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untitledgoosegay · 10 months ago

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re last reblog I do see fanfic culture pushing/replicating a certain model of "what trauma looks like," "how trauma works"

this is a problem across all areas of society obviously, but transformative works are, well, transformative. they're about crafting and modifying narratives where the fan-creator sees a flaw or a lack -- often for the better! don't get me wrong, I've done my fair share of "I take a hammer and I fix the canon," it's the main thing that gets my creative gears spinning -- but what happens when that "flaw" is simply a narrative not conforming to popular expectations?

some people just don't get PTSD from events that sound obviously traumatic. they're not masking, and they're not coping; they just straight-up didn't get the permanently-locked stress-response that defines PTSD. they walk away from a horrible experience going "well, that sucked, but it's over now." some people do get PTSD from events most people wouldn't find traumatic. we don't really know why some people get PTSD and others don't. but fandom has an idea of events that must be traumatizing, of a "correct" way to portray trauma. you see the problems with this lack of understanding in e.g. fans pressuring the devs of Baldur's Gate 3 to add dialogue where the player character badgers Halsin about his own feelings on his abuse -- because he must be traumatized, and his trauma must fit a certain mold and presentation of sexual trauma, under the mistaken impression that anything outside that narrow window is somehow "wrong" and disrespectful or even harmful to survivors.

take, for another example, the very common trope of a traumatized character who hates touch or sex "learning" to like touch or sex as a part of their healing process. certainly that can be healing for some people; other people will never like, or want, touch or sex, because of trauma or because they just don't. the assumption that someone who doesn't want sex or doesn't like to be touched must be traumatized, must be suffering from this perceived lack, is seriously harmful -- to asexual people, to people with sensory issues around touch, and to people for whom healing from trauma means freedom to refuse sex or touch.

and there's a secondary trope, one that's slightly more thoughtful but ultimately repeats the problem -- that once someone has learned that their boundaries will be respected, they'll feel it's safe to soften those boundaries. once they feel safe refusing touch or sex, they'll feel comfortable allowing it on their own terms. but many people don't, and many people won't! many people will simply never want to be touched, and never want sex, and they are not suffering or broken or lacking because of it. the idea that proving you'll respect someone's boundaries entitles you to test those boundaries -- the paradox is obvious, and yet this is something i've seen hurt (re-traumatize) people i care for.

people are imperfect victims. people don't heal in the ways you expect. many people have positive memories of their abuse, of their abusers. many people hurt others in the course of their trauma, in ways that can't easily be unpacked in a 5k oneshot. very few narratives of trauma and recovery actually fit the ones put forward by popular children's media and romance novels -- which are the ones I most see replicated in fandom spaces, because they provide the clearest narrative and easiest catharsis, and so they're easy and soothing to reach for.

that's not necessarily a bad thing! i am not immune to goopy romance tropes. i am not immune to teary catharsis. not every fic has to grapple with ugly realities. but there's a problem when these narratives become predominant, when people think they're accurate and realistic depictions of trauma, when the truth of trauma is unpleasant and uncomfortable, and doesn't fit any single narrative, let alone one of comforting catharsis

#bird original #see also: the murderbot diaries #murderbot does not like to be touched. murderbot does not like touching other people #physical contact is an unpleasant necessity in emergencies or to feign being human (something murderbot also hates)#at one point murderbot uncomfortably offers a hug to someone it cares for because she's upset and needs one --#and she refuses. because she knows it doesn't really want to; she won't ask it to do something it hates for her benefit #& yet murderbot fic often has it learning that touch ~isn't so bad~ and maybe there are a COUPLE people it likes to cuddle with.#the differences between vash in the original trigun anime and trigun stampede --#tristamp!vash is your woobie who hides his sad and traumatized heart under goofy behavior;#who copes and avoids through silly indulgences #2011!vash ... is not that #2011!vash isn't coping or masking. he feels immense grief yes; he also feels immense joy; the two are inseparable #he pursues joy moment to moment because he knows how fleeting each moment is #he loves people so intensely because he knows that he'll lose them -- so he has no time to waste with them #his grief is real and profound; so is his joy #i find that much more compelling and i feel like that's not a character i'd see in today's media environment #anyway #fandom #trauma #fanfic #throwing a golden apple into the tags with this but fuck it we ball

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redninjaoutfit · 9 months ago

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"why don't you hang out with your brother?" "he's at his new girlfriend's house"

You genuinely do not understand the emotional impact these two sentences had on me. I didn't respond sooner because this ask actually pushed me to write a whole ass oneshot about Colt and Lucky based on this. I've been sat here in my pajamas doing nothing but writing.

