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mariamariquinha · 6 months

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Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Thirteen (Part 2)

Summary: The void.

Word count: 7.6k

Warnings: Bad words, violence, ~ daddy issues ~, smut, unprotected p in v sex, slight mentions of political conditions from the period, trauma, nightmares, people drinking alcohol, feelings and angst 🤷‍♀️

Author’s Note: I will admit that I am VERY lazy about editing long chapters, so I will always point out that there may be some spelling mistakes. Trust me, sometimes it’s tiring to think in Portuguese and write in English.

This had a very firm direction even before writing, so after a long time, I announce that this is our penultimate chapter. I'm very tired, as you already know, and multi-chapter stories take longer and require more energy, which I've been lacking in recent months.

Either way, it's been an amazing journey! I will be very sad to close, but happy to know that I did something that means something to me. See you in the last chapter!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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Hell, his cigarettes were always stronger. A combination of tough tobacco and intense nicotine, more natural but probably more dangerous. The box was nearly full, you noticed as you fished one out. Either he had recently bought it or he was being more resilient with his addiction - either of those things seemed unlikely. Feeling it now, as you inhaled the nicotine and hid a cough of surprise at the intense taste, you almost had the impression that being addicted to it seemed a lot harder than it looked.

You had sat on the back steps, but you made a point of leaving the door closed as it was before. The night was muggy, a little cruel if you were wearing more than a cotton t-shirt; it gave you an overwhelming feeling, as if you were sensing everything around you. You noticed that the garden had a particularly feminine feel to it — something that felt like Juliana, perhaps a very vivid reflection of what her presence in the house was like. Flowers, water fonts, the stone that certainly had a cool name that was used on the steps you were sitting on. You could feel comfort in the soles of your feet if you moved a little.

The weeds and chips in the beds looked more like Carrillo. You wouldn’t think he cared so much about making the place feel like a house, let alone whether to make the garden look like a garden.

“Why are you here?”

You didn’t have a proper answer. Given his manners, you could smoke in the room, could think about whatever kept you up that night by his window or in the comfort of his bed. Instead, you got there, far away, fingers brushing your jaw unconsciously and smoking a cigarette that wasn’t yours. Without something to say, you shrugged, not eyeing him but knowing he could find ways to get the answer somehow.

It was a pleasant surprise to see him walk down those steps, casually pull up a wooden chair that was there and sit down to face you. That made you smile discreetly.

“It’s awful, just so you know,” You gestured with the cigarette in your hand, contradicting yourself the next second while you took another hit.

“It’s not the best option for those who want to quit.”

“I just picked the wrong time for this. Or the wrong career.”

Carrillo didn't respond, but you could see him make that information something to mull over. You held his analytical gaze for a while; when it got intense enough, you took another drag and turned your face to the side.

“I didn't get them all,” The comment came after a long moment of silence, when you noticed that he didn’t make any effort to have one for him.

“Mm-hm,” He answered easily. “I figured you'd stop at the first one.”

“Yeah, well, this shit it’s fucked. You should review your preferences.”

“On cigarettes?”

“That too.”

This time he reacted, but in such an unusual way that it didn't seem like him. Horacio was drowsy, slow, as if the outside world had taken a break for that moment. Rested, by the saying. And when he decided to lean forward, reaching out a hand to pull the cigarette clamped between your fingers, you let him, watching the way he just took the time to put it in his own mouth before subtly grabbing your previously occupied hand. The same one that was still sore from the impact of the fall, but not so bad that it made you flinch from the touch. With the orange cigarette light illuminating his face, Carrillo carefully detailed the wounds, his thumb trailing lightly over your knuckles.

“Who told you?” The question slipped out of your mouth smoothly, but you felt anxious asking it. When he just frowned at you, you clarified. “About my… fall.”

He took his time taking the cig away, then took more time blowing the smoke away before saying something.

“Peña.”

Of course.

You tilted your head while you entertained yourself with the hold he had on your hand. Raising your eyes after a good moment, you saw him watching you.

You looked at each other for a moment. His fingers twitched in the grasp he had on your skin and whatever breeze that would come to brush you two wouldn’t make a single scratch at that moment. He looked so soft, so… open, like a vision of whatever type of man he was, a person you’d been meeting piece by piece. The warm eyes, the peaceful sincerity and the calm touches. God, he was so beautiful.

“Te extraño en mi cama.” I miss you in my bed. There wasn’t a teasing tone with the way he talked, but you could feel his intentions dripping from his voice.

Instead of giving him a proper answer, you chose — again — to keep any thought to yourself. With a slow hand, you grabbed the cigarette again, inhaling a little and releasing the smoke into the air without taking your eyes off him.

“¿Entonces viniste a buscarme?” So you came to get me?

Eyeing him from above, you could see the small smirk playing on his lips at the comment. You reflected the reaction, taking another drag before returning the cigarette. On this one, he pulled the touch away from your hand and directed it to the bare skin of your leg. Again, you didn’t make the effort to move or say something. Carrillo leaned in carefully, placing a single kiss on the inside of your left knee, then another on the right one. His body was angled enough that you could admire the curve of his broad back, the way the muscles stretched the fabric of his shirt.

“¿Qué estás haciendo?” What are you doing? You asked, a little breathless from the gentle kisses and touches, shivering like an untouched woman.

“Te quiero cerca de mi,” I want you close to me, He said against your skin, hand massaging your thighs. “¿Harías esto por mí?” Would you do this for me?

“Por supuesto, Horacio. No estaba huyendo.” Of course, Horacio. I wasn't running away.

“Yo sé que no. No irías muy lejos vestida así.” I know you weren’t. You wouldn't go far dressed like that. Carrillo straightened his stance, smiling playfully at you and letting a small ‘oof’ when you kicked him lightly on the leg.

You two got back to a comfortable silence, the tip of his fingers brushing your knees while you kept staring at the distance. The cigarette was still burning, making that strong smell of tobacco flow through the air calmly. It was peaceful, the way you sat there, silently, in each other's orbit. For a moment, you wanted to ask if he just lost sleep or if you had woken him up; maybe he wanted to ask something like that too. In the end, no one said anything, even though something should be done soon and you should move on from there.

“Quite dramatic, don’t you think?” You were the first one breaking the silence, still not eyeing him with a wave of embarrassment hitting you. “We’re almost there to get that motherfucker and I’m here whining because of my father.”

“You’re not whining.”

“You know what I mean.”

He knew and, from the inside, you also knew he agreed with your opinions. There was a lot going on, a war to win, people dying, but still your personal problems darkened your vision from the real problem. It made you understand why Carrillo was so averse to DEA or CIA - so many people looking at their own ass and not seeing the whole figure, the important part. Even then, you appreciated the effort, the way he just shook his head a little, took a drag, averted the topic.

You two contemplated the night in silence, puffing smoke and eventually brushing each other’s shins or legs or fingers. It was so easy to get used to the calm of that moment, to remember it as something eternal. You didn't want to think about the end of that because thinking about the end of that would, perhaps, be thinking about the end of what you had with Horacio there, at that moment. A mission that had to be accomplished, with the usual consequences. This was such a cruel melancholy, one that you only glimpsed as simple touches on your fingertips but that made your heart sink.

“Que pasa, mi amor?” What is it, my love? Carrillo asked, probably noticing the way you showed your sadness in your eyes, staring back at him.

“Nn-nn,” You shook your head. “I’m fine. Maybe I just wanna go to bed now.”

“We can do that.”

He didn't press, nor did he hesitate to put out his cigarette so the two of you could go back inside. When they did, Horacio locked the door but didn't let you go very far - he subtly held your hand, bringing you closer and kissing your bruised knuckles. Then, without taking his eyes off yours, he placed a sighing kiss on your forehead, in the middle of your eyebrows, on the bridge of your nose and, finally, on your lips.

“I don't think I ever told you how beautiful you are.”

“Horacio…”

“What? Don’t you believe me?”

“I’m already here, that’s all. You already have me, you don’t need to-” You knew exactly why you waved off his compliment, why you felt so unsure of how to react to it, and maybe he did too, because Carrillo wasn’t dumb. “Thank you. Sorry.”

You also didn’t know why your eyes welled with tears - either way, you suppressed the urge to cry, looking at him from under your lashes with shyness. With a discreet hand, you held his chest, then the side of his neck, tilting your head to the side and almost failing in keeping a neutral expression while observing his face. If you could, you would tell him that you were used to losing, that it wasn’t the first time your mind started to prepare you for another fall, another break. That Horacio, that this, wouldn’t be forever, that maybe you were just a storm in a life that could be calm.

Horacio deserved suitable days. Days where he could have kids, a wife to call his, sunday lunches with family and calm nights with a partner. You always doubted yourself so much, always put yourself in the harsh ways of life to just feel something, that suddenly you felt self conscious of the fact that you weren’t what he probably was looking for, that he wouldn’t change you or what happened or how messy the world was. You didn’t want it to end because it was good. Imprudent, maybe, and quite dangerous, but good. So good.

“What will become of us after this, Horacio? What do you expect of me?”

He blinked, frowning in a stern way.

“Is that what made you lose sleep?”

You nodded. The confirmation just made him sigh, shaking his head lightly and showing clear signs of frustration.

“He was never right about you. He doesn't… He doesn't deserve you, what he said doesn't belong to you,” Carrillo contained a harsh tone, jaw clenching. “I don’t expect anything, not from you, not from us, nothing but the assurance that you’re here now. That’s what I need.”

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It was different that time, you knew it was. Not like the first time, in the pure and mutual attraction, nor the second, in the decompression of the adversities that surrounded the two of you. It was different because, if Carrillo was crazy enough to ask you to marry him or propose an escape or make you stay there forever, you would say yes. Yes, Yes, Yes. Yes, take me away, yes, make me yours, yes, be the father of the children I never wanted to have but would have if you asked me. Yes, I would do anything for you.

But he didn't ask any of that. He hardly asked, in fact, because between ordering or teasing, as he always did with you, Horacio decided to give you things, fill you with dark truths in the way he kissed you and made love to you that night.

There was caution, care. He calmly undressed you, kissed you from heel to lip, caressed you through your physical wounds and those of your mind, holding you tight while he heard you moan and sigh. Sex for you was always a coincidence, an exaggerated consummation that was nothing more than pure biology. With him, that night, it was the end of a long and unnecessary waiting time that would always lead to the same result: the two of you together, skin to skin, without delay.

