#look i just think that the shifting attitudes towards abuse as it relates to how we interpret dracula is fascinating

[ugh154628]

"Gaslighting involves twisting facts so they can avoid personal ownership of their behaviors."

"Twisting words is a common tactic used in gaslighting, a form of emotional abuse that involves intentionally distorting reality to manipulate someone."

"Blocking or diverting occurs when the abuser either questions your thoughts or changes the subject to avoid talking about a subject any more."

"Shifting Blame. Gaslighters frequently shift blame onto their victims as a way to avoid taking responsibility for their actions. They may twist around the confrontation from the victim to make the victim look like the bad person instead of themselves."

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That insult was for you, Brandi. Since you've been a psychotic bully towards me for over a year now, I insulted you back. It had nothing to do with anyone else and especially not my friends/family.

You're the one calling them uneducated and stupid. That came out of your mouth in your post, not mine. Way to go thinking of them like that on your own, on top of making a post saying "I swear that family is a house of horrors", while also thinking you have a right to be at grandma's house and then, contradictorly using one of those family members to discredit me. You are so deluded, and you can't reasonably put that on me when that post clearly had absolutely nothing to do with the ones I am actually close to. I'll be showing them that too, although they already stated doesn't fuck with you after what you did at the 4th of July party. One them sat by the driveway ready to kick you out if you tried to show up this year actually. You got a direct message from them after last year about it to clarify who that was. Not to mention, they don't even want to see their dad, the one you most recently used to discredit me on your blog and who is currently in drug-induced psychosis, facing criminal charges and now has an OP against him after beating up his own kid for no reason last month by the way (and cant be at that house anymore because of it), but sure, go off about that random text you got from him. It just makes you look bad here. The only reason he hates me is because I regularly see his kids who don't want to see him anymore and that's no secret. He's basically delusional and mad, pointing fingers at me because I'm one of the people they still associate with while they avoid him. He's a blame shifter when he fucks up. Just like you.

And I'm also with them on their stance. I haven't talked to or seen him since earlier this year. He didn't even come to the 4th of july party and hid at the campground instead because half the family is pissed off at him right now after something else serious he did. They call him "the arsonist" now. Take that for what you will. He's not only terrible to be around, consistently treated my friend's and a lot of other people horribly since our childhood, but is also dangerous for other present reasons that really aren't your business. We tried for years to give him the benefit of the doubt and hoped he would learn to handle his substance abuse issues and get better, but he never does and we are all sick of it. You do you, but I'm good on associating with people like that, let alone paying mind to their attitude toward me or anyone else that used to be in his life. He has a lot of audacity coming at me considering his own character and position. I don't have to accept him to remain close to the rest of the people related to him either, especially if they themselves don't even want to be around him. He can and will stay far the help away from me and after what I witnessed this year, any opportunity for amends have already done been revoked long before you posted those screenshotted text messages. Not after the things he did while spiraling how he did. Not after the way he enabled one of my friend's substance addiction in particular. You can fill him in on that if you want. I could care less what he thinks.

That's the person you're using for your defense against me though. That's what you're supporting. It's so contradictory considering how many times you've falsely accused me as an abusive drug addict to discredit me, yet you're a-okay with associating yourself with people like him, and you're a hypocrite for it. You lie about other people's character and then, support people who actually do the fucked up shit you accuse me of when it's convenient for you and it's disgusting.

So, with all of that said, trust me when I say that anything he has to say to you doesn't hold any weight. He lost his mind a long time ago, you know that first hand from hanging out around him as kids, and unbenounced to you (supposedly), it's gotten extremely bad this summer to the point of no forgiveness for a lot of people. But of course, you leave that context out when you posted what you did. You also leave out the part about him doing those drugs with your dad, also giving them to my friend who has been in rehab partly due to the fact, as well as other shitty actions related to their substance abuse issues together. Maybe you really don't know what all went down, but at the same time, I find that hard to believe considering you knew stuff like this was a common theme for him for the many years you used to come around. And if he's randomly texting you of all people, I can easily assume him, your dad, or the other chick in family your dad is messing around with (who only defends you about that party because of that mind you) filled you in on the situation. I also bet you know him and your dad have been hanging out, and I know you can't be naive to why they are either. Any idiot could easily put two and two together.

I guess the apple doesn't fall from the tree when it comes to forming friendships under toxic circumstances, huh?

