#i don’t need to fight my feelings or regulate them anymore

[panspaming]

Hm. Acceptance.

[bestworstcase]

On that recent note about Ruby being at a boiling point when the next confrontation with Salem rolls around, would you mind going into that a bit more? Namely, I have a couple thoughts about a) it’s narratively boring to have the same thing happen twice, and “Ruby’s personal issues get overrun by a bunch of other issues she feels she has to address first” is how we got to V10 in the first place, and b) it really feels like WBY (and maybe Jaune, but he has his own stuff going on, we’ll see) would be much more conscious of the fact that it happened very visibly and the possibility of that happening again, and thus act to help Ruby away from that edge should she stray there again. Just a couple thoughts, really.

what i anticipate—again mostly on the basis of reading rwby x jl pt in context with the events of v9 and the 9.11 animatic—is less round two of ruby pretending to be fine until she explodes and more of an over-correction. a pendulum swing. ruby knows she can’t bury things behind a smile without destroying herself now, but she also… doesn’t… really know how to regulate her emotions in a healthy way, because she’s been viciously repressing those feelings her whole life.

she’s also (as ruby herself notes in B4) not at all comfortable asking for help and in vacuo she is going to be under a lot of pressure as the girl who sent the message—and in B4, we’ve already seen that she is, for example, getting waylaid in the streets for photos with strangers and that yang, despite having every reason to be overprotective at present, doesn’t interfere and actively tries to put a positive spin on it (“personally i think it’s about time everybody knew how cool my sister is”) even as she’s obviously concerned about the harm it might be doing to ruby. they’re both being pragmatic.

so while ruby’s closest friends will be (and do, in the jl film) watching like hawks for the signals they missed in the ever after, they can’t do anything about her celebrity among the vacuan refugees or the material reality of the situation in vacuo: if a major grimm attack coincides with ruby feeling bad, everyone has to prioritize repelling the attack over talking about how ruby feels, them’s the breaks.

ruby knows this. her team knows this. none of them want her to go back to bottling stuff up until it kills her, but it’s going to be really, really hard to carve out the space she needs to rest and recover and learn how to handle her feelings.

what happens?

well, judging by the jl film, ruby gets kind of… manic. she’s reckless. she brushes off their attempts to get her to stop being reckless. at one point she more or less tells clark that she expects to die in the war and she’s decided to try as hard as she can to do as much good as she can in the time she has left, and later when she gets the wind knocked out of her and yang freaks out ruby’s like "don’t worry, i’m not a quitter like mom" about it.

in a way, she’s backslid all the way to where she was at the top of v1—remember how reckless ruby was during the initiation, out of desperation to prove herself? except she’s also, pretty blatantly, pushing her bad feelings outward in the form of this danger-seeking go-go-go attitude. it’ll be okay if she dies as long as she goes down fighting to the end right!!! as long as she’s honest and open about not being able to imagine a future where she is alive after the war, that’s fine!!! because she’s not bottling it up anymore!!!

and (this is evident even just in the jl film) she’s a bit taken aback by how alarming her team finds this new attitude, because to her all that’s changed is she’s not keeping it a secret that she feels this way but to them it’s abruptly seeing, in vivid technicolor, that ruby genuinely does not care whether she lives or dies and in fact is terrifyingly comfortable with the idea that she’ll die fighting salem. so i think ruby is going to experience this as mixed signals; they say they want her to be more open and share what she feels, but when she’s (in her mind) feeling good they get mad at her for not… feeling the way they want her to feel… so what is she supposed to do?

over the longer term, the shape of ruby’s character arc from here on is a journey toward rebuilding her presently non-existent sense of self-worth. but in the immediate term it’s more about clearing the hurdle of believing that one epiphany in the tree did not, in fact, fix her or solve the deeper problem of her suicide ideation. (which is very much what’s going on with ruby in the jl film.)

and i think it’s really interesting and pretty smart for the narrative to juxtapose that with salem battling her own emotional strife, because the heroic cast all believe that salem ultimately just wants to die but i don’t think that’s true, and salem herself certainly seems to be envisioning a future that she is beginning to realize she cannot achieve without making sacrifices; no cost is too great, she says, and she’s lying to herself.

i think ruby’s second boiling point is not “i don’t want to be me anymore” but rather “i don’t want to die anymore” and this dovetails nicely with salem hitting this critical mass, reaching the line she can’t cross because the cost is too great. the hero realizing that she desperately wants to live after all + the villain choosing the life of one person she cares for above everything else. it creates an opening for empathy and understanding in both directions.

if ruby spends nearly all of v10 skating over the deep well of her fear by pushing it outward as glibly nihilistic thrill-seeking, and then gets thrust into a situation where she really might die and feels that abrupt, visceral desperation to survive—that is not too far afield of salem’s desperation to remake the world into one where she’s allowed to live. likewise, if the unstoppable force of salem’s ruthlessness collided with the immovable object of cinder, she knocks herself sideways into a corner she can’t escape—which isn’t dissimilar to how hopeless ruby feels. and then they each have the other’s answer, potentially.

[eeblouissant]

Hello, if you are up for it I would love to know more about your headcanons for Rose being autistic. It makes so much sense to me, and I'd like to more 😊

I’d love to talk about my rose hcs :D here’re a few !!! this became a bit all over the place so bare with me lol

(some of you may have seen / seen me talk about these in the past but shhhh I like talking about things over and over - I love her so much it’s insane where do I even begin)

Firstly I think it’s important to note that rose obviously has/would have been autistic her whole life. The way an autistic person who has lived longer than you or I with their autism and autistic traits is going to deal & cope differently, and have more experience with managing/regulating - or at least in my head! We have to look at rose differently because I don’t believe she would experience autism the same way you or I would anymore; nothing is really new to her.

Until she moves in with Blanche, that is!!!!

I think rose, after being in the same spot for so long (st. Olaf) learnt on her own how to manage & cope with being autistic because she had a “life long” routine that never really changed until Charlie died? From the bits she’s shared about her at home life during her marriage it all sounds meticulously planned & never changing, which is one of the many reasons why I hc her being autistic actually. Charlie also seemed to have a similar routinely-ness about him but I don’t know enough to properly headcanon him (although, rose having an autistic partner would have brought her great comfort im sure. The idea sits in the back of my mind - however, I could definitely go on about Blanche & Dorothy being their own kinds of neurodivergent haha)

I think roses most “obvious” autistic trait is how oblivious (?) she can be, and very often is. She has moments where it’s made very clear that rose is not stupid, because she isn’t!!! She’s very clever and it’s crucial that point is underlined often!! She does tend to have things fly over her head, or taken too literally. We know that and it doesn’t need repeating - But another thing that really stands out to me is her lack of filter when speaking!!! This may just me be projecting, but I’ve noticed that most of the time, when she drops some wild out of no where (and sometimes slightly out of character) comeback at one of the girls, it comes out straight and with little thought. Innocently, almost? Like a thought just breached containment, you know 😂. I’ve seen a few autistic people talk about this but it really can be a problem - it’s something I personally struggle with and that has caused very angry fights between friends & family. It’s that, “if you didn’t want my opinion why ask?” thing I guess? But also just speaking your mind. This extends to her interests as well, and often in an “anger” of outbursts we don’t ever expect from her. ie: the scene where Blanche has accidentally given away her teddy bear & rose snaps. It’s a bit jarring the way it comes out of nowhere! But I’ll touch on her interests later.

I don’t think rose overly struggled/struggles with masking, because I don’t believe she’s ever really felt she had to (This adds onto my last point about lacking a filter). She grew up in an environmental where she always very closely related to the people around her, and that had mostly known her for her entire life (that she had grown up with). So I would like to assume that to them, this was just rose. The only rose that they had ever known. Nothing would be out of place to them because what else do they know! So naturally there would be no room for judgement = rose feels no pressure to conform. St. Olaf sounds like my autistic heaven, no wonder rose misses her hometown so bad 😭. Anyway the first time she’d ever get a strange look would’ve definitely been that first moment her & Blanche met. Blanche was a little startled by roses definition of being “a wild woman” and rose seemed completely lost by it - because she had never experienced that before! She even asked, panicked, why Blanche was putting her flyer back up. I could over analyze that scene forever. Dorothy was a separate shock to the system for her but I feel like that’s a whole post on it’s own. I really want to write out my thoughts on Dorothy & Rose warming up to each other one day because it’s not expanded on much :’) they’re soooooooooooo important to me.