It was ridiculously cliché, looking into his eyes as you rode him slowly, as you enjoyed every moment with sweaty, panting faces, and knowing that the devotion of pleasure was the first and most genuine positive emotion you felt for each other. That there was no love at first sight, nor at second, nor at third, but a feeling that was based on the truth that, sometimes, the patches of difficult lives so full of ashes were enough for the right person. Ashes that became embers and fire again, with comfortable flames that warmed and did not burn. Not anymore, at least.

When it was all over, with both of you exhausted, tired and overwhelmed by the end, Horacio opened his first truly light smile, without intentions, just a happy one. He passed his hand over your forehead, looked at you without fear.

“Te amo.”

I love you.

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

In the morning, despite having little sleep, you indulged more than you did at night in the shower. It was much less romantic, but equally intense, with skin-to-skin noises, loud moans, nail marks and very naughty looks. He took you from behind, one possessive hand on your neck and the other arm wrapped around your torso to balance his firm thrusts, while you grabbed his hips to keep him going.

One of your best mornings, indeed.

“I have a meeting before lunch. Then we have some alignments about the capture,” He said, all professional again, handing you a cup of coffee. You took it, smiling at the gesture while eyeing the correspondence from the day before that was stuck on your purse.

“The capture. Big word,” The teasing didn’t go unnoticed by him, but the term caused a small cloud of tension to hang in the air.

A letter from your mother. She said she loved you, asked for what the fuck was that magazines in your apartment and a date she had with the guy from the Blockbuster she mentioned two letters before. No details, thank God.

“What do you think?”

“About what?”

A call-up from Messina. Nothing important. That report she asked was probably on her desk by now.

“About this word.”

You stopped between an FBI report and another envelope. When you looked up, you saw him standing in front of you, leaning on the counter where you were sitting and sipping your own coffee. This made you consider a response, even if you already knew what you were going to say. With a sigh, you placed the envelopes back on the top of your bag and also took a sip of coffee, shrugging your shoulders.

“Last time he ran away.”

“Is that what you meant?”

“... No,” You shook your head lightly. “We know what will happen. Do you want me to say it?”

“You could try.”

But you didn’t. He knew, you knew, that was what mattered. Like ripping away a band-aid, or taking the life out of a queen bee - resolution, antidote, job done. You turned your face away from him, eyeing the letters splayed out there, and shook your head again.

“I don't want to put you into the operation. When the day comes, I mean.”

“I know,” A sip - a bitter one. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“My name will already be in the history books, Carrillo. The DEA agent who fell from the rooftops the most in Medellín,” Even if it meant to be a teasing, Horacio didn’t smile, which made you roll your eyes. “I did the job, we all did. Whoever pulls the trigger, I’m happy. Satisfied.”

He didn’t respond to that, nor did he bring up the subject again, and you knew he understood what your passive words meant. You could be hiding something, maybe, but you weren't sure what it was. Your father may have been incapable of keeping words that promised good things, but he had uncanny abilities to carry out his threats well. He wouldn't touch Carrillo, he needed him, the aggression and the wounded pride that still coursed through the guy's veins. It would be one, two of the group. It would be someone.

You left the house giving him a long kiss, one that was returned with a certain innocence - which was an odd word to associate with him, anyway. Either way, you were determined to make the future farewell, the inevitable one, a little less full of secrets. You would say what really happened. You would do that, yes, different from what an unloving father would do after destroying his own family.

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“¿Qué pasó, hijo? Pareces distraído.” What happened, son? You seem distracted.

Jorge blinked a few times, looking back at the dishes in his hands and the foam, which was more sliding around his fists than actually cleaning anything in the sink. When he realized that he was, in fact, wandering in thought, he cleared his throat and tried to scrub the plate harder. He had done it before, but repeated the process unconsciously.

“Sólo estoy cansado, mamá. Fue un día largo en el hospital.” I'm just tired, mom. It was a long day at the hospital.

He hadn't said it in the letter - he didn't feel the strength or courage to do so. He didn't know how his mother would react. Georgina was a truly strong, competent woman, but Jorge's need to take a peek into the past was always something she ignored or just pretended didn't exist. If she imagined anything from her son's erratic behavior, the way he had become more agitated since the DEA had gotten its hands on the hunt for Escobar, she didn't comment. Another quality of hers, perhaps coming from experience, was knowing when to be quiet.

“No sé si voy a venir a cenar esta noche,” I don't know if I'm going to come to dinner tonight, Jorge said in a low, almost embarrassed tone, because he knew how much she didn’t like the idea. When he felt her coming closer, touching his shoulder calmly, he thought it was over and then, right there, all the secrecy would be over.

“¿De guardia en el hospital?” On duty at the hospital?

“Mm-hm.” He nodded, still watching the dishes, afraid of what he would find if his eyes landed on Georgina. She hummed, patting his back, then turning away.

“Ten cuidado en el camino. Por lo que parece, se están yendo.” Be careful on the way. From the looks of it, they’re leaving.

His hands clenched tightly at the mention of 'them', as did his eyes. Jorge always hated his sentimental side because it constantly failed him when necessary - since he was little, he would cry because he was away from his mother for a long time (who didn't give up brothel work even after having him) or he would get angry when another patient died due to lack of medicine in the hospital or he would even feel incredibly guilty when he saw the money that always came with men who were not from the government. That last part, he actually learned to overcome. If he was really determined like his grandmother always prophesied, he would never send that letter. You didn't owe him anything, you might not even have known he existed or, worse, followed not only in your father's footsteps in your career but in life.

Jorge left his mother's house afraid of being rejected again because it had been three days. Three days and nothing.

He wouldn't have another chance.

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That was the thing about being an almost lone woman on the front line: there was a subconscious idea that male colleagues had your back. Well, in general it was the other way around, and you wouldn't have been able to visualize any kind of support from anyone when you arrived, but perhaps your work might have earned you some respect - enough for people to look at you when you spoke and give value to what came out of your mouth. Maybe, if you had a little more stomach, you'd even ask Judy Moncada if she also earned respect through suffocation. Probably yes. Javier frowned a lot when her name came up (which was rare to see), so you could say that this would be an interesting point of identification.

It was the same Peña who mentioned that day he bumped into your father. He didn't specify a time, a specific moment, so it wasn't possible to know if it was before or after the episode in the office, just that it happened. You noticed that he kept looking at you with some suspicion, searching for an opening that would remove his doubt, but when you just said 'mm' and continued looking at the papers, the subject was dropped. There, you realized that it would be much easier to be punctual with your answers if he asked about Carrillo, but you knew he would hate to know too many details about it.

And oh yes, the 'protection'. You were never alone in a room with your father. When he prostrated himself more aggressively, sometimes Carrillo intervened with a firmer voice or Javier or Steve placed themselves, albeit discreetly, in front of you to shield yourself from that reaction. You always noticed, but never commented on it.

“He said that?”

The decision to tell Javier about what happened came in handy for a few basic reasons: he could be on the line (your father would always prefer a good, obedient boy next door like Steve), he knew how to keep secrets, and more than anything, there was a quiet trust that Carrillo wouldn't know about it from him. The two knew each other a little better, they had more identification, so Peña would understand why that conversation was taking place on the discreet terrace of your building between puffs of cigarettes.

“I just want to let you know. You know, in case something happens in the next few days.”

Javi frowned, nodding along but contemplating the information. You observed his side profile for a moment before turning your eyes to the night sky.

“Do you think it would be you?” When he asked that, you noticed that the question didn’t come with eye contact. His eyes were on the concrete, right where he tapped the ashes of his cig.

“I can’t be sure…” You sighed. “We're already in the final stretch, I'm sure of it. It wouldn't make any difference to let us go now. Still…”

Nothing came from your mouth. Javi pressed with raised eyebrows.

“CIA has its methods,” That was all you said and it could mean a lot of dramatic stuff, but at best he would just take some relevant parts from reports or even put on some obstacles in the near future. He would, indeed - he could.

“And don't you think your relationship with Carrillo is hurting your career?”

You two shared a glance, a long one. Javier didn’t seem to regret what he said, nor reticent; it was a question he wanted to do, so he did. And you considered it calmly, rolling the cigarette between your fingers without taking your eyes off him.

“What do you think?”

“... No,” He said, shaking his head. “It's harmless. At least from here. You?”

“It would be a bigger problem if it were you,” The teasing made him scoff.

“You wouldn't risk falling in love with me, at least. I wasn't going to let you do it.”

“Oh no?”

“Nn-nn.”

“Thank God, then.”

“Yeah, you should really be grateful. I still don't understand how you managed to get into his pants.”

“It's not that hard.”

“Mm.”

“You jealous or somethin’?” You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re his type at all, but-”

“Shut up,” He groaned, almost not being able to hide his playful grin while kicking your leg lightly. It turned into shared laughs soon, so you knew it would be another thing to remember.

A small silence lingered there, serene and soft. When he spoke again, it came in a low tone, tranquilized.

“If it's me-”

“Mm?”

“They're going to assign me to Cali. Well, I hope so.”

“You want that?”

“I don’t know what I would do, ‘s all. This… You know what I did here. It's a consequence that I would like to at least remedy, at least to sleep better at night.”

You observed him without a word to say, noticing that the privilege of having a slight reliable source of comfort for certain feelings was mutual. Well, you wished you could’ve noticed that earlier - it would’ve made a difference.

“Maybe I’ll need some support up there.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Do you have plans after this?”

For a moment, for a slight small moment, you wanted to give him a definitive answer; that you would be on the field, that LA still has some hard work to do, that you wanted to stay. If you knew this, you would tell him for sure, because it was Javi and Javi was…

“Fuck, are you two that serious?”

You puffed more smoke in the air, one brow raised.

“I like him.”

Javier didn't respond, but there was a slightly bitter aura on his face, as if he had fallen into an unwanted situation. Well, it was. Just as it was undesirable to leave the US to hunt down a narco, or see innocent dead bodies every day, or start something like that with Carrillo at that point in things. Would there ever be an ideal time?

From the way Peña shared a glance with you, turning his eyes back to the street below you two, there was just one rational and coherent answer. Damn it all, you thought, because being irrational and incoherent seemed to work so fine with everything.

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You couldn't be very moved when Javier was sent away. You were furious, yes, because you could see in your father's eyes that day that it had been your defeat. No, it was a fact, you couldn't react in front of so many people, not even when you hugged him hidden in the parking lot.

“I’m sorry, Javi. I’m sorry.” You said, gripping the fabric of his jacket and keeping your eyes squeezed shut.