The way you distort reality and how far you go to twist my words is sickening, and even then, you're still terrible at it. You can stop inserting yourself into shit you have no business sticking your nose into any time now. You look stupid and nasty to anyone sober and stable in "the house of horrors" who actually matters. You're definutely not "family" to any of us anymore. You never really were. Get over yourself.

[aspiringwarriorlibrarian]

Dracula finding a new home on Tumblr is both ironic and beautiful cause for like a solid century no one has given Jonathan Harker a fair shake. He’s the stuffy 1800s misogynist who hates Mina’s independence, the weak-willed coward who faints over vampires, the “boring one” compared to Van Helsing or Lucy or Arthur. He’s overacted and underplayed, so disdained that despite being one of the novel’s main heroes some adaptations cut him out completely cause they can’t find anything compelling about him. And yet somehow we are in the right time and the right place to look at this heavily traumatized guy, and say “No, you are not a coward and you are not weak, you were stuck in a living hell for months on end and you held on and got away.”

[funkymbtifiction]

How do you know the difference between being a 6 who disintegrates a lot and therefore relates to 3? Or simply relating to 3 (and 9) because we constantly shift through our lines. And being AN ACTUAL 6 with a 3 fix?

A 6 fallen into 3 relates to 3-ness through the dominant lens of 6 thinking -- which is to say over-thinking, feeling obligated to people, having a sense of 'I should,' being unable to ignore others' needs, and responding to them in an attachment way. The 6's line to 3 is to be reactive, anxious about defending their reputation, and only bragging as a reaction to external threats (their boasting is 'look at what I did today/this week, it's a lot!'). 6s also hate pretentiousness and snobbery and don't like people who 'put on airs,' whereas 3s aspire to those natural graces and shape-shift to impress others. A 6 keeps quiet out of fear of punishment, rejection, or being too controversial (but also may move against those fears and deliberately do those things to cast doubt on authority figures). 6s also are preoccupied with authority figures, real or imagined (parents, bosses, pastors, anything representing of 'power') and watch to see if they abuse their authority, whereas 3s are unconcerned with those things except as a marker for success (to achieve that position of authority, or step into that authority role). 6s are head types, which means they waffle, second-guess themselves (and others), move toward others to ask for advice (what do you think? what would you do?), and are anxious about becoming close to people from a place of either trusting too much or not enough, rarely just right (if they learn this about me, can they use it against me in some way?). 3s move aggressively toward what they want, pursuing their goals with focused determination, convinced that they can achieve what they set their mind to, and see any setbacks as learning experiences on the road to success. A 6 is negative, a 3 is positive; the 6 does not re-frame their failures to make themselves look good, but instead might use that as proof to doubt themselves in the future (I failed once... I might fail again...); the 3 sees it as a learning experience or ignores it as a failure, because to admit to a failure means admitting they are just like other people, which they do not want. They are better, harder-working, and more successful. Lastly, the 3 will downplay how hard something is to accomplish, and they want others to see their work as effortless, the process of natural talent rather than a dozen all-nighters; the 6 is more honest with the difficulties in achievement -- they will make a joke out of how hard and difficult it was, to reinforce that they are an 'every-man' and display a sense of modesty (real or false) about their successes. 3s do not want to be an every-man, they want success and for you to admire their achievements.

The 6 line to 3 means the 6 is extremely hard-working and devoted to getting things done, they secretly wish they could put themselves out there and earn the kind of praise and success that others strive toward, but they feel like their self-doubt is holding them back, that putting themselves out there will make them a target for criticism (eg: I would love to have a best-selling book, but that means a bunch of people will read my book, and a huge chunk of them will hate it and leave me bad reviews, and then I can't trust myself not to listen to what they have to say about it and feel doubt about my product!).

If you believe your core is the most important thing, then figuring out your tritype is irrelevant -- you still have 6, 9, and 3 issues to work through; if you believe in tritype, then look for 3 as separate from a line from 6 through eliminating 4 and 2 motivations and behaviors as playing any part in your psyche (there's no alienation or brokenness in your thinking, no creating of frustration problems within 4, and no general attitude of "I should help / go out of my way for this person" / naturally thinking of being helpful that shows in a 6-2 stem).