Roses main interests also inspired this headcanon. Many autistic people tend to have “weird” or “childish” interests, regardless of age or gender. Lots of autistic people don’t tend to view age and gender the way someone who’s not autistic would - they’re not as concrete & restricting. Rose definitely has interests that would be considered strange for her age! Her protectiveness of her stuffed animals, Disney, even (what I consider to be her special interest) St. Olaf could be considered by some, outside of Dorothy, Blanche and Sophia, kind of odd. I think these things can be seen as less-so because Rose is a woman, which I’m sure would’ve been a lovely thing & saved her many uncomfortable questions.

Rose often self soothes/stims when she’s feeling particularly out of sorts or if she’s run into a slightly uncomfortable situation. One of my favourite examples is that clip where she’s taken two sock puppets & acts them out to be Blanche & Dorothy. Dorothy walks into the kitchen without her noticing &, once rose says something with her sock puppet that she’s not very fond of, hits her over the head (lovingly) with the paper. Rose repeats “bad puppet” to herself & knocks her wrists together. She also turns to the girls (but mostly Dorothy I think?) when she needs to self soothe or regulate. Another example that I think about all the time because I just love the clip so much - that bit where Blanche was on a diet for whatever reason she felt she needed to be & rose had accidentally eaten the food Blanche had prepared beforehand. Blanche explodes & rose immediately goes to hide herself behind Dorothy. Hinting at autistic traits or not, that scene is so damn precious 😭 be still my heart.

(the clip in question … I couldn’t help myself. Excuse the quality it’s been sitting in my camera roll for a while)

These are just some of my thoughts :D if anyone has any specific questions about my headcanons (or examples of autistic traits that I haven’t mentioned yet) pleaseeeee send them my way !!!!! I love love love talking about rose !!!!!!! <<<33333

[indecentpause]

Seven Snippets, Seven People

tagged by @kaiusvnoir to share seven snippets! I will do my best!

tagging for the game from my little list: @caspia-writes @inscrutable-shadow @imaginationxlost @nervousgalaxyllama @pinespittinink @shaicarus @whimsyqueen

no pressure! I know this is a big one, and some people might not have or be ready to share that much. you can always skip any game I tag you in! if you don’t want to be tagged anymore just let me know :3

also tagging my taglist under the cut, because there’s so much here you might like to see too!

cw: sex mention, implied bullying/abuse, panic attack

from The Black & Blues, mostly under a cut to save your dashes lol:

One:

For your fourteenth birthday, Danny gives you a denim jacket he found at a thrift store. It’s far too big but Danny just grins and says, “That just means it’s perfect for patches and buttons.”

You don’t know if you’re brave enough for patches and buttons. But when Danny pulls you into a hug and says, “We’re gonna get out of here. We’re gonna be okay.” You cling to him like a life preserver in a wild ocean, one thing steady in the turmoil and confusion of being a gay kid turning into a gay teen.

For a long time, you wear the jacket as is. To school, to the library, to the grocery store, to everywhere.

Your parents hate it when you wear it to church, but honestly, they’re lucky you even go without fighting them about it.

The punk kids at school begin to take notice of you. One of them, a tall, brick wall of a junior, always nods at you, and one day his girlfriend offers you a fist bump and she gives you one every day after that.

Two:

After school, Danielle, Dicky, and Crystal corner you in the back parking lot where the seniors park their cars. Their faces are worried and serious. It’s like an intervention.

“Meara,” Danielle says. “Please. Tell us what’s going on. Did something happen with your parents?”

Your eyes go wide and you push back against the brick wall, but it just gives them space to close in.

“I’ll slash their tires,” Crystal growls.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m staying with Danny, so I’m fine.”

“So something did happen.” Dicky’s voice is low and angry, but he stays calm. You’ve never heard him speak so quietly, and somehow, that’s scarier than yelling.

You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t cry here at school. In front of anyone other than Danny. You’re already a pathetic mess, you can’t let people see you vulnerable.

But even so, your eyes start to water, and you turn your head away and wipe at your eyes with your knuckles, pressing in hard as you try to regulate yourself.

Then, you’re crying, and Crystal has her arms wrapped around you like you’re a fragile treasure, and Dicky and Danielle whisper-yell at each other about what they should or shouldn’t do, but in the end, nothing is solved and nothing is better and everyone is angry.

You can’t wait to get out of this shithole town. Three years. Three years.

Three:

“[Danny]’s my best friend,” you say.

Kris hikes an eyebrow and purses his lips. “Anything else?”

Your smile must turn a little sad when you say, ‘No,” because Kris makes a sympathetic humming sound.

“But you want him to be.”

“You don’t even know if I like guys.”

Kris snorts. “Straight men don’t touch each other the way you two do. You’re too close, too casual.” He pauses. “Straight men also don’t listen to Pansy Division.”

You clear your throat and swallow hard. “Is it that obvious?” you ask meekly.

“I think you have to be looking for it,” Kris says. “But I know what repressed gay crushes look like. I’m aroace but I still have feelings for Austin and Sara in my own ways, and we haven’t always been together.”

“Do you think we need to tone it down?” Your voice is shaky now, and your eyes dart up and down the hall over Kris’s head. Who knows who might be listening?

Kris smiles kindly and shakes his head. “You do you, man. I wouldn’t suggest walking down the street holding hands with another dude or kissing one in public. But you should be fine.” He gently knuckles your elbow and says, “I won’t tell him. That’s your guys’ business. But I think you should shoot your shot.”

Four:

Because you’re so early, you and Danny get there first. Your guitar is already tuned, but you fiddle with it anyway, trying to ignore your nerves. This is gonna be great. This is gonna work. You’re all friends, and you can make something happen.

Danny appropriately plays the bassline from Fugazi’s Waiting Room as you, well, wait. You’re a good fifteen minutes early, so you have plenty of time for a panic attack in the meantime.

From out of nowhere, you start to get a little dizzy, your breathing gets a little uneven. Your heart is pounding. Maybe you really are having a panic attack.

The bassline stops and Danny carefully puts his bass down.

“Meara?” he says gently. You shake your head. “Meara, are you all right?”

“I think I’m having a panic attack,” you gasp.

He doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t point out that you’ve never had a panic attack in your life. He just takes your guitar and places it to the side, then scoots up next to you, so close your hips touch.

“What can I do?” Danny asks. “Would a hug make it better or worse?”

You sniffle and collapse against him, burying your nose in this shoulder. Sandalwood again.

He wraps an arm around you and pulls you into a half hug. “Hey,” he says. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. We’re all friends, we’ve all been playing for years. And everyone who will be here is nice, remember? Even if there is a disagreement, I think it’ll be fine.”

You nod, and you breathe, and it feels like hours, but the clock says five minutes have passed by the time you calm down.

Five:

You let out an exhale, not quite a sigh, and you say, “Well. I think that could have gone better. It was awesome to see people dancing, though.”

“Are you kidding me?” Morgan laughs. “I think we did great for our first show!”

You pull up your shirt to try to wipe at your face with the hem instead. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Meara, seriously,” Josephine says. “Morgan and I have done a lot of performances in our years playing. That was a really good reception for a band nobody’s heard of.”

“Here, you animal,” Danny says, handing you a gray and black checkered handkerchief. “Use this. Uh. Don’t put it in your pocket, though.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” you laugh.

“No, I just don’t think you share my kinks,” he grins back, ruffling your hair. It stabs you in the chest, knowing he’s still flagging for other men, but then, they’re not ‘other men.’ They’re potential partners. And you aren’t.

And he’s right. You don’t share his kinks. You’re not into bondage or S&M. It’s possible, even probable, that you wouldn’t be sexually compatible, even if you were romantically. Maybe it’s better for you. It’s what he wants, and he deserves to get what he wants.

You could do without knowing which pocket he puts them in, though.

His right, your brain helpfully fills in for you.

Six:

“Were you and your mom really close, then?”

“Yeah.”[Josselin’s] smile is sad but fond. Sad she’s gone but thinking about happy memories. “What about you?” he says. “What’s your family like?”

“I don’t have one anymore,” you say, and while you don’t mean it to come out harsh, it’s firm enough that he doesn’t pursue the subject.

“And now the million dollar question,” you say. He laughs a little. “Why were you homeschooled?”

“Oh.” His voice gets a little soft. “Regular school and autism don’t mix.”

It takes you a moment to understand what he’s saying. “You’re autistic?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Diagnosed when I was a kid. It took me a lot longer than most people my age to start speaking, and I used to have huge emotional regulation problems. But Mom always helped me. She helped me find ways to deal with a world that’s not made for me.”

A pause when the bus stops, and passengers get off, and passengers get on.

“Well,” you finally say, and you hope you’re saying the right thing, “I’d like to be in the part of the world where you are.”

He looks up at you again with that bright, bright smile and those bright, bright eyes.

“Me too,” he says.