“It’s not your fault,” He said as calmly and coldly as he could, hands splayed on your back. “I caused this to myself.”

That sentence haunted you for a while, at least long enough. When Carrillo came to see you later, when you lay in bed together, no one mentioned what happened, even though it was a fact that no one there slept well (again).

“Pronto,” He said. “Pronto atraparemos a ese hijo de puta.” Soon. We'll soon catch this son of a bitch.

And you didn't know if Carrillo was talking about Escobar, your father or whatever the ghost was that surrounded it all.

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A breath you didn't know you were holding left your throat when you heard Trujillo come back on the radio saying that Escobar was dead. Your two hands were gripping the supports of the leather chair, your nails digging into the upholstery, your shoulders raised to your ears; you were alone in the room, locked and static. In the background, you could hear Steve, hear Carrillo and the men. There was a dead body, a definitive body, and it 'almost' made you cry.

You noticed a presence soon after and, when you looked up from the equipment, you saw your father. He had his arms crossed, his body leaning against the doorframe. You exchanged a withering look, full of many meaningless things.

“We-”

“No.”

For the first time, he didn’t answer, didn’t press. You blinked a few times, got even more closer to the desk and turned your eyes back to the radio.

“There will be no confirmation of CIA involvement.”

“Is that the most you can get?”

“I have nothing to apologize for.”

You nodded, expression unreadable, face never leaving the equipment.

“Apologizing is apologizing. I never painted you as a guy with a lot of metaphors and I don't think you would have the mental capacity to do that now.”

He didn’t say anything again. Not a word. When you looked at the door after a few minutes, he was gone - nothing but the empty corridor in your eyesight.

When it was all over, all done (when it finally looked like the end of the line), you didn’t feel all the emotions and joy and relief you always thought you would. There was a restraint, from the way people celebrated from the way you held yourself against the decision to run to Carrillo as soon as they all came back. You looked at the smiles and laughs from afar, observed the proud way Horacio was acting from finally (finally) making it to the final. To kill, to take that bug hurting his ego, his country and his integrity for so long. It all mattered to him and for that you could celebrate.

For some reason, even so, whatever weight you still carried on your shoulders, you flexed your hands so as not to touch Carrillo and carried his body slowly even though your heart screamed for you to run, to jump into his arms and give a relieved sigh, being able to say it was over. You walked closer, patted his bicep, gave one of the most genuine smiles you had, mouthed ‘we did it’ - his eyes were full of a deserved relief, like a good tiredness. Yeah, you wished you could keep that moment in a box, open it when necessary, keep it to memory. He was, really, a beautiful man.

And if you got away from the commotion and saw your father from afar, watching the scene like a hawk, making you lose your smile, it had nothing to do with the sudden sour mood that surrounded your head even during such a big event.

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

“Peña called.”

“Mm?”

Carrillo hummed, the sound reverberating on his chest where you were laying on. The midnight breeze was cooler, mixed with your naked bodies fresh from the shower and the thin layer of the sheets, but you two weren’t shivering.

You brushed your palm on his pecks, nuzzling closer to his neck.

“Said he hoped we celebrated a lot.”

“We did, right?” The teasing on your tone made him chuckle, head turning to the side to peck your forehead.

“I think he should be a part of it somehow,” It didn’t sound like a confession, but more like a statement. Yes, he should, but he wasn’t. An empty space was there, one that nobody would be able to fix.

“... Yeah,” You said slowly, eyeing the window.

“Is that why you looked so lost earlier today?” He asked.

It was true that you didn't want to ruin the moment with what was going on in your head, much less bring another type of bureaucracy to the ones he would face with Escobar's death, but you always thought you could be one step ahead of Carrillo when it came to hiding your true emotions. He had an almost religious ability to read people.

“No,” You shook your head. “But I would rather not talk about it.”

And he didn’t. Horacio went all quiet and kept tracing patterns on your shoulder and arm, all the while giving long and steady breaths, as if entering in a state of relaxation that you’d never seen before. Another thing to keep close to your heart, the way you could feel the slump of his shoulders, his soft heartbeat, the delicate touch of the tip of his fingers - things that he didn’t allow himself to be, a version of himself that flowed in the air, an almost domestic man.

Domestic, yes, so you adjusted your body to be even more closer, touching his skin and kissing what you could reach, what could still be surrounding you. It scared you a little, the fact that if he decided to be done like before, to create some distance between you two, you would be almost sick, sad, unsure of what to do with your hands and mind. Well, the offer would be up. You could still be closer for a little more, work with Peña if he ever got the chance to work on the Cali, to be some hours away from this thing you started to truly appreciate with Carrillo.

But again, hell, again, you wondered if that would always be like this. Could you two only be together in a context of war, of conflict? Wasn't there a version of that closeness that could be solidified in the silence and peace of a stable relationship? How unfair would that be, stopping the world for a moment and being able to sleep with someone you love without a gun under your pillow or the uncertainty of even being alive at the end of the day?

You felt selfish. Horacio could’ve died at the hands of the narcos, he always had an almost obsessive ambition to have that man in his hands, defeated and destroyed. It was enough that he was there, with you, and not in some tomb with honorable mentions made for Juliana, and not for you, because you were nothing more than two colleagues to people. You even felt self conscious. There would be less uncertainty if Juliana was there instead of you because she stopped her life so that Horacio could climb his own, achieve things, be the provider.

You remembered the night right after he was shot.

“I came to see you the day you got shot,” It slipped out of your mouth, breaking the silence in a sharp way even if your voice was small.

“You did?” He asked, confused by the sudden change of subject but willing to engage. “Why didn't I know this before?”

“... I saw Juliana in your house.”

Another silence followed your comment, this time more rigid. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, focusing your eyes on the skin of his belly, but that comfort lasted so little when he squirmed, almost forcing you to move away enough to look at his face. With a gulp, you did, body supported by one of your elbows to see his concerned face.

“It bothered you,” Horacio said.

“No, it’s just… You two were married, Horacio, for fucks sake… And it was obvious that she would come by to see how you’re doing. I didn’t want to interrupt. Not to mention that we weren’t as we are now.”

He stared at you, still frowning. After a while, when he noticed that you weren't going to say anything else, he relaxed his face a little, looking at the window and collecting his own thoughts.

“I tried to rekindle our relationship. Deep down, I thought I needed stability in life, something that made sense and that I didn't need to worry about, so the divorce was a frustration,” A sigh. “But that was before Escobar, before all that. I realized it would be better this way when we went to Madrid. She returned to be with her family, but we signed the divorce with the certainty that it was the right thing to do.”

You listened to his words with attention.

“When I got shot, I didn't think about anything. There was no film of my life or missed chances and opportunities. If I died right then, my only regret would be that I didn't finish my work,” He turned to you then, measuring your face with care. “When Juliana showed up, the only thing she told me was that I shouldn't be miserable enough to only have this mission in my head. That I should progress, live. No one would wait for me forever at the finish line and it would be a horrible feeling to swim for so long only to die alone on the beach.”

That was like a punch in the stomach, a force of words of things that only squeezed your heart. The fear and insecurity of being alone, of all that ending, you returning to LA and having all these feelings, added to the guilt of not valuing what your mother, for example, offered. This loneliness at the end of the day, of modified dreams and a brutal reality, this was something you thought about with yourself and didn't imagine that someone else would feel it too.

“That's when I thought of you.”

You gulped, mouth twisting to prevent a smile.

“You and your perfume. It was always a femininity that I repudiated, particularly because it broke with my focus, took me off the axis, off my plan. After that I realized that getting rid of Escobar was an incredible feeling and going back to that same perfume was just as good.”

No one spoke of goodbyes, of a goodbye that would be seen occasionally and almost instantly. You did it, you accomplished your mission. And if what was left, even if only for a short time, was that sensitive moment of implied declarations and a true sense of love, then so be it.

This ending wasn't that bad.

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

“You’re really trying to make this a competition, huh?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his teasing tone, turning your head for a peck on the lips before going back to the search on your bag. It was still early in the morning, so after a good fight around your kitchen to do a cup of coffee before he woke up, you decided to smoke some - just to notice that you couldn’t find your pack of cigarettes.

Carrillo circled his arms around your waist from behind, making you tilt your head to give room for him to place small and deliberate kisses on your neck. When he started to lower his hand, brushing the inside of your left thigh, you couldn’t help but chuckle. Noticing that you still weren't giving him your undivided attention, Horacio grunted and suddenly grabbed your purse, throwing it haphazardly on the sofa and suppressing your surprised gasp by turning you towards him and kissing your mouth.

“What’s going on?” You asked, unsure if you should laugh, push him away lightly or just give in on his affections.

“Nn-nn,” He mumbled, burying his face on your neck again.

“Nn-nn?”

“Just five more minutes.”

And he wasn't agitated, nor witty enough to make that moment a heap of giggles or tickles or… Anyway. He remained quiet, breathing deeply, placing both palms on your back and pressing you against his body. You frowned at the silence, at the request, until you felt his heart racing in his chest, his skin sweaty. Perhaps you had heard a commotion in the room, something that indicated the reason for that almost unexpected attitude. Horacio was rigid, almost restless in a… different way, burying his fingers on your back.

“Was it a nightmare?” You asked in a low tone.

“Bad dream.”

Well, you could say it was the same thing, but Carrillo probably had odd ways to cope with this shit, like not saying it was a nightmare would make it less scary. It was early - way too early for either of you to be up. It was as if the calm was fighting against the hustle and bustle of the outside world and what was happening. A reminder. You could tell he felt what you had felt the day before, at least because you knew there would be a small sacrifice at the end of it all.

You hugged him back, closed your eyes at the proximity. No one said anything, you particularly couldn’t. If you did, you would have to admit that, yeah, you knew how it was to have bad dreams - that yours involved saying a difficult goodbye, saying that you two would be over.

Yeah, this ending wasn't that bad, but it hurted a little; if felt like a fucking sacrifice.

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

You both had busy days with bureaucracy. There was a lot of paperwork, press conferences, arrests and transfers. The Montoya family wrote to you, Peña wrote (although he was more succinct). When your mother wrote, asking (among other things) when you would return, you answered all her other questions except that one. Steve and Connie invited you to dinner as a farewell and they, yes, had a date to leave, to bury complicated days.

Your apartment was a mess because of it; clothes on the floor, work things scattered around. Some people in the office already had tickets booked to the US, so whenever you came back late at night or in the early hours of the day, there would be someone walking by with boxes, smiling in relief. You just stayed quiet. At dinner, at bureaucracies, at the times you managed to meet Carrillo.