SO. ENJOY. IDK IF ITS GOOD BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT AND KNOW IT DESTROYED ME EMOTIONALLY. (below the cut cause its long as shit)

4386 words of unfiltered angst hurt/comfort.

His brother's soulmate

--------------------------------------------------------

The bell signalling the beginning of the next class rang out loudly, piercing the ears of nearby students and rousing birds out of the branches of surrounding trees. In their rush towards the main entrance, no one detected the hasty, light steps and delicate gush of wind passing through like a ghost, unaware that someone fortunate enough to avoid the oppressive authority of the school prefects had slipped through the front gate, completely unnoticed. The truant in question darted absentmindedly towards nearby shrubbery leading to Bullworth Town, unlit cigarette sitting patiently between his paint-blotched fingers, other hand smoothing the copper mane his older friends enjoyed tussling so much.

Colt De Luca, a Bullworth freshman and member of the feared and respected Greaser clique, could feel his legs moving yet had no idea where he was headed. He let his body take him wherever as he busied himself with searching his pockets for a lighter acquired off Ricky in the parking lot mere moments earlier.

After successfully retrieving the small object and lighting the tip of his very last cancer stick, Colt took a vigorous drag and felt his lungs burning, instantly relieving some of the stress off his mind. Granted a moment of clarity, the Greaser looked around. He found he’d already made his way over to the main road leading towards the path heading to New Coventry, his own place of residence.

Looks like it was yet another day of aimless wandering ahead of him.

While Colt was not usually one to skip school, having been brought up to value education and consider its impact on his future, today was different - much different - he thought to himself as he bitterly kicked the pebble which had the audacity to find itself in his way. Colt’s mind seemed preoccupied with thoughts and anxiety from the very moment he woke up and rose off his paper thin mattress and continued through the few classes he chose to attend and do badly in. Frustration kept him on the edge of his seat as the teachers talked and talked and asked invasive questions and refused his requests for a bathroom break (which they rightfully suspected would turn into a smoke break). Not even his trusty sketchbook helped soothe his irritable mind and upon hearing the dreaded ring of the bell, nothing could keep the boy inside the confines of the stone walls of the academy.

Colt’s anger was not unfounded yet as he traversed the decrepit streets of New Coventry he could not help but cringe at the memory of his friends’ concern throughout the day. Many of them have come around to inquire about his well being, sought him out of their own volition while he hid and ran. Norton offered to lend a comforting ear. Ricky asked if he wanted to ride around town after school. Lefty remained on his tail break upon break, attempting to get him out of his own head with chatter. Hell, even Johnny, the aloof, tough king of the Greasers said they should ditch and talk. Colt, regretfully, dismissed them all. He didn’t need their help, he could do this on his own, he was grown now.

Grownups don’t mope about the anniversary of their parents’ death.

Colt took a final drag of his cigarette and tossed it onto the side before its remains could burn him, stomping it out with his dirty loafer. He looked at the pitiful bud for a moment before averting his eyes, reminded much to his dismay of his current appearance. “I probably looked like a pathetic kicked puppy right now, damn it.” He thought to himself bitterly and headed for one of New Coventry’s many sketchy alleyways.

He’s fourteen years old, fifteen in a few months. Practically a grown man, hanging around the most dangerous and intimidating group in the whole school (excluding the Jocks, but Colt didn’t like to think about the roid monkeys if he could help it). He should have already learned how to deal with grief a long time ago, should have forgotten about the whole ordeal either way since he was merely a baby by the time he became an orphan. He had no right to miss the people he didn’t even know. Yet the stabbing in his heart and tightness in his throat he felt at the moment were just as intense as when he was first yelled at by his uncle after bashfully handing him a Father’s day card he was forced to make in school. Or when neighbourhood children tripped him onto a busy road and asked if he’d tattle to his mommy. Or when he was scowled at by teachers for being brought to school by a boy not much older than him instead of an adult.

In previous years though, as juvenile and immature as it was, he had someone to share that grief with. None of his friends could understand better than that person did, for good reason too. He’d take young Colt out to do anything to get their minds off their parents, visit their favourite hotdog stand, wander around surrounding fields with no purpose at all, ride around on bikes from sunrise till dawn. They’d religiously visit their parents’ joined grave, year by year, and talk. Touch on things they normally would, couldn’t, and those conversations brought them closer than ever before.