Seven:

[Josselin] grabs a box and plops down beside you, and you go through some of his video games together. He has an N64 and a Super Nintendo. You didn’t really have video games growing up. Your brother had some systems but he never let you into his room to play. Danny’s family had a Super Nintendo, but that was more for his dad. He’d let you and Danny play; you just had other stuff going on. When you say so, Josselin bumps his shoulder against yours and says, “I grew up on the road, remember? I never played until Frankie and I moved in together last year.”

“Oh, so they’re hers?”

“Well, I’ve added to the collection since then. But the systems are hers.”

He finally digs out Pokemon Stadium, and, when you agree that that’s still okay, he grabs the box and leaves the couch and you miss his soft warmth immediately. God, you’re absolutely head over heels infatuated, aren’t you?

He’s just so calm, and gentle, and sure of himself. He doesn’t put on a front. He’s absolutely, unabashedly Josselin.

You don’t know who Meara is, yet. For years you defined yourself by your sexuality because you had no other choice if you wanted to stay safe. But now you’re Meara the student and Meara the musician and Meara the friend.

Maybe Meara the boyfriend, soon, if you’re lucky.

General taglist:  @ohsugarfoot @abalonetea @only-book-lovers-left-alive @poore-choice-of-words @leadhelmetcosmonaut @jasperygrace @drippingmoon @theschoolofathena @viskafrer @thelaughingstag @athenswrites @kaiusvnoir @magic-is-something-we-create

Black & Blues taglist: @winterandwords @lynnedwardswrites

[vizthedatum]

This is the illness, lack of regular eating, righteous indignation, feeling behind at work even though you’re trying, etc. talking: I hate my ex/spouse.

I do love my friends and partners. I have an immense amount of love in me. Even when I’m like this.

I had an amazing night last night. And I genuinely feel so thankful and amazing due to the love from my friends and partners.

I also am a very whole person who has been going through grief since childhood.

—

I just…

Sometimes I honestly wish I were more naturally a complete prick like my ex. And maybe not so “feminine” and curvy or whatever so that people don’t just see me like a sex object (which is unrelated to me being hypersexual). Because then… maybe people would just have more empathy for me?

That’s not a great logical argument.

People get upset with me and don’t communicate or have empathy. They think I’m just there to please them. And I do. I like doing things for people… even without asking. I am gonna demand more now too.

Isn’t it wild that when I ask for affection or tokens of love (even if non-romantic or non-sexual), people back away?

Or when I tell people that I need space - it’s seen as a rejection? As if they’re entitled to my time without a prior agreement….

Or when I tell people I need more time with them, then they don’t even tell me their boundaries… leaving me wondering and then I ultimately err on giving them space.

Sigh no wonder I chase people who are emotionally unavailable - at least they keep me on a string and I know what to expect. Even if it hurts so fucking much. I know I’m better than that. I deserve better than that.

Isn’t it wild that I tell past sexual partners that I want my orgasms to be a priority and they literally cannot even deal? Or it’s a chore to them? Or they don’t want to? Even when they orgasm every single time?

Or that I think that if I tell someone how to please me or show me affection that it would be taken the wrong way, so I make myself small?

My ex figured me out. They stopped doing things other than basic food things for me a long time ago. And then after a fight or when they needed something, they’d offer me acts of service that they knew I craved. It always came with a price. And if I couldn’t do chores or do stuff with them or whatever, then… I was made to feel like I didn’t deserve affection.

Sometimes I’d fawn so hard just to get them to have sex with me (they gave up foreplay or even trying to get me aroused or trying to get me to cum) - they would come up with so many excuses.

No excuses when they wanted something or when they wanted to get off though.

No excuses to touch me whenever they wanted (and I let them because I craved their touch) or to regulate them.

—

And then past lovers of mine act like they’re so hurt when I don’t orgasm… even when I offer guidance and collaboration. And when I pull back my energy and tell them I don’t want to have sex, they act like they’re so entitled. They interrogate me.

Even past lovers who are also trans and queer and “woke” act like this: “oh but the point of sex isn’t to cum” or something. I had a lover who was also a close friend who emotionally hurt me so badly but whenever I try to tell them, they kinda just don’t get it. Or they just cry because of their own trauma. And they just did it bc of their own trauma responses. I can’t even trust them anymore because they are so fucking dissociated that they don’t actually read what I write, they don’t tell me what they want, they made me feel like just a sexually attractive body who could fill their void with my musings, they don’t engage in ethical polyamory despite wanting to, and more.

I guess I’m just also an asshole for just talking about my life - but I’m a writer. And I write about my life.

[mikuni14]

Of course, despite all my complaints, I still think about NLMG :)

The first 3 episodes made NLMG, next to MSP obviously, my favorite series of those currently airing. And then, the 4th and 5th episodes aired and I feel like something weird happened to this show.

The first episodes were great. The development of the plot was linear and had a good direction, same with the development of PalmNueng's relationship. I could see the sense and logic of Palm and Nueng's actions (especially Nueng’s who is the driving force in NLMG after all), the tension, the flirting was a lovely bonus. Everything was good. From the 4th episode, I have the impression that the director got lost in what he actually wants to show and what the series is actually about. There is no linearity anymore, the plot is all over the place, a lot happens, but in fact we barely touch  even the "heavy" stuff, or new problems, jumping to the next scene, next issue, but never properly addressing them, experiencing them.

Nueng, a well-written, character who slowly revealed himself to Palm and to the viewers in each new episode, was shown as someone who actively fights for Palm's friendship and intimacy, that he dislikes the master/servant relationship, that is based on class and service. I liked him! But it has changed. What struck me the most was that Nueng seeing Palm fighting with his father, seeing Chanon's aggression and violence - verbal AND PHYSICAL, all he got out of this scene was "oh no, so Palm is bullied to be with me :'( I'm just a job for him". Nueng didn't think about how Palm felt, how all the fight, THE SLAP, could affect him, he thought about himself. And this is just one of the many recent scenes where it's clear that to Palm Nuneg and his well-being come first, but as for Nueng - Palm and his well-being comea AFTER his own needs. 

Don't get me wrong: personally I like tropes like attack dog, spoiled prince, or submissive, self-sacrificing seme. But only on terms similar to those from Utsukushii Kare, like: - attack dog consciously CHOOSE his "lower" position, and the master/ spoiled prince makes sure to “repay” him for his "service" - in their seemingly unequal relationship, they are in fact equal (and both consent to their roles). They both give and take, minding the fact, that their needs are different. They are equaly obssessed with each other :), it's important that the strength of feelings is the same in both of them - despite the master / servant relationship, the spoiled prince is not being blind to the “servant” and his needs, there is no maliciousness in his actions, even when he’s being a dick ;)

At the moment, I feel like NLMG doesn't meet any of the above terms (although the first episodes, in my opinion, quite clearly suggested that the series would go in this direction, which made me giddy with anticipation). Unfortunately, Palm - although he obviously WANTS to serve Nueng - is forced to do so by the unpleasant circumstances, that constantly remind him of his low status. He gives the most in this relationship, and he does it all the time, he sacrifices the most, receiving only pain and humiliation in return (plus one kiss that, like salt in a wound, is also "about another guy", he can’t even have that little).

The biggest disappointment of the last two episodes - and who lost the most in my opinion, is Nueng. I really liked this boy, I saw in him as a young master who was shaped by his surroundings, so he’s a bit cynical, a bit manipulative, able to give orders and enforce them, a skilful strategist, bravely fighting the obstacles. Who still managed to have a good heart and a fairly regulated moral compass. Who meets on his way someone, who suddenly awakens in him a lot of different. interesting  😏 feelings, that change his life. And Nueng DOES SOMETHING WITH IT. And it was all great. And somehow, thanks to the last 2 episoded, I don’t care about him much now, in fact I don't even like him. I see him and think, how are you gonna hurt Palm NOW? What’s your new way of torturing this poor boy? :D 

Eeeehhhh 🤡

[pixeldistractions]

After that conversation, Jordan just felt defeated all around. He decided to call it a day at the adventure park and retreat to his humble home on wheels to finish a few modifications. He was building bunks in the back bedroom for the kids.

He texted his boys independently of Colette. He wanted them to know that they could come any time, that they were not forgotten. He was naive, maybe, to think that Colette would work with him on this. He hoped they might have been allowed to visit for a weekend by now.

These climbing classes ran through November. That was another six weeks on top of the six he’d already been away, and that wasn’t soon enough for nine-year-olds. He felt like he was doing so much wrong. But what was the alternative?

A phone call broke his work. It wasn’t Maria. It wasn’t Colette, either. It was Milo.

“Hey, buddy.”

“Sorry, Dad.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I wanted to tell you before Mom does. I got a detention.”

“Oh, okay. Do you want to tell me about it?”

“It’s just because my homework, and—”

“Hang up,” Colette demanded, storming into the room.