Something was missing. You didn't feel truly fulfilled, you didn't find the strength to respond to your father's criticism or anything that came out of his mouth. It was an inertia of confusion, uncertainty and emptiness.

Horacio was in your apartment when it happened.

The two of you had sat on the couch, smoked, drank, had sex. The usual.

You remembered him getting up to get the bottle of bourbon that was left in the kitchen and you said you would accept another drink. Then you squirmed on the couch, rested your head to face the ceiling and rubbed your eyes, already partially drunk. When you turned your head to the side, hearing Carrillo mumble something about the bottle already running out, you saw a piece of paper pointing out from under the couch.

Any other time, really, you would leave it there. God, why did you take that shit in the first place? Why didn't Horacio arrive seconds earlier to distract you from opening that letter?

Jorge Pérez. With a high level of importance.

It was dated a few days earlier and had been written on pages in a small notebook, with spaced words and letters, all written in typical Colombian Spanish that was mixed in quick, light, hurried writing.

The last time you felt that feeling of having disassociated like that was when Juan Marcos almost killed you. Your head felt light, removed from reality, and it was as if your hands were tingling. You didn't laugh this time, you didn't have a hysterical laughing reaction from the shock, because maybe your body was so exhausted that you could only react with the first thing you felt like doing.

Each word was taken in with a lump in your throat and you blinked a few times as you felt your hands shaking, holding the papers and couldn't finish reading the rest. There were three parts, three pieces. You were suddenly impulsive about finishing the rest, reading, turning over the papers, gripping them tightly between your fingers.

“What?”

He asked with a confused expression, but you couldn’t quite catch his question right away. With a hand in front of your mouth, you swallowed a sob and held that letter with a firm grip, afraid of it all being a lie or an illusion or… A trick. A fucking universe trick for your mind and soul.

You raised your eyes to Carrillo, gulping again to prevent any big emotion from spreading all over the place.

“... It’s… It’s Jorge.”

“And who is it?”

The words almost didn’t leave your mouth, as if you were scared of the consequences of just… saying it.

“My brother.”

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

I saw him on TV, but I saw you on a very trivial day. I don't remember the clothes you were wearing, nor could I tell you what time it was, or what day specifically. Maybe it was right after I saw him, but I still wouldn't know for sure. Things always pass me by with dates and names. I'm dyslexic. The truth is, well, you have a dyslexic brother who is a doctor. This is a great treat for those who enjoy stories of overcoming.

He never talked about me, did he? I'm sure he didn't do that. I think you're smart, maybe witty, because he never talked about you to me either. Perhaps we both did something that would be worthy of making him pull away. This is strangely comforting.

I know that the moment is not convenient and that it may seem like a lie, like a trap or something, so I understand if it takes a while, despite admitting that I am an anxious guy, I would even say impulsive. The truth is that not having an answer from you makes me resigned, but if you responded, if you looked for me, I would be hopeful.

Be sure to stop by a bar in Belén called Bodega del Toro. They have great fish filets and craft beers that are always cold.

Show up. Go to the bar if you can.

He won't show up, you can be sure. This stopped being a reality a long time ago. I hope it also brought out, in addition to your appearance, the generosity that I'm sure your mother has.

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

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@616wilsons

@nessamc

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@padbrookcottage

#horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo #colonel carrillo x reader #colonel carrillo #female reader #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #narcos #maurice compte

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g-zma · 7 days

Text

// random rambling about Guzma and his relationships

I don't even know. I ramble. This has some discussions of child abuse, trauma, and manipulation.

This is very long by the way. Like. Actually though.

Okay to start off with, let's talk about Guzma and Elio.

Elio is what really led to Guzma being able to get help. Without Elio coming and beating the shit out of Guzma every time the guy ran into him, he wouldn't have had the motivation to get better. The big thing is that Guzma didn't really mean to get better in terms of himself, he just wanted to get better at battling. That has more to do with Hala, who I'll talk about in a bit.

So, now that Guzma's in a better place, he's also running into Elio a lot more. The kid lives right next to Iki town, and he's friends with Hau, so he shows up all the time. Not only that, but the kid was there to deal with the UB situation at the same time he was, and though Guzma would never admit it, he has a soft spot for kids.

So he won't say it out loud, but he really does care about Elio. He wants to make sure the kid has a good life.

Now, what about him and Hala?

Hala's been Kahuna for a while. Probably since Guzma was a kid. So while Guzma didn't know him personally, he did know him before the events of the games. And then when the big, powerful Kahuna came around and told him to stop being a baby, and that he would help Guzma become stronger, Guzma agreed. It was a bit begrudgingly at first, but he did agree.

But Hala knew that, in order to become better at battling, Guzma needed to get better in the rest of his life. He had to face his issues.

Guzma had, obviously, a lot of problems, especially after the situation with Lusamine (which I will also discuss). Being possessed by Nihilego reopened a bunch of wounds that had scarred over and pretty much forced them to the front of his mind. And that, amongst other things, freaked him out bad. It brought back memories he had forgotten, things that he'd purposefully ignored. Mostly, things to do with his Father. Guzma's dad was abusive, he did not treat his son well. And the Nihilego made him relive that, all in an instant.

The biggest things Hala has worked on with Guzma so far, though, are his anger issues and alcohol abuse. They've touched on the underlying trauma, but Guzma tends to get very uncooperative, especially with people like Hala, who are older, kind figures towards him. I think I've mentioned before how the anger issues stem from his father's abuse, but not in its own post.

So now we go into a bit of a Guzma and his parents, as well as Alolan society in general.

Guzma's reputation as an aggressive, violent person started as a defense mechanism. It didn't help against his dad, but he was already being bullied fairly often, and it did help with that. Kids were less likely to pick on the scrappy bug nerd when the scrappy bug nerd would start throwing punches if you looked at him wrong. But, it also backfired a bit. Nobody was willing to get close enough to him to realize that something was wrong. If he came to school with bruises and scrapes, it was automatically assumed that he'd gotten into a fight, that he was the aggressor. And he actively pushed away anyone who tried to get to know him.

He wasn't willing to accept any help that was offered. He was generally scorned by the people around him, and so he simply didn't trust them. This especially came into effect when he started his Island Challenge. He was so proud of himself. He worked so hard, he wanted to be captain. That was the best award he could've ever been given. But then he failed. He couldn't complete it, so he wasn't allowed to be a captain. And his dad was angry with him. And Guzma was scared. He was terrified. But he had his own pokemon now, and a Golisopod can be awful scary when it wants to be. So Guzma's dad got what was coming to him, and Guzma ran the fuck away.

And where did he end up? In a new group. Not Skull- This was a group under the Kahuna before Nanu. Guzma, in a way, got what he wanted. Approval. Of course, not everyone's approval, though. Tapu Bulu ended up rejecting its Kahuna for whatever reason, and striking that group down. Guzma lost the one group of people he had that he'd finally been accepted by. And he was pissed. So, he started Skull. He built his group up again, new. He leaned into the cruel, scary reputation he'd made for himself. And for the most part, they weren't actually that bad. Sure, they stole, they threatened people, but they needed to feed themselves. They were the people who couldn't get jobs, for whatever reason. Who were thrown out of their homes. Who needed someplace to go, but weren't accepted anywhere else. This was the place they were accepted. And that continued for a while, until Guzma got involved with Lusamine.

And that is a whole situation.

Lusamine needed someone who could do her dirty work. She needed someone to take her blame. And she found that in Guzma. He already had a reputation as a thug. So, she started to get in contact with him. She gave him that approval that he sought so desperately. She used his childhood for her own purposes. When he told her about how he failed, she told him that she was proud. When he told her that his mother never did anything to protect him, she told him that she would. She gave him things he needed, money and food and clothes and medicine to provide for his team, and he was so desperate to keep her. I don't think it was necessarily romantic, but he did love her, and she used it entirely for her own advantage. And once she had him solidly stuck in her trap, she started pulling strings. She removed the exits. If he needed a few days, she would threaten him with taking away something, or to step back. And he needed her. So he did what she said. Especially considering that she was a smart woman. She never made it an explicit threat. She kept it strong enough that he would panic, but hidden enough that he wouldn't catch on to what she was doing.

And this really hurt him, especially after the events in Ultra Space. He had been betrayed, and the fact that she never actually cared about him was shoved in his face. And that, combined with Nihilego literally possessing him for a moment, is why he's so freaked out by the idea of something controlling his mind, now. It's happened to him twice, though the how of it was different.

Now, backtracking a little bit. Let's look at Guzma and Kukui (and by extension Burnet).

Kukui and Guzma met about during their island challenges. They started at the same time, and from the same island. Really, the Island Challenge just provided a situation where Guzma couldn't escape Kukui's attempts at friendship. And he really did try! Guzma pushed him away at every turn, but Kukui kept on keeping on. They ended up rivals, somewhat. But, then they both couldn't complete the challenge. This obviously affected Guzma way more than Kukui.

Kukui was sad that he couldn't be a Trial Captain, but he had other things to work for. He put himself into his schooling, became a professor, and travelled! Which is how he met his lovely wife, Burnet. So for a long while, he wasn't in contact with Guzma. Even when he returned to Alola, he never really saw him. Skull, yeah, but not Guzma himself. And he was sad about that, but it was okay.

Then things really started kicking off! He saw Guzma again. And sure, that was exciting, but Guzma was even more against friendship than he had been before. But!! But then Guzma was taken in by Hala, and he couldn't avoid him. And he was a bit more willing to allow Kukui in.

Which leads us to ~about~ present day with those two. Kukui cares about Guzma a lot, and Guzma's working on letting him do that. Because Kukui and Burnet really do want to help him. And he needs it, even if it's hard to admit.

I think that he'd be more willing to open up to Burnet at first, despite not knowing her for nearly as long. Probably because he hadn't known her for as long. She knew her husband has a huge personality, so she was willing to be the balance to that. Just letting Guzma sit and ruminate with her. And he started to appreciate that, a lot.

Both Kukui and Burnet love Guzma, and he loves them, but again, I don't know if it would be necessarily romantic in nature. They have a bit of a qpr going on. More than just friends, but not quite romantic. Kukui and Burnet are absolutely romantic though.

Guzma's relationship with Plumeria is more simple.

She's been there for him through it all, and she's going to keep being there. She's the big sis of Team Skull, and she's not intending to let that go.

As well as his relationship with the other Alola kids.