[lild3m0nnn-bpd]

✨Signs and Symptoms of BPD✨

🛑Trigger warning: violence, abuse, self harm, eating disorder, suicide.🛑

✨Disclaimer: most psychiatrists require at least 5 of the 9 following symptoms. It's important to remember that these symptoms show up differently in everyone, and not everyone is going to show the same symptoms. There are also other symptoms that aren't listed in the "most common". If you're feeling like you relate to a lot of the following information, please seek professional help. The information below is from handouts I received from my psychiatrists. If you have other good resources, please feel free to add to this post.✨

Fear of Abandonment

Strong fear of being left behind, alone, or abandoned.

Real or imagined.

Extreme measure to avoid possible separation or rejection.

Beg, cling, start fights, jealously track your loved ones movements, or even physically block someone from leaving.

These behaviors often cause the fear to come true, and people leave. Some would call this a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Frantic efforts to keep the other person close.

I struggle with this. I have a huge fear of abandonment. Being left was something that was always threatened to me when I was in abusive relationships. It's become something that is extremely hard to control. I have definitely had moment where I had frantic efforts to keep someone from leaving. I've definitely gone to extremes, some of which will be talked about further in this post. Because I have such a strong fear of this, I try to make people want to leave because I expect it to happen at some point anyway. At this point I end up lashing out in very unhealthy ways.

Something I want to touch on separately, is the discussion I consistently see about people using suicide as a threat and how manipulative it is. I don't want anyone to think I'm condoning this behavior, but I want to be a safe place to say that I understand because I have done this myself. No, I'm not proud of it. It was during some of the worst moments of my life. The most extreme measure I'd go to, to make sure I wasn't abandoned. I don't want to normalize this or say that it isn't manipulative because it is. There is no way around that. But, it is a reality of BPD. Later in this post, I discuss feeling like I lose control of myself and my body. Well, my mouth is part of that. I feel like I can't always control the things that I say, and some of them are so horrible and I'm so hard on myself once I've come down from those irrationalities. If this is something you're struggling with, just do your best to work on it. Or seek professional help.

Unstable Relationships

Maintaining healthy relationships very challenging.

Individual tends to be quite needy, intense, and mistrusting.

Not only with romantic partners, but also friends and family.

Black and white way of thinking about people, A.K.A. "all good" or "all bad".

Frequently shifting attitudes towards others that range from idealization to devaluation.

Relationships are either perfect or horrible.

You may "fall in love quickly", believing that each new person is the one who will make you feel whole, only to be quickly disappointed.

It's hard for me to look back on the past 15 years of my life, and be able to pick out one stable relationship I've had. I honestly don't think I can. Both of my longterm abusive relationships were very unstable. They were very off and on, and one-sided. I was always at the mercy of the other person, especially with my people pleasing tendencies. Once I start to see someone negatively, everything just spirals and the entire relationship becomes filled with hate on my end. It always bounced back and forth between loving them endlessly, and hating them endlessly. It took a huge toll on me mentally.

Unstable or Shifting Self Image

Identity disturbances.

Sometimes feel good about themselves, but other times feel hatred towards themselves.

Self image can change depending on whom the person is with, often copying the action and behavior of others.

Ability to be independent and autonomous is very impaired.

Constantly shifting ideas of who they are or what they want in life.

Can result in frequent changes to jobs, friends, lovers, religion, values, goals, and even sexual identity.

I have a huge problem with imposter syndrome. It feels like no matter what I do, I don't belong and I'm just pretending to be whatever it is at the time. This causes a lot of the feelings of emptiness that I have. I always feel like my personality isn't my own, that I'm mimicking or impersonating someone around me, or even someone from a TV show or movie. I see myself behaving differently around different people, like they see different personas of me that I've created for specific situations and groups of people. I feel like its very hard for me to find places I belong. I struggle with knowing who I really am.

Impulsive, Self Destructive Behaviors

Gambling, spending sprees, shoplifting, or sabotaging success by suddenly quitting a good job or ending a positive relationship.

May even put the individual in danger.

Reckless driving, practicing unsafe sex, abusing drugs or alcohol, or binge eating.

Engaging in these activities may help them feel better in the moment, but do more harm than good in the long run.