“He doesn’t have to hang up,” Jordan said, but she couldn’t hear him, and Milo couldn’t hear, either. She’d already swiped the phone. And then she hung up.

Colette regretted letting the boys have phones. It didn’t seem a choice these days—all the kids had them—but she didn’t feel wrong for regulating their usage on her own terms.

“Go downstairs and start that homework,” she ordered. “I want to see progress when I come down.”

Jordan redialed, and the call went straight to voicemail. She must have turned the phone off. All Jordan could do was sit there in the dust and fume.

He didn’t think she’d be so obstinate. And maybe that made him a fool, because of course Colette intended to be as obstinate as possible. She seemed determined to fight every possible thing there was to fight, and he knew she wasn’t always this unreasonable. She allowed him to take the boys backpacking in Canada last summer. But now she won’t let them come out to Nevada for a weekend? Because she was mad and she could.

He was pretty sure he had some rights, but he’d need a lawyer to find out what those rights were. And lawyers cost money, which he was quickly running out of.

Colette took her time walking across the short hallway to her own bedroom. She sat on her bed and called Jordan back.

“He got a detention, you know. He isn’t doing his homework anymore. It’s weeks behind. Seems like he thinks his father is okay with ditching his responsibilities, so that’s what he’ll do, too.”

“Give his phone back. Let him call me.”

“It’s too late,” Colette said. “It’s a school night and he doesn’t have his homework done.”

“So he needs his homework done to talk to his dad?”

“You’re not here, you don’t make the rules. Stop undermining me.”

“Stop making this so difficult,” Jordan said.

“I’m making this difficult?! You fucking left! You left us—them, you left them.”

“It’s not like that,” Jordan said. “I’ll have them any time. I’d have them now, this weekend, whenever. They get a break for Thanksgiving, and they get another long weekend at the end of the month. Sierra Nova has a direct connection from Chicago. I’ll buy the tickets.”

“Damn right, you will.”

“Okay, fine, then let them come out.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Colette said. “Get an apartment. Get a lawyer. Get custody. Then, when all that’s done, you can pay for the train tickets and you can have them.”

“It’s up to you, you know,” Jordan said, his teeth gritted. “It’s entirely your fault they’re not out here. We could cooperate. Plenty of people co-parent and cooperate without making it a huge war. Or you can just have it your way like you always do.”

Yes, actually, she did intend to have it her way. Should she feel sorry about that?

“I’m going on a date, by the way,” Colette said, with a smug grin. “He’s a doctor. An emergency trauma surgeon. He sounds very successful.”

“Is it important for me to know that he’s a doctor, or are you just being as mean as possible?”

“If you feel bad about him being a doctor, then that’s your problem.”

She hung up on him, unwilling to let him have the last word.

— from “boxes and squares #4.1: first fall apart” (3/5)

a little story note: because this is a fringe lifestyle that I’m a little obsessed with, lol! Legally, in the USA, it’s 100% fine to house your kids in a camper, even full-time. When public schools get involved, it’s a little more complicated, which is why most nomadic families choose to homeschool their kids. On principle though, Colette is just being a stinker. I’m not a lawyer, of course, but from my handy-dandy internet research, the way it works with custody is that two parents can cooperate and decide whatever they want for their kids if they agree with each other. And plenty of parents do that all the time without lawyers and courts. Maybe Jordan was a little naive to hope that he and Colette might be one of those ex-couples who can have a civilized conversation and compromise. 😬

Next ->

[marygower]

I don’t know how to be simple. My thoughts, feelings and emotions have never felt simple. Maybe they are? I’ve tried to make them that way, make sense of them in a simpler way, anyway. Nothing has ever seemed simple and at least for me it hasn’t been. That’s not how I’m looking at my life anymore but my body keeps the score.

I am not trying to make things harder and to you it may seem that way but it doesn’t feel like that to me and I am okay with that. I’ve learned to love and live that way and can’t just make my brain do that. I don’t know how to make things concise until I wiggle out all the scenarios and possibilities unless someone I trust puts it into perspective for me. I don’t trust you in that way, I’m trying to though. Or maybe I do but my body doesn’t.

My body sees you as a threat, someone trying to stifle me and my emotions or make me do something it doesn’t feel like doing like changing the way it’s responding. My body is protecting me from anyone controlling what it wants and has been trained to do so. Until I work through these things with a regulated nervous system I cannot see. That’s why I can’t take direction at the drop of a hat because I am already activated. It’s my childhood response to everything and I have to use my adult brain and nervous system to counteract that.

What you see as an irrational and illogical response is simply my childhoods nervous system reacting to something from the past. I have to remove myself from said situation to regulate (physically leaving or finding a safe space within it)

I didn’t need to leave target but my fight or flight response said I had no choice. I couldn’t see a space where I could regulate in there (feeling misunderstood, attacked and activated) so I felt like I had to walk out. You aren’t to blame. Literally Upon walking out my brain cleared and could finally find the words to express what had happened for me in there and you understand better.

I didn’t have to leave target I just needed to work through what was happening for me. Like that day at Publix when I had a fight or flight response to your mom thinking I was asking for more money and me finally telling you how overwhelmed and activated I was at that fact and couldn’t see straight until I fixed that in my minds eye. I literally can’t access anything outside of what is happening to me in that moment and can say and do hurtful things.

If I can’t control what comes up for me when I get activated, I can be in control of

I can only imagine how much you have walked on eggshells and being on high alert just waiting and preparing for my next, what must look like, an irrational or illogical reaction. Trying to navigate that sounds exhausting and absolutely crippling. I am so sorry for causing you pain and stress. It has never been my intention I’ve tried so hard to make sense of it myself. I didn’t mean to drag you through my mess, I know you “signed up” for it but this isn’t what I wanted. It is difficult to see outside my mess and pain and I have taken you on a rollercoaster ride and made you feel unworthy and I’m sure confused. When I heard you say it’s all been about me for years, I felt horrible. I’ve had so much to work through and figure out that i needed you desperately for and you were there even when it was hard and you chose me probably even to your detriment. I have a lot of baggage and have a hard time accepting that through my journey I’ve made you go through a lot too.

[crisishauntline]

What I want to say to her

[Starting point: I need to make my distress as big and urgent as yours in order for you to understand it / you don’t understand my pain unless it manifests like yours does]

In the conversations we’ve had where I’ve reached my absolute breaking point and then we have some sort of breakthrough and new agreement, I have not said anything new. You have even acknowledged this. I think that the mysterious factor that makes things “click” for you in these conversations is not my words, my intent, or the genuineness of my love for you. It’s the fact that I am sobbing and raising my voice at a level I work incredibly hard never to get to when we’re engaging with each other. It’s the fact that for once, I have lost the ability to continue our pattern where I treat you like you are a well-meaning, equal adult partner, doing my best to regulate myself as well as you, while you sink into your trauma and treat me like I am the uncaring, all-powerful parent that caused it. I am no longer able to slow down, speak softly, bend over backwards to overexplain and apologize first, always from the bottom of my heart, and play therapist for your deep unknowable feelings. I am so flooded with both of our feelings and so starved of your empathy that I explode, and then feel fucking terrible for it because I know how it makes me feel when you explode at me. And then I muster the energy and humility required to calm down a little, tell you I still love you, and repeat all the same things I’ve said before—and suddenly you actually feel it.

You don’t understand my needs and pain when I express them in small, healthy, consistent ways. You might know what they are, but you don’t understand them or what they have to do with you—what it feels like to me when they’re met and not met, how you can keep them in mind in a proactive, generous way rather than reactive, fearful way. You know how important it is to me that you go to therapy, communicate with me about how you’re working on yourself and what other strategies you’re trying out for when I can’t support you, and that you give me space and encouragement to care for myself. But you frequently forget why these things are so important to me and what you should do about them, besides apologize for not doing them.

You also don’t understand how I can fully understand and value your needs and STILL not be able to meet them all, or put them before my own. I am not the giving tree. I am just the girl that loves you.

You are not a bad person for feeling the way you do. This isn’t a disease or inherent defect, just a coping skill that’s no longer serving you. It literally kept you alive in your childhood, because you never had your needs taken seriously until you escalated them beyond what a normal, healthy reaction/interaction between a parent and child would be. Because you couldn’t meet your own needs, you learned that exaggerating your distress was the only thing you could do to get it resolved. You also learned that picking fights was one of the few ways you could (sometimes) get your loved ones to express care and love for you.

But you are not a child anymore, and I am not your parent. You have agency, resources, and community to support you when I can’t. And there are a thousand moments and strategies we have together for building closeness and validation that do not involve falling apart over a tiny change in my voice, a 15-minute delay, or spending an extra night or two apart.