He's gotten fairly close to them, especially Gladion and Hau. Gladion, because he did work for Skull, and he felt bad for the kid. Hau, because he's basically his unwilling big brother now. He'd never admit it, but he really does enjoy spending time with them. Most of the time, anyways.

That's the main major things I have to say. I hope this was interesting, lmao

#OOC post #big ramble

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heart-wit-strength · 2 months

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You talk about how the plantars were reduced to comic relief in season 3, and honestly i think that’s a problem with the show over all. Ever since season 2, as the show started to focus more on the trio and became more serialized, the plantars started to feel less and less relevant. They were relegated to comic relief, because that all the writers could really do with them. Plus, i imagine that executive meddling prevented them from developing as characters.

This is funny to me given how we're always complaining that the trio keeps getting robbed screentime bc of the Plantars-

I personally think the Plantars character arcs only got bad in season 3 along with the many other things, are they just comic relief in the overall show? I might disagree. I find the Plantars nicely established characters that I've felt deeply resonated with in the past, and despite often being the light-hearted aspects, they're still held key aspects in Anne's journey of self discovery, which is why it infuriates me how brutally they were downplayed in season 3.

Season 1 had the Plantars family dynamics help with Anne's growth from toxicity as well as develop their bond to help her learn to stand up for herself and others, follow the right path instead of the easy one unlike she used to. Season 2 followed this pretty well, involved them in plot plenty, the whole thing with HP hiding the box as result of his own trauma that contributed to Anne's trust issues.

It's perfectly fine if you love and feel connected to the girls' dynamics more, I'll admit to myself that I do, but we probably shouldn't simplify it to the Plantars just being irreverent characters bc the fandom ranks them "below" the trio.

#amphibia #sprig plantar #hopediah plantar #polly plantar

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madcatlad · 2 months

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I just came to a angst realization....

(Thank you to @shirazens for allowing me to use their comment)

I literally just came to this conclusion in a comment threat under my "Aaron Needs Friends" post with @shirazens .

In summary Aarmau comes off as unnatural

I think the main issue is how rushed and force the relationship was in the series, and the fact that it change key elements in the story to make a place for itself.

The Aarmau agenda also had to down other characters to build itself up, which sucks. A lot of character assassination stem from Aarmau. Including the way Aphmau interacts with her support. But I'd like to focus on how unnatural (and frankly problematic) this relationship comes across if you actually pay attention to how they interact with eachother.

And their relationship is certainly off.

@shirazens

THIS is why I've always disliked his character, he felt so disconnected.

also he continues to constantly mourn his past wife WHILE getting closer to aphmau which feels like to me he was just using her if that makes sense?

Their relationahip has always come across as strange.

In my former post I address a portion of this problem with Aaron not having any relationships outside of Aphmau. It is odd.

Aaron- despite being so closed off and mysterious and (quite rude in some instances), CONTINUED to follow her group around for months...but NEVER take an interest in ANYONE??? Except Aph. That is mad weird. If you like her so much to risk your life for her consistently why avoid her Support System so adamantly???

It makes the relationship seem very strange. Almost like Aaron is isolating Aphmau from her friends when building their relationship. They only really talked about his trauma or her stress-

Aaron and Aphmau are TRAUMA BONDING...

It hit me like a train! It isn't romance, it isn't a love story. It is codependency!

Aph ONLY goes to Aaron when she is stressed about her responsibilities. "Because he understands". And in turn Aaron's only personality trait is trauma- and he only really opens up to (or talks at all) to Aphmau. Think about it, this man is FOLLOWING her- for seemingly NO REASON by time the Post-Irene-Dimension arc roles around! "Having nothing" isn't really a logical reason anymore. He had NO motive to be present. He's made no connections, no character growth, no earthly ties, so WHY are you following the 🎆"magical friendship woman"🎆 if you don't want to make friends???

And I think this is great writing potential. This makes sense for the storyline in season two, as Aph was extremely overwhelmed, and the steaks had just risen from village quarrels to Armageddon. And I definitely can see where @shirazens was going with the how Aaron saw Aphmau, as a stand in or familiarity to his wife, or that he was using Aphmau to get a semblance of his late wife, Lily.

Personally I'm not amongst the re-write clan of aph-fans, (I prefer to progess with the shit show we were given). But this is a juicy narrative to explore for both, especially if you don't want to throw out Aarmau all together.

If you want to get angsty, you could argue that Aaron being so distant to Aph's support group was to isolate her from them. Again, this fits, and I am well aware Jesson did not intend this BUT Aphmau DID become a lot more distant to her companions for Aaron's sake. She became dismissive of their concerns, argued with their suspicions, and lowkey berated them because "she trusted him" and expected everyone to follow suit (fr a lot of them were so real for that, homie was acting up- ahem- Laurence- ahem- Katelyn). She put Aaron on a pedestal out of nowhere, and vouched for him undeservingly. You could argue that this was a result of isolating her, you could argue that this was just Aph blindness to Aaron's faults.

And this also really REALLY fits well with the Irene VS Shad motif and how that entire mess went down between them. I can totally see those two being codepent with one another as well with their similar struggles and pain. I can see them relying on one another too heavily. I can see that leading to suck strong feelings of betrayal. Especially if Shad was as isolated as Aaron. In fact I'd say Irene and Shad damn near prove this idea.

Fun right?

#aphblr #aphmau #mcd #minecraft diaries #mystreet #aaron mcd #shad the destroyer #irene the matron

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andi-o-geyser · 1 year

Text

Continuing my Dr Jacob rants, I wanted to mention how... off I've been feeling with how the rest of the characters have been treating the whole situation regarding him dating Michelle. It's so far been exclusively framed as a marital issue that Ted has to work through, and it's being massively downplayed by the people around him and the narrative itself? I feel as if it's being equated to simply struggling with watching an ex move on, which is SO not what is happening here. This is a deeply unethical and damaging relationship to everybody else being pulled into Michelle and Dr. Jacob's absolute fucking nonsense, and I know I've brought this up before, but this is the type of shit you get your license taken away for. Having a relationship with a patient, former or not, is such a full stop unethical crossing of every boundary meant to exist between a patient and therapist that I couldn't explain just how much of a no it is if I had 15 hours uninterrupted and a megaphone.

At least where I live, the college of registered psychotherapy has a half a decade minimum legal time frame that must be elapsed to have a relationship with a patient, but honestly that's just technicalities. Therapists should, under NO CIRCUMSTANCE, have any kind of duel relationship with a current or former patient. Therapy is meant to make a connection to help you work through your problems, but it's not for making a friend and it's certainly not for meeting a partner. And for a therapist to abuse that power and, in this situation, maybe even coerce a patient out of their marriage so they can date them (because come on, that's exactly what fucking happened given the facts), is beyond deplorable. I don't give a fuck if Dr. Jacob gives nice guy energy, he's a professional (unprofessional as he may be) who knows exactly what he did, and he's a piece of shit for it.

I know this is TV, and the way therapists act in media is so sensationalized and dramatized, but considering Ted Lasso is "the show about having good mental health" and understanding and unpacking trauma and issues, the lacklustre reaction from characters regarding the relationship between Ted's ex wife and her (and Ted's!!) therapist are just bizzare. I need at least somebody in-universe to acknowledge how baffling the behaviour is, and I really can't deal with the idea of Ted being left out to dry in this situation. This isn't some simple "my ex is moving on and that's tough for me but I need to accept it" situation, this is a borderline traumatic betrayal of trust Ted is going through, and the thought of it being left unaddressed while Ted has to make nice with Dr. Jacob because "Well, I really need to not make a fuss because he makes Michelle happy and he's Henry's new father figure now!" is soooo fucking awful I honestly can't even think about it. Anyways don't date your therapist this has been my PSA

#I'm in such a mood and I don't care if anybody sees this I just need to get my thoughts out there #this is very stream of consciousness and not incredibly thought out but idgaf because i can't stop fuming about this fucking fake dr i stG-#im fine. im normal #i have so much beef with him you don't fucking get it #everything about the situation should have his licence for practice instantly revoked #full stop #getting with a patient after treating both her and her husband in couples counselling and then seeing her individually #to coach her through her DIVORCE and then starting to date her???#its such a stupid fucking thing to do thats so morally reprehensible for him as a professional i just-#aksjhfkjJHKHKJKJKHLJKHFHDJSHKLHJKDSFHJRRRRRRRRR #we're all good. we're all good :) going to teleport into the ted lasso universe (get on a plane to britain) so i can drop kick him brb #ted lasso #ted lasso spoilers #ted lasso season 3 #ted lasso meta #andis thought geyser

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strqyr · 3 months

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i've been debating for a while now whether to write this or not. it's a bit... a lot more personal than i'm used to, but with V9: Beyond being nearer and nearer, i'm finding myself to be lacking the spark and excitement for new RWBY content that i'm used to have. for that reason, i've been doing some thinking, trying to nail down where the difference lies, and i think i finally figured it out:

the ending of V9, specifically how they handled ruby's arc.

[tw: suicide, if you decide to continue reading]

before i get any further, i want to lay down some "backstory": about two weeks before V9 started airing, i lost my beloved dog to an illness after fighting for her life for two weeks. those two weeks were a roller coaster straight out of hell, thinking the medicine given were working, only for things to get worse; and through it all, all i could think of was that if she didn't make it through the year, neither would i.

but then, afterwards, in some weird twist of fate, when every part of me wanted to stay in bed and never get up, it was her, my dog, that kept me going, simply because through the last couple of years of her life, she had slept the mornings in my bed, with me, with 1pm being the time she'd force me out of bed if i ever stayed in that late... and that following morning—or more like day lol—after her death, i happened to look at my phone, see the clock be around 1pm, knowing i had a choice to make.

and i got up. have every single day, way before 1pm, to keep part of her alive and with me.

so, perhaps needless to say, but ruby's arc in V9 hit close. i had enough time in-between to not be in middle of the worst of it, but i suppose not as enough as i thought, as not only did i lose some of the spark i had for this show, but i'm also still crying now while writing this.

for the duration of the show, the burden on ruby had been growing stronger and stronger. from being called special due to her silver eyes, to all her friends placing their trust in her leadership, believing that somehow, she always knew what the right thing to do was, to never quite feeling she could be open about her own doubts as a leader, having no one to talk to... V9 started out great. i was excited, for the first time in a long while, for the direction they were taking ruby in.

and everything seemed to be going great. all the issues, trauma, et al that ruby was holding in were slowly seeping over, until it all burst open, explosively, and she ran away; and with all of this and more thrown against her by neo, ruby drank the tea, not wanting to be herself anymore.