This year was different, however. Colt would have to grow up and be brave on his own, since the jerk didn’t care about him-

Just as Colt was about to descend down the winding path behind the Tenements a small, familiar hand roughly grasped his upper arm, violently ripping him out of his own thoughts. He smelled the smoke before he even turned around to glance at the person with irked, surprised eyes.

Standing behind him was Lefty, his best friend, in all his jean jacket-clad, greased up glory, though the intimidating effect of his appearance was dampened by how out of breath he looked, coughing small droplets of black tar onto the pavement below their feet. Yet his grip on Colt’s arm never weakened.

“Dude, why do you have t’ be so fast?” Lefty gasped, straightening his back yet still appearing winded “Ya got a bounty on yer head or somethin’?”

Why was Lefty even there to begin with, though? Colt knew the little Greaser still had two more classes and though he often skipped school, some days entirely, he usually hid away from the prefects in the labyrinthine path toward the Autoshop. That, or he hung around the Blue Balls Casino, smoking it up to the point where they had to let it air out before entering.

He chose not to pry, however. He just wanted to hide somewhere, even if it was from who he considered a brother from another mother. Especially since his real one…

Colt sighed and looked away, feigning interest in nearby anti-Greaser graffiti.

“Not that I know of. Why are you even chasing me, shouldn’tcha be getting your beauty sleep in Slawter’s class right now?” retorted Colt, more venom in his voice than he would have wanted. He couldn’t even control himself with his best friend, what a child, he chastised himself, fists clenching.

Unbeknownst to him, Lefty had begun moving away from the alleyway as they talked, grip firm on his brooding friend as they slowly traversed the sidewalk rounding their designated yet dilapidated hangout spot. Truth be told, the chainsmoker had been worried about his childhood bud for a few days now. It was not uncommon for Colt to grow snappy and sad as they neared this time of the year, when leaves grew yellow and air crisped yet the avid painter found no drive to capture such picturesque sights. That was usually when he and the other Greasers stepped in - though emotional maturity was decidedly not their forte - to mitigate the bad moods of two of their clique members. That was when they partied the hardest, laughed the loudest, got up to most comedic hijinks they could think of and led actual in-depth discussions about things left untouched any other time of the year. The 50’s enthusiasts had their own, unique ways of showing each other they cared and, though unconventional, they usually worked.

This year was different and Lefty spotted it instantly. As the mid-October grew closer, nothing seemed to soothe Colt and the desperation Lefty felt witnessing his best friend’s pain was unlike any other. Unaware, or rather left in the dark about the reason for such an abrupt change (because he asked, many times at that!) he tried everything to make it better, which, ironically, did nothing. Which is why, having lost sight of Colt, Lefty turned to his friends to see if they’d caught wind of him anywhere in the academy.

Ricky, the ever-worrier, was the first person Lefty approached. He knew their resident mechanic usually had the most intel on all of their whereabouts since he usually obsessed over the people in his life to an unhealthy degree (such as his ex, but he didn’t like to talk about that). When asked about Colt, the older Greaser looked around the Autoshop’s entrance tentatively where he could only see Peanut and Vance having an animated conversation, upon which he leaned in, cigarette nearly falling from behind his ear.

“Don’t tell Lucky but I saw him dashin’ out of the front gate and haven’t seen him return since. Also might have given him a lighter, I ain’t proud of it but the kid was insistent.” Ricky confessed bashfully, smoothing the back of his pompadour, concerned expression never dropping from his face.

“Big deal, like we don’t all smoke.” Lefty muttered under his breath, shaking his head curtly. That was one thing he’d never been able to see eye to eye on with Lucky, he and Colt were barely four years younger than him and the rest of the Seniors yet when they smoked like a chimney it was okay. But enough about that.

“Why would Colt skip, though? He’s too nerdy for that, even on this day…” Lefty wondered.

“Don’t know dude, I’ve just been waitin’, hoping he’ll return before Luck sees and loses his shit. Hey, it wasn’t that long ago that he scrammed, maybe YOU can go bring our baby bro back since you seem to, ya know, be playin’ hooky too?” Ricky quipped playfully, looking at his watch to see it was already fifteen minutes since class began.