Yelling and constant conflict were normal for you growing up, so you may not notice how often that is happening in our relationship, and when you do notice, it doesn’t feel as alarming to you as it does to me. But I need you to believe me when I tell you, as someone with imperfect but still loving and reliable parents, that this amount of volatile, intense conflict is extremely alarming, unhealthy, and exhausting. Love is not supposed to be this fucking hard, especially not this early into a relationship.

As I’ve held on for dear life from one conflict and shaky resolution to the next, I’ve found myself waiting, almost hoping, for the “final shoe to drop”—for you to do something absolutely unacceptable that will make me feel justified in ending the relationship. But the truth is that my months of unhappiness and exhaustion are enough of a reason to break up. I see how hard you are trying, and it means the world to me. I see growth, and so much strength, light, and love within you. For these reasons, I have poured my entire heart and spirit into this relationship at the expense of my own life for too long, and I cannot give anything more, nor do I owe it to you.

"Do you know I could break beneath the weight of the goodness, love, I still carry for you?"

And darling, I truly am breaking.

I deserve the same amount of effort and determination to leave no stone unturned when it comes to making myself feel happy and loved and connected. If I am someone you want to love, and not just feel loved by, you will understand and accept this. I will not ask you to do it happily, because I know how much your heart is breaking. Mine is too. But I will ask you to let me go nonetheless, because I would do the same for you. In a heartbeat.

[cooper730]

Its 2 am in the morning

Ever since Covid, I developed a horrible sleep pattern. Nothing like being isolated and alone in a place with no friends or family to start questioning everything around you. I believe it largely started due to being laid off right at the start of the pandemic and starting off 2020 in Colorado where I new very little people. I am a very competitive person, especially when it comes to hustling in the job market. I excel in opportunity. I always have. I never feel like the odds are stacked against me. But rather this is my opportunity to shine. "I'll show em all" type of mentality. From the people I interacted with through various internet and social media forums in quarantine, it seemed like they weren't even trying. It was like apathy or something on an extreme level. Like if the world is going to shit we might as well have fun and drink and stay up all night. My personality type would never allow me to do this. From the point of being laid off, I hit the job market. Insanely enough I was getting a shit ton of hits. At one point I was interviewing with 5 different companies a week in 2020 from Feb until about July. I interview with Salesforce, Amazon Web Services, Nutanix, Dell Computers, some start ups, ServiceNow, Google. You name em, I interviewed with em. As glad as I was to be interviewing with these companies, I had never faced such harsh and critical components of the hiring process. I was doing mock sales calls, presentations, behavioral, case studies, etc. Never had I had to try so hard for a job than in 2020. But I was in pure survival mode. That's the way my mind and body was trained. I don't give up. There has to be a tomorrow. As I went through this process, the realism of the surmounting "End" came to the forefront of my mind. I started to feel like I couldnt breathe anymore. Every day was pent up anxiety. We weren't meant to live this way. No hope. No future. Every interview would last up to about 5 to 10 stages. It was always wind up something like "Our HR departments gave us new numbers, what was once 10 positions for this role, is now only one, IF that" I was chasing ghosts while I was wasting away So much of this, it truly started to affect my sleep. I'd go to bed with nothing in my bones except anxiety and hopelessness. Every day for 6 months straight, I'd wake up between 2 am and 3 am with a huge shot of adrenaline and start obsessing over anxious thoughts. I didn't even remember them half the time the next day. Finally I would get up walk around and analyze the clock. I wanted so much to feel home. To feel warmth. To feel family. I would watch YouTube videos of Texas football media at those hours. Highlights of the boys in burnt orange always brought me happiness. Turning on a show or a movie was completely out of the picture because any little point of negativity would send me down a negative spiral. Because of my love for youtube research, I started to really research my sleep anxiety. What I found was the "fight or flight response" "The fight or flight response is an automatic physiological reaction to an event that is perceived as stressful or frightening. The perception of threat activates the sympathetic nervous system and triggers an acute stress response that prepares the body to fight or flee."-Psychology Today As I did more research I found that in order to conquer my sleep anxiety, I would need to regulate my emotions, not let my emotions have control over me. I needed to use my prefrontal cortex to determine what is rational and what was not. Are these crazy anxious thoughts I am having at two am rational? Is the world gonna end? Was that bill paid? Is my car gonna break down, again? Am I going to go into debt? Will I ever be able to afford the life I wanna live? Will this pandemic ever end? Will life ever be normal again? Did I really miss my chance at happiness by not going after that girl I really liked? Are these things I can solve at 2 am in the morning? No. Even if I was awake could they be solved tomorrow? Probably not. I did more research on regulating the physiological symptoms of anxiety. I feel like I was trying to outsmart my anxious thoughts by creating more problems, inadvertently of course. What I learned? BREATHE SPENCER, JUST BREATHE By allowing oxygen into my brain and control my breathing, I came to discover that I had my control over myself. Fight or Flight. Allowing oxygen into your brain will allow you to think rationally. Think about it. If you are choked up or have a stuffy nose are you usually thinking clearly? Not really. Allowing oxygen into your brain on a regualted level will allow you to have so much more peace. Once I started doing this. I came to find that I was able to sleep better. Waking up at 2 am still happened but by breathing I was able to get back to sleep and get better rest. I know it feels like the world is on fire most days. Take a deep breath and enjoy life every once in a while is what I've learned.

[teatimewithlex]

Tough Vs Soft.

Heres the thing about hard things, they break, every time. We assume, “life is hard, I must be harder”, which is the absolute worst advice. Soft things however, do not break.

Being soft IS tough. Heres the trick to it: COMPASSION. I know its hard to find compassion for those who’ve done you wrong, or speak to you condescendingly, or are just plain rude. HOWEVER, take a pause first, and realize the subsequent projection, is not the truth.

YOU know your truth, you know your doing what you need to do, you, know, you. You do not know them, their intelligence, or lack of, their understanding, or lack of, or just plain old different perspective of reality. Which is not wrong. If they want to govern their personal world, with certain rules and regulations, thats their world to do so in.

Its up to us, the ones who are aware of this situation, aware of our world, to NOT meet them on their frequency, or on their world’s rules, because, quite simply, thats not you or your world to worry about. Nor can you change it.

Its an act of silently rising above, to the point of extinguishing the flames of anger, thus no longer needing a reason to be hard. If the gloves are off, you attract less battles. And if you still attract them, this is time to put this compassion tough softness to the test. The more you do this, and the less you react to the rules of this person’s world, that has NOTHING to do with yours, the more soft, unaffected, and light you become.

Once you reach a level of continuous unaffectedness, your going to find that the little things that used to set you off, don’t even tickle that anger bone anymore. You just jump right to the compassion.

Example: you feel that someone is acting or doing something to spite you, or to be disrespectful. Take in the entire situation first, THEN (this is the important part) you assume this person has NO IDEA what they’re doing is upsetting you and your energy. They are not members of your world, they will forget the rules. That’s where healthy dialectical behavior skills come in!

“Hey, so I have a feeling you may have forgotten______about me, and id like to remind you of my boundaries with this situation -OR- Id like to compromise with you on this situation” “When you speak to me in anger, I have trouble understanding your message” “I would appreciate if we could discuss this after we’ve cooled down, and gain better clarity”

Now, for stranger, you don’t need to express your world to them, however you can make it into a lighter situation. “Kill em with kindness” …..but literally. When you respond kindly to someones disrespect, YOU now hold the power.

You are sending an unspoken message saying “I don’t loose control or waste my energy on anything not in alignment with me”. Thus planting a subtle seed in that persons mind “I am literally loosing control of myself…”

Now whether that seed grows or not, is 100% not your problem nor your concern, you’ve done whats right by you, and you can now move on with lack of guilt, shame, energy expenditure, karma and all the other unfavorable energy drainers, that come with.

Your peace is of upmost priority. We must calm our nervous systems, so that we stop reacting with either “fight or flight” and rather to THINK and respond instead. That can only be done once you calm your nervous system. Fight or flight has helped us survive for long, its time to THRIVE, and that comes by respecting and honoring the peace in your personal world. Bend your growing roots, do not break. Soft IS tough.

Namaste,

Lex Vibes

[dream-wrecker-blog]

What is it, you fight for?

I keep asking myself the question. What is it that I fight for! This question, sprouted in thought because I feel that this planet is sooo fucking ghetto. I’m not saying that I have been on other’s. Or even know wha it’s like. But! What I am saying is that It has to be better some way some how!!! Why is it that we have to pay to live on this planet and for what! Also not to mention we're also kept in line by some fictional being that regulates how well you deal with bull shit it decides to put you through. To me! None of this makes sense. What so fucking ever.