...then came the aftermath of her ascension, and it's here, where the writers lost me.

"you're broken! you break everything you touch! i call humans... weak! confused! incomplete!" the cat says, and it's hard to say they're entirely wrong; ruby has been broken, she has had her weak moments, she has been confused, and that's okay.

but her teammates, her friends, her sister, don't seem to think so.

the cat is wrong. ruby has never been any of those things, and that's exactly why they follow her.

like it was more important to prove the antagonist of the volume wrong, rather than offer genuine support to ruby by saying that it is okay to be broken and confused, and for her to have her weak moments because that's why they're there; to support her in good and bad. to make it clear to ruby that she can come to them and air her doubts and concerns without a fear of being shutdown, that they, too, will work on themselves to be better friends in that regard.

but that's not what happened, and even without properly registering it at the time, it felt like a punch to the gut.

during the roundtable discussion of this episode, the writers talked about ruby's arc being about impostor syndrome and i just... can't see it. not with the way they build it up. it's like a switch was flicked, and when before the problem was the burden that was solely placed on ruby's shoulder and how it was too much for her to handle on her own, now ruby ever doubting herself in the first place was the problem, and all she needed to hear was that she was perfect just the way she was; "retrospective" is not a known word here.

and for the first time, even if i do have some critiques over handling of certain storylines, i felt like what was delivered was not what was ordered. at all. and with the vague content warnings in front of episodes, it started to feel like suicide was used for the "shock value" it could provide, to get people talking on social media, rather than because the writers wanted to treat it with the seriousness it deserves.

maybe that's unfair to say; i certainly don't know their intentions. frankly i don't know the people who work on this show at all, and i've stayed far from forming any parasocial relationships to pretend otherwise. all i have is my own feelings about this, ones that i've gone over multiple times, going through episodes, seeing if there's something that i've missed that would make it make sense... i've done my due diligence, and this is the result.

this is not the end: i still love RWBY, the characters, the world and its lore... but some of the trust i had for the writers has definitely gone, as has of the spark that ensured the excitement i had for new episodes and content to the point that i'd be right here, on my seat, ready the moment a new episode dropped.

now if the birbs show up—

#tw suicide #also: if you can't handle even the smallest of critiques of the show #uhhhh #probably don't read lol #kthxbye #it's a longish post but. eh.

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letmetellyouaboutmyfeels · 3 months

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I noticed that your older fics tend to lean towards dom eddie/ sub buck while the more recent ones are switch buddie (which I love) so I was wondering if something in the show made you see/interpretate the characters differently or if your own writing preferences changed or if I'm reading way too much into everything

You're not reading too much into it and I'm honestly pleased and flattered that you paid enough attention to my writing to notice!

Yes, as the show has gone on, and we've learned more about the characters, I've come to the conclusion that Buddie would be more switches. I think it's natural that as you learn more about the characters that you shift how you write them - in my earliest fics for example I had the headcanon that Eddie would have had some (young inexperienced and fumbling) experiences with men, and that he'd be more into casual sex. Now I headcanon based on his behavior that he's more demisexual and wouldn't have really any sexual experience besides Shannon because of that need for emotional connection. I originally thought Buck would realize his feelings first, but given how season five went and then Eddie's reactions to Buck in season six I'm now of the opinion that Eddie realized his feelings a while ago and has been ignoring them while Buck, bless him, is fucking oblivious.

Anyway those are just two examples of how as a show goes on and you learn more about a character you shift your headcanons and perceptions about them. So yes! I've shifted in my views of how the boys would be in bed.

I do think that Buck would overall be more submissive and when he's domming, do so more as a service dom - Buck likes to know he's doing a good job and being there for the people he loves, and so domming for him would be about knowing he's giving Eddie what he needs, rather than enjoying being in control.

For Eddie, someone who has constantly in his life scrambled for control and had it yanked from him, I think he'd still overall prefer to be in charge, at least at first, and I think that'd only be submissive to someone he really deeply trusts. However given everything in season five I think he'd also find being submissive to be incredibly freeing if it's with someone he can trust to love him and hold him (metaphorically), and Buck is that person. Eddie is very much a caretaker and likes to feel he's trusted (lack of trust in his abilities is a huge issue in his relationship with his parents for example) so I think he'd really like domming Buck and seeing how much Buck trusts him to take care of him. It was really season five for me that gave me the shift in feeling Eddie would be submissive at times, given his whole arc with his trauma. I think given how important it was in his arc for Eddie to admit he loses control sometimes and needs help, submitting would be important for him as well. He'd just be pickier about it.

In other words - I think Buck's instinct in bed is submit, but he ultimately shifts to reflect what his partner wants/needs (and headcanon it's probably led to him being sexually unfulfilled before - how many times has someone wanted him to just pick them up and rail them and play that Big Strong Guy when that's not who Buck is?) and would also find fulfillment in giving Eddie what he needs because he likes doing that for his loved ones. And I think Eddie's instinct is to dom, for multiple reasons, but that submitting to someone he loves and trusts would also by very fulfilling and enjoyable.

Ergo, they switch! LOL

I think also in most sexual relationships when you're not explicitly sceneing (i.e. planning a scenario out with set roles) there's a certain fluidity to the roles of who's submitting and who's dominating. So there's that as well, it's not always gonna be clear cut who's in what role and it's going to move back and forth. Y'know?

Anyway that was an extremely long-winded answer ha ha but I'm delighted you noticed that shift! One's art is continuously evolving and when one is writing for the same characters over the years (four and counting for Buddie in my case) while continuously getting more information about them and seeing them in new situations and so on as we get with each new season/episode, there's definite shifts in one's portrayal of those characters. I'm flattered that anyone would pay attention enough to pick up on the ways in which mine's evolved.

#mads answers things #mads writes stuff

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suzukiblu · 10 months

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Hello all, I am honestly not even sure how long it's been since I've really talked to anyone online and I'm very sorry for just straight-up ghosting so many of you, but I'm trying to work on resuming my life and reconnecting with people a bit and especially trying to start picking up all of the commitments I've let myself drop in the past year or two.

Full disclosure, I've been having a bad time mentally for quite a while and just haven't been available to anyone in my life, online or off. I'm really sorry to have stressed people out with that because I know I did worry a few of you. I'm just not all here, to be honest, and I haven't handled it well. I'm having some personal struggles and just not doing my best taking care of the resulting issues--it's not anything trauma-based/triggered, it's more along the lines of problems with in-built psychological issues stemming from chemical imbalances that I just don't always manage as effectively as I could. But I'm not physically ill and haven't been in an accident or anything like that, and I'm trying to re-engage with life now. Catching up with people I owe communication/commissions/explanations to is on my list, but I just haven't managed to make it very far into said list yet. I am, however, physically healthy and in stable housing, and if anything emergency-adjacent happens I do have local friends and non-local family members I could get help from, so I'm not in an "immediate crisis" situation.

I'm just also unemployed, out of money, and scraping by on food stamps and state-issued healthcare that doesn't cover my previous psychiatrist, and I haven't been able to find a new one in-network who's taking patients and actually, like . . . calls me back when I leave a message or email them in interest of making an appointment. I'm signed up with a program that can help me get a job, hopefully, but the process is taking a little while and I'm not sure how long it'll take in the end, so the future is very nebulous at the moment.

And like . . . VERY full disclosure, I'm just very depressed and stuck being off my meds for the forseeable future. My room is a mess I can't bring myself to clean up, I feel like I can't engage meaningfully with a lot of things, I don't feel hopeful or optimistic at all, my emotional responses are all heavily muted, my coping mechanisms are avoiding breakdowns but are not long-term helpful or productive, and I'm neglecting a lot of people and things in my life and my own best interests because I just . . . don't care.

I know my situation and my feelings are largely just because I'm going through a major depressive phase unmedicated and with limited personal resources, it's not an end of the world scenario or anything. It's just been difficult and upsetting trying to find ways and motivation to fix my life and get out of that phase when I'm already feeling sunk in a quagmire and like I did all this to myself with my own mistakes, and I'm just trying to take things one step at a time and build back up from where I'm at.

So long story short: I'm not doing great right now but I'm stable, and I greatly appreciate the concern and grace I've been given while being just entirely off radar and am going to be doing my best to make right or make up for the neglect. If anyone wants or needs to check in on anything I owe them, please feel free to message me and ask; I'll be trying to contact everyone I owe anything to but given the brain-fog I've been dealing with I don't trust myself not to miss anybody in there, so believe me, if you feel the need I will in no way be offended and you'd probably be doing me a favor anyway.

Thank you all, you've all been so good to me over the years. I'll hopefully be in touch soon. ❤

#rintalk

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sanityshorror · 3 months

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Hii, how would you describe Cian's personality? (Since you dropped him he's been my favourite along with Kelly)

Also how would you say is his relationship with Devlin, do they live together, (or does the whole hellcrew live together in one big house?), who takes more care of the other?

And, one last question I've had for like a week already, if Cian had the chance to, would he have more kids?

Oooo yay long Cian ask and so much lore to dump!!! I'll put this below an undercut for the sake of everyone's dash lol. I'm gonna ask you to resend the other question beyond personality in other asks, as though no fault of your own, just his mere 101 personality turned into an essay xD if you don't want to send them again though/forget to, I'll answer them in separate posts lol.

If I were to summarize Cian’s personality in one word: obsessive.

Elaboration below cut:

Cian is Killian's son, and very much like Killian in many ways despite the fact he didn't meet Killian for the first time until he was 13 and Killian was 26. He had ran away from Ireland shortly after turning 13, to America, to go find Killian. He's been obsessed with Killian and the idea of having a close relationship with Killian all his life, he has formed the delusion that if Killian had raised him since day once, that his life would have been wonderful and Killian would have protected him from the trauma he experienced despite Killian being hardly 13 at the time of Cian's birth.

Which brings me to the one word I would use to summarize his personality: obsessive. Cian either does not give a singular shit or he is hyper obsessive with absolutely no in-between. Due to having BPD and NPD, this is only intensified tenfold. Additionally, his personality disorders play a huge role in what causes him to obsessive over that aren't possible, that are unrealistic, etc.

One of his biggest obsessions is Killian…and that's an entire can of worms on its own so I'm going to (for my own sanity's [badumpTST] sake, not get into that here).