Which is how Lefty found himself in his current predicament, meandering the dirty streets of New Coventry, Colt in tow, head down as they traversed quietly. The silence was not awkward yet held an air of tension and sadness Lefty tried his best to signal a will to converse about through his pointed stares which, unfortunately, went completely unnoticed. Colt seemed lost in his own head, even more so than usual around the date of the anniversary. Lefty did not want to press but could simply not allow his friend to silently suffer any longer.

He led Colt towards a familiar, comforting path towards the abandoned, destroyed playground behind an old pizza parlour in a similar degree of upkeep. Since the closure of the restaurant many years back, the playground on its premises had been used exclusively by its undesignated audience of troublemakers, urban explorers and junkies who sought a secluded place to shoot it up in. It also just so happened to be where Lefty and Colt hid away since childhood when all seemed too overwhelming, when the world was just too big, their family issues too stifling.

The jean-clad Greaser moved the large carton box covering the entrance hole out of the way and bent down to pass, looking back at Colt as he went. His friends seemed aware of his surroundings at least, in his state of depression, as he mimicked Lefty’s movement and soon they stood in front of the hazardously rusty playground equipment, unmoving. Lefty saw it as his chance.

“OK dude, trust me, I know today’s rough on ya but I can see it’s worse than usual. What’s gotten into ya?” Upon receiving a deafening spur of silence in response, Lefty continued, attempting to look his friend in the eyes “I mean… skippin’ school, smokin’, ignorin’ us, to hell with the guys, ignorin’ me. It’s just… If something’s eatin’ ya up I wanna be able ta help and it clearly is.”

Desperate for any sort of answer, Lefty felt himself beginning to ramble, getting closer so he could put his hand on Colt’s shoulder in a - hopefully - consoling manner.

“And if you don’t wanna tell me, why don’t you hang out with yer brother? You know Lucky would be down to skip and drive around with you, he don’t like Maths anyway, you’d be doin’ him a favor.”

That seemed to finally get a reaction out of the artist, not one Lefty was hoping for, however, as the mournful Greaser sucked in a breath too quick to conceal and stiffened up under his arm. In the mere seconds their eyes met, Lefty saw pain and frustration and an unexpected glisten and moments later, Colt made a dash towards the entrance they had just breached.

Lefty hurriedly dove after him, grasping his arm much akin to how he caught him earlier in front of the Tenements.

“No gettin’ out of this one now buddy. Tell me what’s goin’ on and what’s it got to do with yer bro.” he stated, uncharacteristic severity in his voice as he led Colt towards the nasty, rusted swing set, other hand instinctively reaching for the full pack of smokes in his pocket “We’ve got all day, I may not be patient but for you, Imma sit here in silence till spooky hours till you’se in the mood to spill.”

Though the last part of his sentence may have been humorous, not even a hint of a smirk graced his face as he lowered himself carefully onto the squeaking swing and took out a cigarette out the box. His friend mimicked him wordlessly, sagging against his own seat’s cable, hand reaching out in unsaid request of his own cancer stick. Lefty did not hesitate before handing it over, bringing the tips of the cigarettes together before lighting them at once.

For a few solemn minutes, the two friends sat and filled their lungs with smoke, the only sound penetrating the silence between them being the croaking of the playground equipment around them and cars whooshing by on the other side of the fence. A light gust of wind tousled their hair from time to time, blowing the smoke back into their eyes, though neither gave it much consideration, lost in their own thoughts. Lefty wondered and pondered, unused to deep thought processes and obviously unaware of what exactly went down between the brothers on a day to day basis. To him, they seemed as in cahoots with one another as they usually were, albeit more glum with the anniversary of their parents’ passing around the corner. Having practically grown up alongside the De Luca siblings, Lefty felt he could confidently judge when the two had just had a falling out and despite Colt’s terrible mood Lucky appeared his regular self.

“He wouldn’t.” A meek voice disturbed his train of thought.

Lefty glanced over questioningly at his best friend who was mid cigarette drag, hands visibly shaking, brimming with anxious energy. Colt pushed himself absentmindedly back and forth on the swing with the heels of his loafers, the motion soothing to the Greaser, albeit barely. Noticing Lefty’s steely, concerned gaze, he coughed and continued.

“He wouldn’t. Be down to hang, that is. He uh… he’s goin’ over to his girl’s place today. Stayin’ the night too…” Colt mumbled and twisted his head away completely from his friend, cigarette long forgotten, burning dangerously close to his fingers and trailing ash on his pants.