I struggle with drugs and alcohol. Something I personally know about myself is that I have a very addictive personality, but it's something I've hidden from everyone around me. I've disguised it as kind of being the "party girl". Or just having fun. It can be a very self destructive behavior for me. I also self isolate a LOT. I remove myself from situations that I simply don't want to be a part of. I cut people off very easily. I simply stop responding to messages, stop going on social media, just breaking off contact with the outside world. That way I feel like people won't have to worry about me and I won't be a burden.

Self Harm and Suicidal Ideations

75% of people with BPD self harm one or more times.

Cutting, burning, or an "overdose that can bring relief from intense emotional pain".

Suicidal behavior includes thinking about suicide, making suicidal gestures or threats, or actually carrying out a suicide attempt.

Self harm encompasses all other attempts to hurt yourself without suicidal intent.

For a very long time, self harm was something I struggled with (I'm almost 5 months clean from it!) It was off and on for the past 12ish years. It just became a release for me, but it also felt like something I could actually be in control of. As weird as that sounds. I didn't feel like I was in control of my own life, so I could be in control of my physical pain. I do have a few suicide attempts (3 attempts, 4 hospitalizations), and those were some of my lowest moments in life. If you're ever feeling this way, please seek help!

Extreme Emotional Swings

Emotional volatility, with intense mood swings that range from happiness one moment to despair the next.

Can be triggered by things that others would simply brush off or not even notice.

The moods tend to pass fairly quickly, typically only lasting a few minutes or hours, unlike swings of depression or bipolar.

I was first diagnosed with bipolar because I didn't know how to express my emotions to my psychiatrist. I was very shy and outspoken, so my psych would list of symptoms and I would simply say yes or no, without being able to express myself. If you think this is something you struggle with, I would suggest taking some time to study your feelings and emotions, even journal about it, so you can better express yourself. Even if you diagnosis is not BPD, this will help you get to a diagnosis and further help, much faster.

Chronic Feelings of Emptiness

A hole or void inside them.

Individuals may feel as if they are "nothing" or "nobody".

Because this feels so uncomfortable, they may "try to fill the hole with things like drugs, food, or sex."

These things only offer temporary relief, but nothing makes it go away.

This goes back to the imposter syndrome. I feel like nobody. I'm not sure where I fit in. Sometimes it gets so bad that I resort to drugs and alcohol just to feel something other than the emptiness.

Explosive Anger

Often triggered, but describes as "exaggerated or disproportional to an event".

Frequently losing temper, being sarcastic, having physical fights.

Most noticeable when directed outwards, but people with BPD spend a lot of time being angry at themselves.

Throwing things, breaking property (personal or not), yelling, or becoming completely consumed by rage.

Anger is definitely something I struggle with. I find myself getting irrationally angry at things that make absolutely no sense. And within relationships, once I get angry, everything spirals. I'm the type that yells, breaks things, and lashes out. During previous abusive situations, I learned to fight simply as a way to defend myself, but now I find myself lashing out and being the one to hit first. It was something that was engrained into my brain. A fight response that now makes me the aggressor. I destroy things I know are important on purpose to get a reaction from the other person. The entire time its happening, I don't want it too. But, it feels like I literally lose control of my body. No matter how many times I tell myself in my head "don't hit them", "don't throw that", "don't break that". It doesn't matter. And because of this, once I come down from the explosive anger, I spend days and days being upset and angry with myself. Overthinking every tiny little thing that I should have done differently.

Feeling Suspicious or Out of Touch with Reality

Suspicious thoughts about others motives.

Struggle to trust others.

Episodes of paranoid thinking can range from mild and temporary to severe and chronic.

When under stress, you may even lose touch with reality, an experience known and dissociation. You may feel foggy, spaced out, or as if you're outside your own body.

I have an extremely hard time making new friends because I'm always questioning peoples motives. I have a very hard time trusting anyone. I think this is partly the fault of some of the situations I've been through, which would be too much to describe in this post right now, but even before I always convinced myself that people were only associating with me for their own gain. Whatever that was. I also struggle tremendously with dissociation. Day to day, it something that I've just trained my brain to do. I was yelled at so much in my previous relationships that it just became a habit. It helped me escape from the reality that I didn't want to be a part of.

I'd like to note that at this point in my life, I'm in a very healthy relationship with someone who takes amazing care of me. I'm still unlearning a lot of toxic traits and behaviors, and I still get very upset with myself for how I treat my partner sometimes, but I'm working on things and I know I'm in a safe environment. I hope this post helps someone on their journey to healing and learning about themselves. Also, this is my first post like this and I want to do more, so please don't be to hard on me! If you have anything to add, or any constructive criticism, or want to start a discussion please don't be scared too! But be respectful about it!