I'm going to need to get into his personality disorders and the way they effect his personality given…well, personality disorders affect nearly every damn second of your life when you have one. They shape your personality, they aren't called personality disorders for no reason. [Source: my own lived experience with cluster b personality disorders though I'd rather not disclose anything about my own beyond that; +extensive research and one and one talks with those with these disorders. Do not demonize cluster b, you are not welcome here if you do.]

Cian's NPD tends to present covertly, at least outwardly. He hates himself, but still feels entitled to everyone's love and worship. Of course, rationally, that's very unrealistic and unattainable. He finds himself hideous, but still thinks of very, very, very few are more attractive than he is. He feels pathetic but also feels like everyone is weak compared to him. “You wouldn't last a minute in my shoes,” is a phrase he likes to use.

His BPD is heavily intertwined with how clingy Cian can be. Of course, he has massive trust issues. He's terrified of being abandoned. Devlin, his life partner, is very much his Ultimate Favorite Person™ and he tends to start panicking if Devlin so much as lets go of his hand. That's a very rare occasion though, and if he isn't with Devlin, he's either following around Killian like a lost puppy and/or pestering Julius to give attention.

Killian will light heartedly mock Cian for it but with no real bite behind it. Julius tends to (shockingly) take the ‘babying’ route with Cian. This is mainly due to them both being the first other person they met who have BPD and NPD. Julius and Cian have always held a very close friendship, even though Julius will not refuse to acknowledge the friendship. Neither will Cian, he only would if Julius did first, as to not come off weak. Cian tends to mimic Julius, which certainly has brought out many of the ASPD traits Cian has though unlike Julius, falls short of the full diagnosis.

Devlin loves how attached and obsessive Cian is though, and he's very much equally attached and obsessive. It’s not uncommon to find both of the couples together.

Cian has a lot of trauma and Issues™ but he absolutely refuses to tell anyone, and has taken to just bottling everything up. He will deny it even when it's brought up to him directly.

Additionally, he has PPD (paranoid personality disorder) and OCPD (obsessive compulsive personality disorder). He's an introvert and though he seems extremely domineering and controlling, he's not – at least not in his “hierarchy” – being the Hellcrew – as Cian is very much prone to hierarchical thinking, as is common among those with NPD.

If you want to know more about Cian or want me to further elaborate on any of this, please send me an ask!! Or many!! I love to talk about Cian!

**Disclaimer on Cian and Devlin's relationship: they did not meet until they were adults, when Dev was 20, and it was completely on their own WITHOUT Julius or Killian's influence. Julius and Devlin are like twins and see themselves that way. Cian and Devlin's relationship is not even close to “step bros in love,” it was much more of a huge “THE FUCK?!” when they finally found out everything, as Cian was unaware Julius was even related Dev, and Dev was unaware Julius was “alive” until a good four years of being with Cian. It's much more of (to the tune of Thunder rolls) an “AND THE CYCLE ROLLS…. THE CYCLE ROLLS!!” situation lol. If you aren't able to manage to comprehend that two adults who met as adults on their own aren't “step bros” in any manner…idk what to tell you lol

#hellcrew #julius the dressmaker #cian lynch #devlin doherty #killian lynch #splatterpunk characters #horror ocs #the hellcrew

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fantastic-nonsense · 2 years

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It's kind of funny that the "I will have you without armor or I will not have you at all" line is as much about Inej as it is about Kaz in the end

Because there Kaz is, actually being emotionally honest for the first time in their whole friendship and flat-out saying he wants her (that he wants her to stay with him), but Inej doesn't trust his words. She loves him, but her own happiness and healing comes first and she doesn't think he's ready to give her what she needs out of a relationship.

And to her credit, she's right. He's not ready (which I've discussed a little bit before here); but neither is she in that moment. Kaz may be avoiding a solid 95% of Inej's attempts to get him to be truthful about his thoughts and feelings with her during Six of Crows, but she doesn't believe him even when he is truthful. So she throws her own armor up in that scene, and it doesn't truly come down until Crooked Kingdom's epilogue chapters.

We all talk a lot about Kaz's actions during CK and how he does everything in his power to ensure Inej has the ability and freedom to walk out of his life forever if she wants. But even after he saves her from Van Eck, even after the "if I couldn't walk, I would crawl to you" conversation, even after the net, even after the the Bathroom Scene and her paid-off indenture and keeping her at his side when he confronts Pekka, Inej still doubts him to the point where she goes to the harbor prepared to do just that:

Kaz had changed. The net. Paying her contract. She could still feel the faint touch of his lips on her skin, his bare hands fumbling with the knots of her bandages. Inej had seen the scant glimmer of what he might become if he let himself. She couldn’t bear to see him dressed in armor once more, buttoned back into his immaculate suits and cold demeanor. She wouldn’t listen to him talk as if the Ice Court and everything that came after had been just another job, another score, another bit of advantage to be gained. But she wouldn’t ignore his note. It was time to put an end to this thing that had never had a chance to begin. She’d tell him what she’d heard about Pekka, offer to share some of her routes and hiding spots with Roeder. It would be over. She turned down the light, and after a long while, she fell asleep with the note clutched in her hand. -Ch. 44, Crooked Kingdom

She clings to his final letter like a love-struck teenager but puts on a brave face and walks to the harbor the next morning ready to "put an end to this thing that had never had a chance to begin."

But Kaz surprises her by coming to the harbor with bared hands and the Wraith as an offering, and Inej realizes that her own fear and trauma and trust issues have been holding her back from seeing that his progress is real and permanent. He's now the one reaching out, and she's the one backing away in fear of what pursuing a relationship with him would mean. She states during this scene that she "would fight for him, but she could not heal him. She would not waste her life trying" without acknowledging that she's actively pulling away from the possibility of fighting in that moment. Her armor is what's getting in the way now, not his.

And it's fascinating, because her words come from an incredibly valid and understandable place! She's not responsible for Kaz's trauma or for making sure he heals; she's got enough of her own healing to do without taking on the responsibility of dealing with his as well. And like Kaz notes during the "I would come for you" scene, she's right to be wary of opening herself up to him given his previous behavior. She's technically setting an incredibly healthy relationship boundary here, and that should be acknowledged! It's something she should believe!

However, it's important to realize that healthy boundaries can become unhealthy boundaries when you're leaning on them as a coping mechanism instead of using them as an actual boundary...which is what Inej is doing here. She says she's willing to fight for him and their relationship, but in reality she's falling back on behaviors that (like Kaz's) helped her survive Ketterdam but don't necessarily help her create healthy relationships with other people:

When Kaz had brought her to the Slat, he’d warned her that he wouldn’t be able to watch out for her, that she’d have to fend for herself, and she had. It would have been easy enough to turn away when they called her names or sidled up to ask for a cuddle, but do that and soon it was a hand up your blouse or a try at you against a wall. So she’d let no insult or innuendo slide. She’d always struck first and struck hard. Sometimes she even cut them up a bit. It was fatiguing, but nothing was sacred to the Kerch except trade, so she’d gone out of her way to make the risk much higher than the reward when it came to disrespecting her. -Ch. 4, Six of Crows

She went to the harbor ready to strike first and hard only to have the rug pulled out from under her, because Kaz revealing the Wraith helps Inej realize that she's not actually setting a healthy boundary here: she's just closing herself off from him. So she takes a leap of faith, cracks her armor open, and offers him the same vulnerability in return: she tells him she'll come back, invites him to work with her to take down the slave trade, and offers him her hand. And he takes it.

It takes until that moment for Kaz and Inej to truly understand how determined the other is to fight for the possibility of a future together. Inej still doubted that Kaz cared for her enough to be vulnerable around her and trust her with himself; Kaz still doubted Inej cared for him enough to ever come back once she had the opportunity to leave. But then she offers a partnership and her hand. And he accepts both, and Inej acknowledges it as the promise it is.

And when she first sees her parents? That's when Inej's walls finally come completely crumbling down:

Had she really thought the world didn’t change? She was a fool. The world was made of miracles, unexpected earthquakes, storms that came from nowhere and might reshape a continent. The boy beside her. The future before her. Anything was possible. -Ch. 44, Crooked Kingdom

They both need time and space to work on healing themselves, and it's probably going to take awhile. But they've already taken the first steps to dismantle the armor that's kept them both safe and untouchable in the Barrel, and they're also both actively broadcasting that they're willing to put effort into a potential relationship...and that open and visible reciprocity makes all the difference. They've been getting their communication wires crossed since the Ferolind, and it's only at the harbor that they're both able to see and accept what the other is offering: a path forward, together, with knives drawn and pistols blazing.

#KANEJ META PART THREE!#I'm on a roll #kanej #six of crows #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #long post #soc meta #also I will make this fandom acknowledge that Kaz and Inej promised to be PARTNERS in Inej's crusade or die trying lol #otp: on the seas and in the city

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xxlovelynovaxx · 17 days

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Okay a lot of this is valid but...

These parts:

I can drive but can't afford a car and can't get to the car without help where we live (it was in a parking garage two blocks away when we had one thanks to my parents). I can't work. I'm mostly housebound, but I can leave the house about 1-3 times a month. I isolate myself a lot. Crucially, this is as much because of my physical disabilities as my neurodisabilities, in ways that are inseparable due to being inextricably intertwined; but I also don't know what kind of disabilities the original post is referencing.

And idk, these parts seem in bad faith. Someone might be able to work and make appointments and travel but not wash or feed themselves, perform basic household chores. Someone may technically be "able" to do these things but while they do it is rapidly driving them towards a breakdown which will make them permanently unable to ever do them again, and might even just directly kill them.

Medium support needs is the widest and most nuanced category because being low support needs in highly visible categories but high support needs in less visible categories makes you effectively medium support needs.

That being said, this did make me realize that aside from a few splinter skills, I am essentially high support needs. Perhaps on the low end, given that I don't use AAC, am an ambulatory wheelchair user, etc, but still. I can only drive if someone gets me to and from the car, and if I have to go in anywhere other than a trusted person's house I almost always need a trusted person with me. In fact, I can maybe leave the house alone once every month to two months.

I cannot grocery shop for myself. I need help bathing myself. When constipated I need help toileting, as well as with the chamber pot setup every night by my bed due to interstitial cystitis. I can't prepare food to the point I can't wash a dish or use the microwave. I can make a budget but can rarely stick to it. I DEFINITELY can't work. I can't walk two blocks. I can't do ANY household chores.