Today I was on the metro north train. Headed from Yonkers to Grand Central. Me not paying any mind to whats going on around me. Because I’m busy being face down on my phone scrolling through “Tic Toks” to make me laugh or to feel righteous abut some social injustice done right. That I did not notice that I made it to yankee stadium. Where all of my alarms bells and whistles have gone off. Because a bunch of loud and drunken white folks have gotten on from the game.

You see I’m not always around white folk. And when and or if I am, It is because I have to be. This was crazy all of them were very loud. And very drunk and very disturbing. The group started chanting, fuck Biden. And other game like chants. I had no problem wit what they were saying I just had an issue with the volume. I became super perturbed and even greatly annoyed. My ears flickered and my face, it rested like it never rested before. This resting bitch face, felt so legendary that it could have starred in its own Movie. A movie that literally is made up of grunts and looks. I felt like a cat among dogs. I see why they sit there and make faces now. When all you are doing is sitting there trying to relax before your 12 hour shift in the hot loading dock.... and boom!!!! This wave of drunken entitled people come and just took over.

I’m writing about this because, These spaces they take up when they enter, is crazy. It’s almost as if the energy gets warped. Like a real ilife glammer spell is casted before your eyes. I had to ask myself. If any person of color were to come in to such a public space and create such a nuisance. Would it have been accepted or even tolerated. As they chanted in camaraderie of fuck the president or even when being vaguer with other statements. Would it have not been challenged? I started to feel unsafe. As a sea of people who are Notoriously known for violence when intoxicated. Started to take over the car I was in. It’s really the first time in my life that I felt like an other. Not for my sexuality like I usually do. But! Because of my skin!

Now! They did not do anything to me. They did not intimidate me. And! They did not have anything to do with me. My point is that in black and brown spaces. We’re inclusive of everyone in the space, "usually". We acknowledge and for the most part tolerate others as much as we can. We see each other. And we in a way create a psychic safe space. You can agree to disagree. But! As a spiritualist and psychic. What I learned is that white people don’t always do that! But! Expect you to provide it. They walk around with is hard energy and take, take, take. I truly believe the mentality they posses is a cancer to this planet. This statement even ones for those who think like them. It’s tiring and annoying at this point in life. And I’m only in my mid 20’s This planet really needs a reshaping. A restart.

I just wanted to go to work. I’m tired. And this is how I fight this fight called the human experience. But! I don't wanna do this anymore. I’d rather live in the woods with the tree spirits and animals where I know at least there intentions are true. Where if there’s a real fight it’s because of survival. True grit! Not a created problem and blame the person who’s living in it,the issue.

[daughterofanarcissistwoman]

Psychoanalyzing people can be a trauma response learned from being forced as a child to become an expert on managing your abusive caregiver’s moods to avoid danger.

When I notice my mind doing this with someone, I realize my fawn trauma response has been triggered and I may need stronger emotional boundaries with that person. If they are a safe person, I remind myself that no matter how tired/low/bad of a mood they’re in, they have a proven track record of not being like the people who’ve abused me in the past. I remind myself I am able to stick up for myself now if they were to “take their bad mood out on me”. When you grow up with unpredictable, raging caregivers just being around someone who’s not emotionally regulated registers as danger to your system. Unlearning people pleasing is continually reminding myself I am not responsible for other people’s emotions. I don’t have to compulsively rescue people from their bad moods for my survival anymore. I can actually give energy toward myself.

My birth giver trained me to psychoanalyze from a young age. I had to act like her therapist, giving her constant empathy, comfort and encouragement. I was not allowed to have needs or even emotions or opinions of my own unless they were a source of supply to her.

Confusingly, my negative emotions were clearly a source of supply for her when she would bait me into arguments and I’d get overwhelmed and start crying. The power she felt over me in those moments was obvious. I was always apologizing for something. I shrank in her presence like a programmed robot, not safe to be my true self who she showed no interest in knowing. Any kind of contact with her requires me to shrink my true self, and at this age I am no longer able to do that.

Before I learned about narcissistic abuse and the fawn trauma response, I wondered why I seemed to attract bullies and always felt so powerless to stand up to or get away from them.

Boundaries are like your emotional “skin”. Going through life without boundaries is like walking around with your nerve endings exposed, your innermost organs being affected by the slightest touch. It gives people easy access to gut you.

If being around certain people makes you feel like you have to be hypervigilant to protect yourself, that could be a sign to strengthen your boundaries with that person.

Responding to your hurt with “You’re too sensitive” is gaslighting, plain and simple. I have the right to protect myself.

And yet that is the last fight you may have with an abuser, kicking and screaming: when you finally try to get away for good. Looking back I see how while I was enmeshed with my birth giver deep down I felt the fight to leave wasn’t something I had the energy to fight, she had trained me my whole life to back down/give up with her most harsh, cruel reactions to me trying to assert any boundaries/protest/disagreement. Learning about trauma bonding has helped me so much to understand how I was trained to “beg for crumbs” and how my brain became used to chaos/dysfunction in relationships.

Boundaries are the antidote to enmeshment, and when the enmeshment unravels all the layers of gaslighting unravel along with it. I see why she had to keep such a tight grip of control on me: the last thing someone manipulating you wants is for you to see through their tactics. I can no longer bend myself into the positions required to be enmeshed with her. When it comes to people that just want to drain you, being the “bigger person” means walking away, not staying and letting them change you into a person you’re not. Boundaries and knowing ourselves protects us from people trying to use guilt, obligation and confusion to control us. To control is to own like an object. To control is the first step towards destroy.

It feels like I’ve been trying to stay afloat in stormy water with shackles on my feet. Nearly drowning, I finally got the shackles off and have washed ashore but now I’m exhausted, gasping for breath. I shuffle my feet on shore, used to the shackles. Once you’ve escaped danger, it takes time to adjust to being safe. I’m enjoying more and more freedom as time goes on. Some level of psychoeducation is important in recovering from abuse so that you recognize the signs and prevent the past from repeating itself. “What isn’t repaired, repeats.”

[cabezadeperro]

Hi! Would you be willing to do #24 for Boss/Niner, where it's antagonistic on the surface but they low-key need each other or have something in common that they have with nobody else?

hi anon!!! the prompt was whispering in the other's ear, and i went with something else. post-war, everything's well and fine and sev's alive. established relationship, 560w, G. it's my first writing these two, so i hope it doesn't disappoint!

----

Niner’s the one charged with waiting for Delta in Enceri’s spaceport, buy’ce under his arm and the cold, cold wind of late autumn filling his nose with the smell of hot metal and rotting leaves. The veshok don’t lose their needles once winter hits, but everything else does: the land around Kyrimorut looks burnt yellow and grey by lack of sunlight, the sky pregnant with storm clouds that slip down the mountains to the north and flood the valley where Skirata built his vhett with heavy, dense mist. 

He doesn’t quite know why Delta won’t go directly to the vhett—everyone else does. Something tells him it might have to do with the same reason they don’t live in Skirata’s land anymore.

Their ship—an old, souped-up gunship big enough to act as a home—finally lands. Niner shifts his weight and watches the vessel cool down and one of the spaceport workers step closer to the lowering ramp, splashing around the puddles on the tarmac, checking something on their datapad. 

There’s a part of him that can’t help but tense at the obvious lack of—of care the worker reserves for their job. He tucks it away: they’re just some birther. They simply don’t know better, and anyway—it probably doesn’t matter. Enceri is just a tiny, forgotten town in the middle of nowhere. 

Niner shifts his weight again. They were rounding up the animals when he left. They don’t need him, not really, but he can’t help it. Fi’s been having a few bad days, and Kad got sick last week, so Dar’s been distracted, and Atin’s too busy helping out his wife with her new business, and Ordo and Prudii are the only Nulls not offworld, and Skirata—well. Prime knows the old man tries, but he isn’t as young as he used to be, and the cold and the damp always mess with his joints.

The first to exit the ship is Scorch, as always. He immediately strikes up a conversation with the spaceport worker, tugs him aside. Sev follows, hair messier than ever, a distracted scowl on his face, and Fixer’s hot on his heels, one hand on Sev’s shoulder and his bucket on. 

Boss the last to step off the ramp. First he locks down the ship, and then he effortlessly corrals his old squadmates, aiming them towards Niner with the ease of practice, and Niner feels his mouth twitch, the warmth inside his chest butting heads with grief.

Niner still remembers the days they spent in Triple Zero holed up at Qibbu’s, he remembers the tension and the fights and the arguments, so it always shocks him, how genuinely happy they are to see him. Scorch hugs him, short and tight, and then there’s Fixer rattling his vambrace against Niner’s, and Sev’s arm wrapped around his neck.