[mosswillow]

Iced Coffee 5- Dark!Stephen Strange x Fem Reader

Series Warnings: 18+ adult content, Dark, Rape/noncon, obsessive behavior, stalking, doctor/medical themes, needles (chapter one, not sex related), violence, abuse, kidnapping, forced marriage, smut, escape attempt, Somnophilia

New Warnings! : Emotional manipulation, mentions of past infidelity (not Stephen or Reader).

You can join the tag list here.

Thank you to the unnamed requester and @couldntbedamned​ for this request. 🖤

Series master list

By Clicking keep reading you confirm that you are over 18 and understand that this content is mature and potentially triggering

Stephen was a big man so it made sense that his bed would be big. A month trickled by and his bed became a familiar staple in your life.

You found it increasingly difficult the longer you were with Stephen to keep emotionally distant. No matter how many times you told yourself to keep him at arm's length you just couldn't. There was something special between you, a magnetic pull. The closer you got the harder it was to resist him. He was everything you never knew you needed. The way he fucked you was animalistic. He’d push you down and enter you, filling you with his cum and nipping until small teeth marks claimed you as his. He wanted you and he would have you. He left you used in every way possible and you loved every second of it.

“You’re perfect,” Stephen whispered as he pulled you back into his chest. He traced his finger over the bruises he left on your skin.

Your alarm went off and you picked it up, reality coming back as you saw the time. You sat up and scrolled through messages, pausing at one from Kai.

Kai: Hey, I just got back. I know it’s been a few months but I’d really like to take you out if you can. Just something casual.

Your face dropped.

“Who’s texting you?”  Stephen asked.

“Nobody,” you said. It was a lie, or half truth really. You owed him a date and would go. The man just lost his mother, how were you supposed to cancel on him? You didn’t think you would feel the same way about Kai but wanted to give him a chance. After all, you weren’t exclusive with Stephen. You needed to slow down with him and Kai was the perfect speed bump.

“Nobody?” He kissed the right side of your neck and blew air over the wet spot causing goosebumps to form over the right half of your body.

“One of my coworkers asked me on a date, I told him yes…”

“You told him yes?” Stephens hand shot to your arm and squeezed.

You were taken aback by his attitude and tried to scoot away. He held on for a second before releasing you.

“I mean we never made it exclusive,” you reasoned.

Stephen grabbed his pants from the floor and pulled them up quickly, buckling his belt in one swift motion. You watched his jaw clench as he paced a few steps. Anger rolled off of him and you fought the urge to curl into a tight ball.

“You want to humiliate me, get back at me?”

“No, of course not,” you pulled a blanket over your naked body, feeling suddenly very exposed.

Stephen crossed his arms over his chest and stood over you, eyes quickly darkening to a stormy blue. You looked down and shifted off the bed, making space between you and him.

“I’m sorry, maybe I should have mentioned it sooner. I wasn’t trying to keep a secret or lead you on. This… ” you motioned between you and him, “Has just moved fast. When I originally said yes to the date you and I were barely friends.”

“You shouldn’t have said yes at all even if we weren’t together,” he said and you scoffed and rolled your eyes.

Stephen took a large step towards you and hooked a finger under your chin.

“You’re his boss no?”

You tried to push your face down but his finger kept it up.

“It’s just one date. If it goes further I can speak to HR.”

The grip on your chin grew painful as Stephen contemplated your statement. After a few seconds his demeanor completely changed. He was eerily calm, letting go and rubbing gently where he had gripped you. One of his hands went under your knees and the other behind your back as he lifted you and brought you to the bed. He grabbed your hand, kissing it before hugging you into his chest.

You shook in his arms and he pulled a second blanket over your body.

“Why are you always so cold? Is it your condition?”

You nodded. While many side effects from the shot had faded, the inconsistencies within your temperature had continued. Sometimes you felt overheated but most of the time you were freezing.

“Stephen…” you began.

“I’m sorry I lost my temper,” He said quickly.

“But..”

He stood before you could say anything more.

“I’ll drive you home now,” He said, leaving you alone in his room before you could say anything else.