I can do things like read, write, draw/paint, knit, learn languages, do math, and play logic games as hobbies, but only if my pathological demand avoidance doesn't get triggered and my executive dysfunction is low - and at a much slower pace than the vast majority of people, let alone the majority of people at the same skill level as me. I can't monetize any of these for those reasons. I also can't use these, for the most part, in any useful way even outside of monetizable ways.

There's so much more that I can't even remember right now because memory issues are part of my disabilities. I can technically make my own appointments, but a mix of medical trauma and phone anxiety has made it so that the "can" only applies very rarely. It's only gotten better at all recently because utter desperation drove me into "fight" instead of "flight" reflex about it. I've literally only been getting it done because one of my disabilities did that rare thing where it works in my favor while still hurting me.

I think maybe that's the part that stuck out at me. Even though I'm similar to OP in every other category, I technically can make my own appointments.

But it also makes me think of all the people who can do a lot of the things OP describes, but utterly CAN'T do other things at ALL, and who yes, explicitly are being denied help because of their ability to do the things they CAN do. Which, of course, doesn't mean people who can't do things across the board ARE all getting that help; just literally that they're being denied it for different reasons.

The part about "what is hard for you, I can't do" also sticks out at me though. "Can't" is more of a spectrum than people are willing to admit*, but also... something being extremely difficult for someone, especially to the point it is hurting them, explicitly means that they have support needs that are going unmet, because they need support to do the task without hurting themselves.

Someone who is low support needs finds these tasks relatively easy, and is harmed very little by performing them. Them being low support needs means they need a low level of support to easily and safely complete these tasks without hurting themselves. As a mobility aid user, this is someone who uses a cane on rare occasion, or uses a cane for mild support regularly.

Someone who is medium support needs finds these tasks significantly difficult, and is harmed a decent amount by performing them. They also may not be able to perform some, but able to perform others, to various extents and with varying levels of ease. Medium support needs means they need either a consistent medium level of support to easily and safely complete these tasks without hurting themselves. This is someone who uses crutches or a walker, or who switches between mobility aids based on their need that day.

Someone with high support needs finds these tasks extremely difficult or impossible, and is badly harmed by performing any of the tasks that they can. High support needs means they need a high level of support to get these tasks completed, up to and including having the tasks done for them. This is someone who regularly uses a wheelchair, even if they can walk a little bit.

If low support needs spaces don't leave room for legitimate struggle, neither do high support needs spaces. It's either, "you can't do it", or "you can and therefore no matter how much you struggle to do so and how much doing so hurts you, your support needs are not 'high' because needing a high level of support to complete a task SAFELY doesn't count".

Yes, there is a difference between not being able to complete a task at all and not being able to complete it safely. I have been on both sides of that line. With a few remaining tasks I still am. But like I said once before about being able to work, it is the difference between starving because you are not able to stab yourself for money, and stabbing yourself for money. One kills you very slowly with starvation as it disables you further and traumatizes you, one kills you by very slowly bleeding you out, forming scar tissue (trauma), and disabling you further.

They're both horrific, but somehow too many people handwave it as "but you CAN stab yourself and I don't see the internal injuries so obviously it isn't as bad as being literally unable to lift and move the knife".

They are different struggles, but I believe they're more equal than anyone is willing to admit, and I believe it's because people who can't do things - especially those who have never been able to do them - are unwilling to admit that being "able" to do things in a way that profoundly harms you is just as harmful as not being able to do them. It is not recognized as a struggle as valid or legitimate.

They mean you face different barriers to receiving adequate care and getting your support needs met. But not getting your support needs met over time often compounds into your support needs becoming significantly higher and losing abilities you previously had, sometimes permanently. This is true of all kinds of disabilities. These categories are somewhat fluid, but typically only in the direction of "becoming more disabled".

Quite frankly, I wonder if it would be helpful to create a category like "absolute support needs" to specifically address people who cannot, ever, meet most of their own needs or do most tasks. I think there could still be wiggle room for "most" vs "all" - Something like either 90 or 95 percent requiring another person or assistive device's help for example, roughly.

The problem with "high support needs" as it exists currently is that there ARE people who have extremely high support needs not being met that just barely scrape by getting the most urgent of them met.

But the thing is, it's not "low support needs=basically no support needs", "high support needs=every single support need at the highest level", and "medium support needs=everyone else".

High support needs are a smaller part of a wider spectrum. Someone can be on the low end or high end of high support needs. Someone can be on the low or high end of low support needs. The same goes for middle support needs but with even more complexity. There's a lot of overlap and grey area between "high end of low/low end of medium" and "high end of medium/low end of high".

But everyone who needs a massive amount of support to get their needs met is high support needs. As a personal example, just because I can walk a half mile with multiple rests on a good day, doesn't mean it won't leave me bedridden for days and potentially send me into anaphylaxis (with blood pressure changes and hives but usually airway isn't threatened, so it's not immediately life threatening but could progress to that point suddenly and without warning at any time). It doesn't mean doing it even once won't permanently reduce my ability to walk any distance and my average energy levels and so on. Yay MCAS/POTS/ME! /sarcastic

Someone who can't walk half a mile is also high support needs. Those can both be true. It doesn't diminish their level of support needs. I'd even say they're still higher support needs than me, because high support needs isn't one single point on the spectrum.

These points, on the other hand:

Like yes!!! I also can't transition without help, between needing to be prompted to take to my hormones and struggling to apply them and not having access to a better form of them, not being able to do ANY of the legal shit myself and honestly losing my ability to do paperwork in general over time... and yeah, the abuse, the ableism of blaming disabled people with higher support needs, having community, listening... yes! Exactly this!

Except for one thing.

"I want others to... leave the words I have to describe my existence alone."

No. Other people have the right to those words too. Other people whose existence is accurately described by those words in a way different than yours have just as much a claim to them as you do. You have no right to say "because these words are mine, they are mine alone". You do not get to unilaterally decide that the only "correct" way of using a word or label is your way of using it, because the people using it differently also get to decide that their usage is correct.

If you want to be listened to, it's hypocritical not to listen. You deserve to be listened to regardless, but I take issue with the hypocrisy itself. You don't want people to assume from what they do perceive of your disabilities that you have it easier, yet you assume others have it easier without knowing the full picture. You want other people to listen to you about your experiences, but refuse to listen to theirs.

I assume that you also don't want people to demand you use the exact right perfect language to describe your experiences and that you don't want them to accuse you of ableism if you don't, and yet if someone else genuinely identifies at the same support need level as you for different reasons, they're "taking language from you" (a phrase I see used often) and "not leaving 'your' language alone", despite language neither being a finite nor a privately owned resource.

This last one is an assumption and so may be inaccurate to OP, but is speaking to wider experiences of mine with disabled communities.

In the same way that LSN and some MSN people perpetuate ableism against some MSN and HSN people by acting like our needs are all met and blaming us for their need not being met, so too do some MSN and HSN people perpetuate ableism against other people with medium and high support needs by downplaying and invalidating our struggles, insisting we're more capable and abled than we really are, and denying us the language to accurately describe our own experiences, which is exactly what ableist systems such as our medical system currently already do.

High support needs spaces don't allow room for any struggle other than "impossible". They don't allow for "possible but at a cost significantly worse than not doing it". They don't allow for "can only when the planets align and a chicken dyed blue is within 3 square miles of you". They don't allow for "can do this one single difficult thing but utterly can't do literally anything else". It's "the highest most extreme possible level of support needs is high and everything else is medium or low".

That's been my experience at least. It's alienating and quite frankly, has been traumatizing. I'm too high support needs for medium support needs spaces and too low support needs for high support needs spaces, despite BEING high support needs. I also am not high support needs because of any particular disability, but the rather because of the combination of all of them. That's often further alienating as it's expected to categorize each disability depending on its individual support need level a lot of the time. I can't just go "my autism is low and my POTs is high" or "my chronic pain is low but my trauma is high" because they literally all affect each other to a high degree.

I also want my needs met, to be able to choose where I live, to have community, to have choice in my care, and also don't get those things. When I talked about perpetuating ableism, it's the assumption that I have all those things because I can make phone calls a couple times a month (something I really need someone else to do for me) that I'm talking about.

It's the same damn thing LSN people do to higher support needs people - assuming our needs are met based on YOUR perception of our disabilities and how they affect our daily lives and the way we're treated. Hell, it's assuming that we're able to get all our needs met on the basis of getting some of them met.

I have multiple friends who work who are slowly becoming more and more disabled because they NEED to not work and who may end up living with abusers, homeless, or dead as working and not getting their needs met causes their disabilities to progress. They are minimally medium support needs, and some are high support needs. For many of them, work is the ONLY thing they can do, and everything from medical appointments to household chores to making food is literally completely impossible while they're still working.

I have other friends who can't work at all, who can manage small levels of household tasks and self care but still need significant help with everything from feeding and cleaning themselves to budgeting to engaging with their hobbies. They're mostly high support needs.

Support needs are just so nuanced that flattening it into "low medium high" and then further flattening those into "people not disabled by their disability (low), people who can't do anything ever (high), and everyone else (medium)" is just... well.

Why can't people leave the language people use to describe their own personal support needs alone, indeed,? Using language for your own experiences that are very slightly different is apparently "not leaving it alone", but saying "you can't use this language, it's not yours, I'm taking it and locking it up" is leaving it alone? Or maybe it's just okay for the "right" people not to leave it alone and to take it from other people, but not for the "wrong" people, as decided by the right people".

Your exclusionism is totally different bro this time it's good like you promised. /sarcastic

Nah, this is literally like every other case of prescriptivist exclusionism. Lesbian and transmasc/transfem and intersex medicalists (those who exclude variations accepted by the community that are rejected by doctors) and anti-endos/sysmeds and cripplepunk exclusionists and "neurodivergent doesn't include these neurological divergences" and etc etc etc ad nauseum.

Anyway. Sorry for the red text by the way, it's the only color that isn't giving me a headache and fucking with my vision right now. If anyone can do image transcriptions/plain text I'll happily reblog that, because I know the colored text and undescribed images are inaccessible, and I'm sorry.

Adding: we're not here to argue about this, honestly, and we're certainly not here for bad faith assholes to tell us how actually we're evil and ableist for disagreeing with them on a disability thing as a disabled person or on support needs language as someone with high support needs.

We also refuse to engage with anyone who says "actually your support needs are lower than what you're calling them because only high support needs people get to define high support needs and you're not in my definition so you don't get to define them" because that's both prescriptivist and circular logic/a logical fallacy.

We will just block you, so do us a favor and block us first.

#ableism #vent post

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