Boss waits his turn patiently, bucket off and a tiny smile on his face, his eyes warm. Niner elbows Sev right under his plates and ducks away, and then Boss’s arms are around him in a bonecrushing hug, his stubbled chin rasping Niner’s neck, dry lips on his ear.

Boss sighs, almost too soft to be heard, and Niner can’t help it—he darts in, brushes a quick kiss on his hair, still regulation-short and so soft, and then he lifts him slightly, arms wrapped tight around Boss’s middle, until Niner hears him wheeze out in laughter.

[catrasredemption-moved]

Abuse TW:

Idk why this person has decided they needed to start an anti Catradora account on Twitter two years after the show ended, buuuuuuuuuut. Let's go through this point by point, shall we?

-Catra makes unreasonable demands of Adora/expects Adora to put everything aside, scratches, shoves, kicks, slaps Adora: grouping all this together because it's when they are literal children. And surprise, children don't always handle emotions well! Sometimes they have too many emotions that they don't know how to regulate and they lash out. Sometimes it happens physically. At that point it's their guardian's job to teach them why that's wrong.

Catra had previously been told that the only reason she was around was because *Adora liked her*. She made the logical conclusion that if Adora didn't like her anymore, Shadow Weaver would throw her out. Let me know how you would react to that at like 6-8 years old. You can't tell me you NEVER physically lashed out at another person when you were kid. Even if it was just shoving them to get them out of the way. Children have tiny bodies full of big emotions. Shit. Happens.

(Full disclosure, yeah, when I was 9 I kicked a boy because he was teasing me and wouldn't leave me along and I was angry. Kids are bastards sometimes.)

"Catra is constantly dissatisfied no matter how much Adora gives" - Uh. When? Thinking through their interactions during the first ep and all the flashbacks, I can't recall one time Catra expressed dissatisfaction.

"You're supposed to be *my* friend."

"I am your friend Catra."

Oh look, Catra expressed her feelings, Adora reassured her, and Catra was happy.

Actually going back to the shoving thing again - they were raised in the Horde, do you expect any of them to have HEALTHY ways of expressing themselves? It's shown multiple times that they invade each other's spaces, push back against each other, etc. as a way of showing affection, especially in the portal, and in season five. And they certainly weren't afraid to get face to face when they were fighting.

Or are we talking about when Catra got angry after Adora was promoted? Because that anger was at SHADOW WEAVER, not Adora. Two seconds earlier she'd been thrilled because ADORA GOT PROMOTED THAT'S AWESOME. Did she express it well? No. But again. Dysfunctional.

Also friendly reminder that in the same scene Adora basically tells Catra it's her own fault Shadow Weaver abuses her ("You are kind of disrespectful"). A+ victim blaming Adora good job.

(it's not Adora's fault she thinks this, it's how she was raised. Noticing a pattern?)

Moving on from their childhood/pre-war.

Catra kidnaps Adora: Yes, she does. Because she'd fallen out of favor with Hordak, Adora was her enemy, and she needed SOMETHING to secure she'd have a safe future in the Horde. Was it right? No. But context is important.

Catra uses weapons on Adora: Yes, in fights, where Adora has a giant sword? It's a war. They're on opposite sides. Unless you're talking about the taser in episode 2. Again, making choices out of fear. Shadow Weaver was going to fry her if she didn't bring Adora back. Good choice? Not by a longshot. But Catra has a well established record of making bad, sometimes self-destructive choices. It's almost like she was raised with the constant threat of death hovering over her head.

Catra attempts to murder Adora multiple times:

.....does she? She leaves Adora hanging on the cliff in the Crystal Palace. Adora straight up told her that the palace only saw Adora as an enemy while Catra was around. Logical conclusion: If Catra left, Adora would be safe

Battle of Bright Moon: She was trying to capture She-Ra, not kill her.

Portal: I could write an entire essay about why the portal was lashing out at the entire world in response to nearly being killed by her abuser who gets to be a good guy now, but tl;dr glorified suicide attempt.

Elberon (4x3): If she wanted Adora dead, she'd be dead. She could have easily turned up the voltage on her trap, but the point wasn't to kill Adora - it was to get Double Trouble into the Rebellion.

Same episode: Adora fights back! It's like they're opposite sides of a war....

(Note that's the last time they see each other until 5x5)

Are her actions during the war *justified*? Of course not, she was on the enemy's side, she did bad things. But you're missing a key part of what makes an abuser: they'll try to frame their abuse as coming from a place of love.

"I'm only doing this because I love you."

"I just love you so much and sometimes I lose control."

Bullshit, etc. At no point does Catra attempt to act like she's doing anything for *Adora's* own good. I can't say emotions are completely removed from the equation, because they're not, but they very firmly view each other as enemies, especially after Promise.

Abuse also implies an unbalanced power dynamic, which there is not. It's not one-sided. It's not black and white the way you want it to be - it's messy and sometimes uncomfortable because they both hurt each other a lot, and neither gets an excuse for it. But simply saying "Catra is abusive" and calling it a day is doing a disservice to the characters and the show.

Anyway, have fun continuing to obsess over something you hate. I'll be over here doing things that bring me joy.

[doctorstethoscope]

The Right Chapter 2 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Hello besties, laptop is going haywire but for the moment we are back!! 

Read chapter 1 of this fic here!

TW: This chapter contains swearing and descriptions of domestic violence. Please read at your own discretion! 

wordcount: 2.6k

tagging: @the-modernmary @greeneyedblondie44 DM to be added to the tag list :) 

Josh fell asleep on your ride home. You roused him gently as you pulled into your designated parking spot outside of your apartment.

“Josh,” You whispered, pushing at his shoulder gently. “Come on, we’re home. It’s late. Let’s go to bed.” 

He jerked awake. “Fuck. I was sleeping. Jesus.” He barked. 

“Sorry, baby. We’re home.” You repeated.

“Don’t know why you even bother calling it home. You’re never fucking here.” Josh grumbled, clumsily unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out the passenger seat of the car. He went on ahead as you went into your backseat to gather your go-bag and purse. When you got to the front door, he was still fumbling with his house key. 

“Here, let me.” You took the key from his hands gently, unlocking the deadbolt and opening the door. 

Before you could even turn around, you were on the floor in the doorway, your nose slamming into the carpet. You were bleeding onto the floor, your blood soaking the tan fibers. It takes you a moment to realize that he’d pushed you. 

“Josh, what the--” a well placed kick to your hip cut off your protest before you could finish it. You rolled over, looking up to see him panting, with angry eyes. 

“You think you’re real slick huh? Staying late at work with the boss? Jesus, sweetheart. I thought you were better than getting a promotion on your back.”

“We were working, Josh. There’s nothing else going on there.” You argued, scrambling backwards away from him and propping yourself up on your elbows. You know that there should be some sort of instinct kicking in, one that allows you to disarm him as if he were an unsub, but you feel helpless as you struggle to put distance between the two of you. He followed you across the room, kneeling over you and pinning you against the floor before delivering another harsh slap to your already-swollen cheek. 

“Listen to me when I’m talking to you.” He growled, and you gulped. He smirked, before grabbing you by the hair and throwing you against the closest wall. You see stars, but you will yourself to stay awake. You’re scared of what he might do if you can’t fight back. 

“Oh yeah? Just working, at 2AM when everyone else is gone? And what was that he called you? Invaluable.” He spits out, pulling you up roughly by your forearms. He leaned in close, presumably to intimidate you. You don’t give him the satisfaction, looking him in the eye and doing your best not to let your glare betray your fear. “Well, we’ll see about that.” He smirked, reaching an arm around to take your gun out of its holster, placing it against  your chin. Your face dropped. 

“Josh… Joshua, you’re drunk. Let’s just go to bed, okay? I’m sorry I was out late. I’ll make it up to you in the morning. I swear.” You’re frantic, your training leaving you once again. De-escalate, de-escalate, de-escalate. “I’m sorry, baby. It won’t happen again, I promise. I’ll request a transfer so I don’t have to travel anymore.” 

He chuckled. “Okay, dear. We can talk in the morning. I’m going up to bed. Get that blood out of the carpet, will you?” He placed your gun on a nearby end table.

He kissed you on the forehead before he went to the bedroom, but the gesture had never been less comforting. He left you there, standing against the wall, blood streaming down your face. You slid down the wall, knees curled up into your chest on the floor, regulating your breath for a few minutes before you rose again. You holster your gun before tending to the blood on the carpet, realizing belatedly that you can’t get it clean because you’re still dripping all over the stain. You chuckled a little, although none of this is really all that funny, sitting back on your heels and looking up at the ceiling, wondering how the fuck you ended up here. Realizing you had no clue what time it was, you reached out your work phone, seeing a missed text from Aaron. 

Please let me know that you’re safe.