-o-

She was so quiet as he drove her home. He had messed up, overreacted. She was looking down and biting her lip as they approached her building and he opened his mouth to prevent her from saying whatever she was about to say.

“I think we need to take some time apart,” She spoke first, sensing this plan to steamroll her. “It’s going too fast and I’m scared,” she continued.

He gripped the steering wheel and took a deep breath. He wanted to push her down and fuck her, remind her who was in charge.

“I shouldn’t have freaked out, I just thought there was something between us, I felt hurt when you acted like it was less for you,” he said instead.

“There is something between us, It’s just too fast. I’m scared after what you did to me.” There were tears welling in her eyes.

“We were kids!” He bellowed. “I’m different now, I’ve shown you that. This is real between us, at least it is for me. You’re not going to get away from me, I won't let that happen.”

He hit the steering wheel making her jump.

He had to calm himself down. He would lose her if he pushed too hard, it wasn’t time yet. Vulnerability, not anger, was what he needed to show her. She was so close to falling for him completely. He needed to tread carefully and play on her kindness.

“I’m sorry, go on your date, it's fine. To be holding and kissing you one moment and the next for you to bring up a date with someone else…” He wiped away an imaginary tear and paused for dramatic effect. “My mom cheated on my dad when I was a kid so I guess it triggered me. I’m sorry, it doesn’t excuse how angry I got, just explains it.”

The look on her face told him his words were the right move.

Stephen almost felt bad for lying to her but he would do much more than that to keep her.

His sweet girl couldn’t help feeling empathy for him. It was endearing, those puppy dog eyes looking at him with such care. But also exploitable. It was her own fault for allowing her emotions to make her weak. It was why she was hurt by him the first time. He was doing her a favor really, making sure he would be the last one to exploit her kindness.

“I know you’re not ready for me but I’m ready for you. I’ll wait as long as it takes” he finished.

Her demeanor loosened slightly and she reached across the console, hugging her arms around him.

“Oh Stephen. It was the wrong time, you’re right. I like you, I'm just scared. I won’t date around or anything. Just this one date then we can talk about where our relationship is going, ok?”

He forced himself to agree and smiled as he watched her exit his car.

“Fuck!” He yelled as soon as she was inside. He had wanted her to cancel the date.

What if it went well? He wasn't willing to share her with anyone.

Stephen had wanted to take things slower but once he started fucking her he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back. He needed assurances, he needed a plan to make sure that the game would end soon and he would be on top. He would not lose her, he refused.

Letting her walk away from him felt like tearing off a chunk of his skin. She had won a round against Stephen and he wasn’t accustomed to losing.

It wasn’t that he liked to win. He had never really been competitive in the traditional sense. There wasn’t a rush or excitement when he came in first. Winning, or rather dominating wasn't a hobby or a choice, it was who he was at his core. He never kept trophies from past accomplishments. No magazine articles were framed. His degree from med school still sat in the envelope he received it in.

She was the first and only trophy he wanted to keep.

-o-

“You look amazing,” Kai’s eyes lit up as he gave you the biggest, cheesiest smile.

“Thank you,” You smiled back.

Kai drove you to a casual diner and escorted you to a booth in the corner. He was so different from Stephen but in a good way. You were caught up in the whirlwind that was the famous Doctor Strange and the sex, well it was otherworldly.  But Kai, Kai was someone you wanted to actually be with. He made you feel good. He reminded you that there were people outside of you and Stephen and that relationships without stress and tension actually existed.

“I like you but I need to be upfront. The reason I was gone for so long was because of family drama with my sister. I’m taking in my two nieces... indefinitely. I’m not ready to be in a relationship with anyone until they’re settled in, which will be at least a few months but probably longer. I’m sorry if I lead you on in any way. This felt like a conversation to have in person and not at work.”

His honesty shocked you. “Thank you, I really appreciate this and you being so upfront.”

It really did show character for him to take you out and explain everything. You felt guilty for how little you had thought of him while he was gone when he went out of his way to make sure you didn’t feel forgotten.

The dinner was fun and easy. He showed you pictures of his nieces and told jokes. It felt like catching up with an old friend.

He walked you to your door after and to your surprise leaned forward and kissed you gently before stepping back and smiling. It was a nice kiss but wasn’t right.