Why had he even said anything at all? He wasn’t the only one who was growing older, Lucky, who’d always taken care of him, who’d always been there for him, who'd given up so much to raise both of them since their uncle couldn’t give a rat’s ass about them. He had grown too, into a respectable young adult at that, as respectable as he could be given their life circumstances. Despite being a notorious ladies man in the past, in recent months he’d been trying to actually make things work with a girl he met in their uncle’s shop. His undisputed charm worked its magic on her but contrary to his usual flings, so did hers. Lucky was actually serious about this girl, introducing her to his way of life, to his friends and (until that point, at least) the most important person in his life, his little brother Colt.

He was not jealous. At first. Jealousy is juvenile, after all. He enjoyed her presence, rather motherly, she was the calm to his fiery nature, the ying to his yang. She liked all of his hobbies and shared her own with him, some of which Lucky would never have considered uptaking in fear of them not being manly or tough enough. She was there for him through thick and thin, helped him destress and relax and take his mind off things when burnout approached since he was such a terrible workaholic. In turn, he showed her real fun, a rough, dangerous edge of the town and the Greaser way of life. Encouraged her towards spontaneity previously foreign to her.

They were a fantastic influence on each other, one could (and did, such as Lola) call them soulmates who healed a little bit each time they gazed into each other's eyes.

And Colt selfishly wished he could be such a person for Lucky.

Hence why, upon receiving the news of his brother spending the anniversary of their parents’ death, which the two of them usually bonded on, at his girlfriend’s place in a little village some distance away from Bullworth, something inside of Colt broke. The little boy inside of him, so painfully and tenderly helpless, desperately grasping onto his big brother’s hand like a lifeline fell onto the grainy sidewalk and watched his only support crutch walk away without looking back. He could not cry, he could not show weakness, yet he could not get up on his own either, left to rot and slowly melt into the pavement beneath.

He knew he had to be mature. To grow up one day. Let go of Lucky who did not deserve to have been forced to play parent for so many years. Let him lead his own life after he’d already shaped so much of himself to accommodate Colt's unseemly form. But he didn’t feel ready. Despite his desperate, unfair battle against his own feelings and his tormentor’s allegations, Colt knew deep down he was still just a silly, desperate child, incapable of fending for himself in the real world just as they had suspected all along.

He felt a hot, fat tear rolling down his cheek before he quickly rubbed it away with unwarranted force. Impulsively confessing something ridiculous to his best friend was one thing but letting him see him cry? Colt couldn’t handle that level of embarrassment. He’d already wallowed in self-pity in front of other people enough for his liking.

Before Lefty could form a response, Colt tossed the remains of his cigarette down into the sand below them, burying it with the tip of his shoe and standing up abruptly, not regarding his friend with the slightest of glances.

“I’m okay though, don’t worry ‘bout me man, ‘s just the usual. At least he’ll be havin’ fun. Let’s go back to school, I’ll mope ‘round a bit and then I’ll be good.” Colt began moving towards the exit of the playground, a faux smile plastered over his features. He knew it showed in his eyes which were still as mournful as before and although he realised that Lefty was not dumb enough to believe him, he’d hoped he was negligent enough to drop it.

The other Greaser had different plans, however.

While Lefty would not argue with the others saying he had the emotional intelligence of a fruitfly, he also considered it one of his greatest weaknesses and felt nothing was worse than when he wanted to comfort a friend and failed miserably due to his attitude of actions over words. His own upbringing and parents did not grant him much opportunity to develop a sense of maturity required to handle such intense situations and he fumbled with his words, stumbling and landing head first before he could even attempt to console the other person, which had ironically happened with Colt more times than he could count. The artistic Greaser was much more mature in that sense yet never judged him for his inadequacy.

Today was different.

Lefty caught up with Colt, placing a tentative hand on his leather-covered back, his long hair just barely tickling his fingertips as the other came to a half, short of bending down to the hole in the fence.

“‘S that why you’ve been so depressed these past couple ‘a days? ‘Cause Lucky ain’t gonna be here today fer you today?” Lefty inquired carefully, not a drop of judgement in his voice.

Colt spared him a measured glance, insecurity clouding his judgement as he convinced himself he saw humour within the icy gaze of his friend. He shrugged off his hand.

“I know it’s fuckin’ ridiculous and childish of me, okay. Let’s just move on and go back ta class.”

Lefty, indignant, stopped the advancing boy in his tracks with his elevated tone.