You looked around, at your blood on the carpet, at the dent your head had made in the drywall when Josh threw you against it. You brought a gentle hand to your face, feeling how your nose was definitely not in the same place it was when the day had started, and you sighed. Things with Josh were never perfect-- but this was too far. You texted Hotch back. 

I need help. 

Hotch could have easily blamed his inability to fall asleep on the cups of coffee you both had been drinking well into the evening, but he knew that wasn’t the case. If that were so, there was no reason for him to be flicking his eyes over to his phone every three minutes. But here he was, in his study, file open in front of him, and not a word of it absorbed.     

Finally, finally, his phone buzzed. He unlocked it fervently, anxious for the assurance that you were fine. Your text provided no such assurance. 

“Are you safe right now? Do you need medical?” He texted back, trying to keep his head for your sake. 

“Not urgently. Can’t stay here.” 

“You alone?”

“He’s asleep.” 

“On my way. Pack a go bag.” 

“Don’t come in. Light sleeper. Just text.”

You were suddenly grateful for the load of laundry you’d left in the dryer that morning, tossing it all in your go bag without folding it. When you realized that you didn’t know when or if you’d be back here, you took the lockbox off the top of the fridge and pulled out all of your important documents-- your passport, birth certificate, social security card--you tuck them all into a file folder as you feel your phone buzz. 

“Outside.” Hotchner texts you plainly. You gingerly pick up your bags and slip out the door, careful not to make any noise. 

Hotch is out of the car in an instant once he sees you-- he doesn’t know what he expected, exactly, but somehow you look worse, even from a distance. 

“Hey, hey, give me that.” He said, taking your bags from you. “You said you didn’t need medical.” He said, accusatory, but not mean. 

“I said not urgently. I didn’t want you to send an ambulance.” You told him. “I feel fine. I just need advil.” You said as the two of you climbed into his SUV. 

He looked you over, incredulous. Your nose was definitely broken, and he couldn’t tell in the dark of the night, but he was pretty sure you were still bleeding. Your cheek was swollen from where he slapped you, and you were sporting a black eye, likely a complication of the nose. And that was just what he could see. He shuddered, although he tried to hide it from you. 

“We’re going to the hospital.” He said, turning his key in the ignition and taking off.

“Hotch, I just want to sleep. Please. I’ll take myself to the hospital in the morning, I promise.” You practically begged. 

He turned his head towards you. The only thing he wanted more than to give in, in that moment, was to make sure that you were safe. “Did you hit your head?” He asked, 

“What?” You asked. 

“Did you bump your head at all, when everything happened?”

“Yeah,” you told him, running a hand over your head and feeling the tender bump that was forming there. You cringed, and Aaron caught it. 

“I’m sorry, but we need to take you to the hospital. You probably have a concussion.” He apologized. 

“I really don’t want to go through the whole ‘you were clearly involved in a domestic dispute’ thing that they’re going to do,” you complained.

“You don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to answer. I just need to make sure you’re okay. Everything else goes at your pace.” He promises you, sneaking a glance away from the road and over to your face. You’re already looking back at him. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. 

Already looking back at the road, Hotch took one hand away from the wheel and gave your forearm a quick squeeze in response. You drove in silence for a few moments before Aaron pulled into the hospital.

“Alright, let’s get this over with so we can get you to bed.” He told you, climbing out of the car before coming over to your side to help you walk. Truth be told, you didn’t really need assistance, but your hip hurt so badly that you were limping, and it seemed better to have Aaron slowed down by helping you, rather than just by watching you. 

The emergency room was, thankfully, deserted, and you were seen relatively quickly. Aaron offered to stay in the waiting room but you asked him to come with you. 

“I, uh. I don’t really want to be left alone right now, if you don’t mind.”

“No, no, of course not.” He said, standing and following you and the nurse. 

“What brings you in, dear?” The nurse asked, moving slowly to accommodate your pace. 

“My boyfriend beat the shit out of me.” You said, figuring she might make it easier if you  just bite the bullet, and Aaron shot you a glance. You shrugged in response, and then noticed the nurse’s eyes shifting between the two of you. 

“Oh, no. Not him.” You assured her with as big of a smile as you could muster, given the amount of pain that you were in. “He’s a friend. He picked me up.” You explained as she led the two of you into an exam room, shutting the door behind you. Aaron helped you up onto the exam bed gently, choosing to stand nearby rather than sit in the chair provided.

“Okay, ma’am. Our policy for domestic disputes is not to involve police unless requested by the victim.” You cringed at her word choice. “We don’t want this to be more stressful than it already is. What we do instead, is we take a detailed account of everything that happened to cause you bodily harm, and if you decide to pursue any legal action, we can send those records along on your behalf. So can you tell me what happened tonight?” 

You glanced over at Aaron before you started, taking a deep breath. He wasn’t going to like this. You told the nurse, clinically, what had happened, leaving out the things he had said to you for Aaron’s sake. You did your best to keep your emotions in check, although regurgitating everything that had happened was making you feel sick. You glanced over at Aaron-- his jaw was set, his mouth in a straight line, nostrils flaring, even as he stared at the linoleum tile on the floor. You closed your eyes and attempted to zone out as you continued, as if you could distance yourself from the emotions by imagining that it was just a story you were telling. 

“And then he pulled my gun out of my holster---”

“Ma’am, do you have a gunshot wound?” The nurse interrupts you, voice slightly panicked.

Oh, shit. You probably didn’t need to include that part. Your eyes are open in an instant, and you look over at Hotch. He’s pissed, and not looking at the floor anymore.

“No, no. Sorry, that is um--- that’s clinically insignificant. He didn’t fire the gun or strike me with it. That’s how it ended.”

“Okay, hon. Why don’t you get changed,” she said, handing you a hospital gown, “and I’ll send the doctor in in just a second.” 

“Thank you,” you said, and Aaron echoed his thanks. 

“Clinically insignificant?” Aaron asked incredulously as the nurse shut the door. 

“Can you turn around? I need to change.” You deflected.

He turned to face the wall as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “He pulled a gun on you, (y/n).” He shook his head as you quickly changed. 

“I know. I’m sorry. You can turn back around now.” You told him.

“No, I’m sorry. How long has this been going on for? How did I not notice?” He asked as he turned to see you, practically swimming in the oversized gown.

“I think we all work really, really hard not to be profiled, Aaron.” You tried to comfort him.

He was interrupted before he could respond by the doctor knocking and then swinging the door open.

“Good evening, folks.” The smiling blonde woman said. “Let’s get you home so you can sleep some of this off, yeah?” 

It takes a couple of hours, but you’re sent home with a nose that’s set back in place, as well as a prescription for enough pain killers to put a large dog in a coma, in addition to the confirmation that you did, in fact, have a concussion. Your hip, thankfully, was just bruised. 

“She needs to be woken up every couple of hours for the rest of the night and the day tomorrow. Just to be safe.” The doctor told Hotch. 

“Not a problem.” He said resolutely. 

“Do you have any questions?” She asked, turning to you. 

“When can I go back to work?”

“Well, if you work at a computer--”

“I work for the justice department. So, I guess I’m really asking about field work.” You clarify.

“At least ten days, and that’s if you’re feeling better.” She said, giving you a stern look. You visibly deflated, knowing that if the doctor said ten days, Hotch wasn’t letting you in the field for at least twenty. 

“Thank you, doctor.” Hotchner said, placing a hand on the small of you back as she opened the door and allowed you both out. 

“Of course. Call us if anything changes.”

You trudged out to the car in an exhausted silence, sure that you’ll fall asleep as soon as the car starts moving. Once you’re buckled in, Hotch speaks. 

“I’ll tell Strauss that we aren’t coming in today,” he says offhandedly as he cranes his body back to pull out of the parking spot, his arm strewn across the back of your seat for leverage.

“We?” You questioned. 

“You need to be woken up every two hours. I can’t exactly do that from the office.” He reminds you. 

“I can just set an alarm on my phone, it’s not a big deal.” 

“Uh huh, and when the alarm doesn’t wake you up because you have a brain bleed?” He’s teasing you, but you also know him well enough to know that there is a very real twinge of anxiety behind it. 

“Hotch,” you scoffed at his joke, breaking into a smile despite yourself. “I don’t need you to take care of me.” You added more seriously. 

“I know you don’t.” He placates you. “But will you let me do it anyways? Plus, you’re not the only one who didn’t sleep last night.”   

“I guess that’s my fault.” You admitted. 

“Hey, I’m glad you called me. And I’m also glad the bureau has a generous sick leave policy. We both need it right now.” 

You can sense that this is an argument that you’re not going to win, and even if you could, you don’t have the energy to try. You close your eyes and lean back against the headrest in the car, giving him a resigned nod before you fall asleep.