“There isn't a spark,” he said what you were both thinking. He stepped forward and lifted you off the ground into a big swinging hug.

“Friends?” he asked

“Friends,” you replied before walking through your door and locking it.

You kicked off your heels and made your way towards the bathroom to remove your makeup. The doorbell rang and you tiptoed to the peep hole and looked though. As expected, Stephen stood outside with his arms on either side of your door. He wasn’t going anywhere and you didn't want your neighbors, who already hated you, to get angry so you opened the door.

“You kissed him,” He said through gritted teeth.

“What are you doing here? Were you watching my date?”

He said nothing and you let out a sigh.

“Stephen, that’s stalking.”

He stepped forward and you slowly started to close the door. You would maybe regret it but you had to end things before it went too far. Kai wasn’t a speed bump, he was a big red stop sign with neon lights telling you not to go forward. Stephen had hurt you too much in the past for you to ever fully forgive or trust him and the trauma from his parents made it unhealthy for him to be with you. There would always be distrust between you. Sure, there was chemistry but you wanted more than that, you also wanted him to be your friend and Stephen Strange could never be your friend. It was a relationship distended for heartache and you needed to get out.

“I liked you but I can’t do this. We have to break up,” you choked, tears welling in your eyes.

Stephen’s chest started rising and falling as he took heavy breaths. “We’re not over, you won’t leave me. You belong to me.”

Yelling would have been a more pleasant tone for Stephen to use. The quiet raw energy that flowed through his body as he spoke was terrifying.

You went from sad to furious in a second.

“We’re over and it’s not me, it’s definitely you. Go home.” You said, anger rising more every second.

But he didn’t go home, he put his foot in your doorway to block your attempt at slamming it in his face.

“Stephen you’re scaring me,” you said as he pushed into your home and locked the door.

“One phone call and your little project ends,” He stated.

“I’ll quit then, I-I’ll give it all up. I can practice anywhere.”

A smirk tugged at his lip.  “A second one takes away your license.”

“Y-You you don’t have that kind of power,” you stuttered.

“You want to gamble? You know I’m connected. Who was it that got Stark to pick up your little project again?”

The fight slowly drained from you as you absorbed the threats. You felt his hand on the back of your head and then his lips on yours, claiming you like the dominant asshole he was. Your stupid body betrayed you. As angry as you were, one kiss pushed every thought away and made you pliable. A few tears dropped down your cheek and he wiped them away with his thumb.

“No, hey I’m sorry. It’s just a fight. We’re just having a fight. I know I can be scary. I shouldn’t have lost my temper babe.”

But he didn’t say his threats weren’t real because they were real and you both knew it. Maybe he would follow through or maybe not. Maybe he would never do that to you and just said it in anger. It didn't matter though, what mattered was that he could do it if he wanted.

He pushed you back until you were tripping over the couch, continuing to devour your face the whole time.

“You’re smart.” He kissed your forehead.

“And beautiful.” your cheek.

“Kind.” your lips.

“I shouldn’t have spied on your date. I was scared of you getting hurt and acted irrationally.”

His hand moved to the hem of your dress. It slid past your panties and found your clit, pressing it gently. Your legs parted on their own and he pumped a finger in and out, gathering slick to lubricate your entrance. You looked at his face and tried to get words out but they wouldn't come. Did you want him to stop? Would He have stopped if you had asked? You weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer and so you shut your mouth. He tore your panties off and held up the red lace before throwing it across the room.

“I don't like that you wore those for someone else,” He growled.

Your eyes closed and back arched as he slammed into you a second later.

“Eye’s open,” he grabbed your jaw and you obeyed.

“Has anyone ever made you feel like this?”

You shook your head and tried to look away but his hand squeezed until you whimpered.

“Exactly.” he thrust into you hard, pushing you forward until your head hit the arm of the couch.

“We’ve got something between us, it’s undeniable.”

He gripped your hips and snapped into you once more, making you gasp as a mix of pain and pleasure washed through you. For a moment everything was ok. You relaxed into the couch as he filled you with cum. Then he pulled his warm body off of you, leaving you cold and alone.

“I’m sending a dress for you to wear for the fundraiser,” he said.

You nodded and watched him walk out of your home without a second look your way. You dragged yourself to the door and locked it, checking multiple times that it was actually bolted then wrapped yourself in your favorite blanket and fell asleep.

