I’m feeling. Or, I could use really big, fancy words to emote...see, I did it then. And then I just come off as pretentious.” He rambles and it takes everything in your power to keep a straight face.

“Yeah, I don’t think you have to worry about that.”  

“Oh yeah? Try this.” He clears his throat. “Y/n. I’d crawl across this world for you.” He tries to say it seriously, but the two of you end up laughing loudly, and he thinks to himself that maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe he can keep being your friend, even if he is in love with you. Plus, he’d rather keep being your friend and just admire you afar, than lose you forever. “I’m in love with you.” He blurts out and his eyes widen. 

“What?” You look at him, your expression mirroring his and he quickly starts backtracking. 

“I mean. I love you as a friend. I’m not in love with you. That would be ridiculous. Sorry.” 

“Is that why everything has been so weird between us?” You ask and he nods slowly. 

“I think so. But I’ve only just actually realized like ten minutes ago.” 

“Thats okay.” You laugh. “I only realized when I was lying on the ground wishing to see your face.” 

“You mean...you love me too?” 

“I think so.” You nod. “Although, it could just be the concussion.” You shrug and he punches your arm lightly. 

“I’ll take take.” He smiles. “So, when you’re feeling better, do you want to have a movie and pizza night, but like, as a date?” 

“I’d love to.” You beam, and press a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“Hey Y/n?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I have so much to write in Harry!” 

“Who the hell is Harry?” 

“...my diary.” 

“...okay?”

[bnhaoptr]

Nostalgic X Drake with a photo of his s/o - X Drake X Female reader

Drake watched that small piece of paper between his huge, slender fingers, a photograph on worn and slightly yellowed paper. Perhaps that scene had stopped in time for almost twenty years.  He was so young, he had not yet reached his twenties, his red hair was disheveled and his blue eyes had come out with a reddish light. Since s / o I was smiling and that perfect image capture.   He tried to remember who had taken that photo, sure that it wasn't even his father, let alone hers. They were together, her arm wrapped around his as she smiled and closed her eyes. Always so beautiful and happy.   It was nostalgic to see that photo and have it close by was comforting.

Drake remembered perfectly that island where he was born and grew up, subsequently burying his mother and months before his father freaked out leaving the navy to become a pirate.

It seemed a long time ago, from many years ago that not even old people talked about their childhoods. And really, in your head, this is what this photo presented. A good time and that I would never be able to recover.

How many times did he find himself thinking about the time he spent with [her name], or when she had to run away on the second floor of the house to play with him. He remembered perfectly the first time they both tasted alcohol and did not approve of any drops, bumping into the bottle of wine that stained the furry carpet in her house.

It made a smile bloom on Drake's thin, dry lips, he loved remembering those sweet memories. It warmed the heart that refused to light the flame that seemed to have gone out forever.

But at the same time, it hurt him deeply. Especially when he remembered that he couldn't go back to the past or regain it before fulfilling his main objective.

 That still needed to wait a little longer, unfortunately.

Drake remembered how many times he ran away from school to train with his hidden father's swords and firearms; and the countless times he chased after asking for [his] notes and thereby studying moments before the tests took place.

 It was funny how [you] never denied him anything; even though it was not his first novel, as he had created a platonic passion for a self-interested girl before, now it was the romance that was most present in his mind. So much so that it would be the last.

  Perhaps because [you] didn't force him into anything or have banal conversations like other girls, they put an emphasis on that passion. His eyes [their color] had a hallucinogenic effect, his lips were fatal temptations, his epidermis shining in the sun seduced him like never before, his hair [his color and style] framed his face perfectly.

  For a long time, admiring her was the best thing to do.

Drake at one time or another has always been caught looking at the sea in the direction of the North Blue, many of his subordinates thought he might be homesick or for having witnessed terrible things there; like the premature death of his mother, his father's betrayal with the Navy, the death of Barris at the hands of Doflamingo or something else; but they never considered a woman.

 With all the needs that [you] did, life got better at that moment. He could fulfill the promise he made to you and hoped you would do the same, he was no longer abused by his father, he had the job and job he had always wanted since he was a child, he knew life at sea and on land.

Indeed, in many ways, it was better.

 Now there was little left to capture those who broke the law, bringing peace and tranquility to many citizens around the world. Oh yes, he can come back and find you so they can be together again.

 He knew his parents didn't approve of him as a son-in-law, especially after Barrels became a pirate who left his masochistic side on display and he had some marks to prove it. But he was not like his father, much less a pirate, but no one could know his secret. Not even s / o.

It was also painful to remember that even with all the aggressions he suffered, in addition to psychological trauma, the part that hurt him most was when he had to leave quickly without even saying goodbye. Although he always warned her, besides leaving a letter in the window of the seventeen-year-old girl's room at the time, leaving without saying a measly "bye" made her brood for a long time.

  All because of your father's disaffection, if greed had not sung so loudly and was not so inviting, you might not have had to hide your true profession and be with [you] until today.

  The only thing I had to remember was that photo, an image printed on a small specific sheet of paper that the colors were already fading. The photograph he kept so carefully among her clothes and drawers, so that no one knew of its existence before the time right and not to do him harm.

Yes. Drake misses all that and if he needed to relive every wound of the past to be able to see it again, he would do it without thinking twice.

 However, he had to keep his mind firm and that soon it would all be over in a short time. Sengoku, like Koby, knew the truth and that the world was about to shudder as if it was getting close to some end.

  "I'll be back as soon as I make the world safer for us, wait for me"

   That was what he found in the final part of the farewell letter he found at his window, with that and that photo, sealed a promise.

  And when it all came to an end and before the world was in chaos again, you would be together again. He would continue to admire you in a photo, this time more recent and preferably together with a smile.