“Dude, FUCK class.” He spun Colt around to face him directly without a hint of hesitation “You need to hear this right now, you ain’t ridiculous, you ain’t childish, and ya certainly don’t gotta force yaself to be okay today. I’m not gonna sit here ‘n listen to ya talk about my friend like that.”

Both held uncertain breaths, not looking away from each other, one set of steel meeting sky blue in a desperate attempt at reading the other’s mind, hoping to make the message stick. Lefty knew deep down that if he let his friend go, he’d never let himself live that fact down. He clicked his tongue and continued, struggling to think of the right way to articulate his thoughts.

“It fuckin’ sucks, that you’se breakin’ a tradition like that. I know yer bro means the world to ya and nothin’ will ever replace him. But… you ain’t alone, with or without Luck. Maybe we don’t tell ya enough but you got the guys, you got me, I’m not gonna let you forget.” Lefty felt the corner of his own mouth twitch upward for a moment “Matter of fact, since you’se not busy with Lucky, I’m takin’ you out, gettin’ yer mind off it all-”

Colt attempted to butt in, shaking his head adamantly, a horrified blush gradually spreading across his features. “I couldn’t make you do that! You don’t gotta-”

“But I wanna!” Interjected Lefty, growing giddy by the second “Man, I want you to be happy. I want you to see you’se not alone. And I wanna hang out!” He assured, smiling with his teeth now.

“We can do whatever you want man, throw firecrackers at the coppers, ride ‘round the town, stay out ‘n sleep outside somewhere like bums. Hell, we can even go visit yer parents together… if you’se good on that…” Now was Lefty’s turn to smooth his hand over his pomp nervously, hoping he didn’t cross a boundary.

A quick glance upon Colt’s awestruck expression told him all he needed to know.

“Just… don’t isolate yerself from me, Colt. I’d rather see you bawl yer eyes out than have’ta wonder what’s got you down in the dumps. Lucky’s not the only one who cares about ya you know.”

He did know now.

It took a moment for Colt to collect himself after such an outburst from his usually humorous and emotionally unavailable best friend. The shaking in his limbs subsided as he carefully considered Lefty’s spontaneous stream of consciousness, gratitude clouding the sheer awkwardness of the moment and the embarrassment he felt at his impromptu venting session. While he still missed Lucky and felt lost without him by his side, he could now approach the situation with more assurance, his dearest companion in clear support even through his withdrawal and depressing attitude.

Therefore, after exhaling deeply, his gaze traversed over to his friends wherein he nodded, more enthusiastically than he thought possible mere hours before, agreeing to Lefty’s primitive yet endearing idea of consolation.

The rest of the day, albeit undeniably sombre and glum, was spent by the two best friends on their feet, causing unwarranted mischief to their beloved neighbours, wandering aimlessly and basking in each other’s presence. They did, to Colt’s alleviation and Lefty amazement, visit the marble headstone of Mr. and Mrs. De Luca and though Lefty’s presence in Lucky’s place was strange at first, it felt natural, as the chainsmoker encouraged him to retell tales of their childhood afore the couple’s passing, a request with which he complied enthusiastically.

Colt felt no need to remark that most of them he'd only learned from his brother.

Hours later and much after curfew, Colt and Lefty laid on a patch of desolate green grass outside of the dirt path surrounding New Coventry. Fully clothed, not caring whether the blades stained their garments green, they conversed calmly, though the events of the day were starting to take a toll on their energy levels. Conversation drifted lazily, their faces only illuminated by the wide array of stars visible to the naked eye outside of their polluted neighbourhood and the glow of the moon bestowing upon them the ability to look each other in the eye from time to time, snickering at one another’s drained expressions.

From where he resided, Colt was sure that through squinted eyes he could see his mom and dad smiling down on him from up above, telling him it was all going to be okay.

He hoped Lucky saw that too, wherever he was.

#red ninja posting #canis canem edit #bully cce #bully #bully rockstar #bully scholarship edition #bully oc #colt de luca #lucky de luca #lefty mancini #ricky pucino #small role but he's there #this has unironically taken over my life today #should i post to ao3? does anyone even care? idk but im dropping this at your doorstep like a cat giving u a killed bird #angst #hurt/comfort #my two favorite genres enjoy #im shit at titles please someone give me tips on how to concoct proper titles cause im! lost!#can you see the moment when i got a headache but continued plowing through

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