-o-

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[nagichi-boop]

Miya Chinen - BPD Headcanons

Back at it again with the mental illness headcanons. Originally I was gonna do NPD Miya headcanons but then I also realised that Miya displays a few BPD symptoms, so I thought I’d explore that first since I am more familiar with BPD than I am with NPD.

Disclaimer: I am aware that personality disorders like bpd are diagnosed later in life. This theory is more just a casual exploration of the bpd traits Miya displays.

Spoilers ahead

Also, if Ad*m is a trigger for you, maybe skip this one because his name will come up quite a lot in this post and I will not be censoring his name for the remainder of this post.

Without further ado, here’s the headcanons!

1. Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment; (not including suicidal or self-mutilating behavior)

When Miya’s old friends rejected him, he was deeply hurt. From then on he pushes everyone away, instead viewing friendship as a burden more than a blessing, perhaps out of a fear of being abandoned again. When he sees Reki and Langa, he is confused as to why he is suddenly reminded of his past, but my assumption is that he was secretly jealous of what they had as he was alone. Then when Reki stood up to Adam, suddenly his world changed. He started to associate with Reki and Langa more and more, him being especially interested in Reki. He went from considering Reki as inferior to being genuinely concerned about him (more on that in a bit).

Later on though, Reki goes missing and Miya begins to act somewhat cold to others (such as Langa). When he eventually sees Reki, he is deeply upset that he stopped showing up without saying anything. Despite his hurt, Miya tried to put it behind him, instead asking him to come back. Reki refuses and pushes past Miya, who yells out for Reki to wait. Then when he keeps running, he gets upset because Reki has “abandoned” him.

As an extra note, when Adam calls Miya “empty”, he gets deeply hurt by this, perhaps because it feels like the one person who respected him or had any connection with him has seemingly lost interest. Thank you Reki for stepping in ily

2. A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation

When it comes to his relationship with Reki and Langa, they tend to fluctuate quite rapidly. At first Miya almost despises them because of how close they are, jealous of their friendship. However after having Reki stand up for him, his attitude towards them shifts. Suddenly Reki is someone he wants to be around, someone he deeply cares about, even if he doesn’t show it very well.

When Reki stops showing up, that’s all Miya can think to ask Langa about and he seems to be somewhat cold towards Langa, whether that’s because he feels closer to Reki or has a suspicion that Langa is why Reki isn’t there. After all, Reki is the one who stood up to him, not Langa.

Then when he finally finds Reki, he is desperate to have him stay. But as soon as Reki runs off, all the good feelings towards Reki drop and Miya calls him a liar. When he comes back, Miya once again views Reki with admiration and care, to the point that he is the only one who is vocally and visibly concerned about Reki during his race against Adam, yelling at Reki to stop and begging Joe to stop the race.

3. Markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self

Miya views himself as superior to others, likening himself to the hero of the story. When he loses to Langa and is called empty by Adam, however, he seems to have a major shift in perception, perhaps feeling deeply hurt to the point of feeling like he has nothing to offer. Skating is his bragging point, so to have lost to a rookie and be discarded by the person who had expectations of you - that has to do something to your self esteem.

He is shown quite a few times to let down his guard and be more humble, which shows that he doesn’t always view himself above others. For instance, when he told Reki not to skate against Adam, he did so likely out of a mix of concern and low self esteem, not wanting Reki to get hurt because of him (or at least that’s how I see it).

4. Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (eg, spending, s*x, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating); (not including suicidal or self-mutilating behavior)

Miya doesn’t fit this criteria. He tends to think through things a lot more and actually tends to err on the side of caution a lot more than his family peers do.

5. Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior

Again, this one doesn’t really apply. Moving on-

6. Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (eg, intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days)

Miya’s mood can change quite frequently. Let’s take his beef with Langa for example. He starts off feeling confident, viewing the beef more like a walk in the park than an actual competition. Then when he is reminded of his past, he suddenly becomes frustrated and that’s reflected in his increased focus in the beef. When he sees Langa attempting a dangerous move, he stops, immediately calling out expressing his concern for Langa despite previously being cold towards him. Having lost to Langa, Miya becomes upset, then is angered by Reki flicking him. He then becomes overwhelmed and happy (though he doesn’t immediately show it) that Reki promises not to abandon Miya, even laughing at Reki’s antics. When Adam enters and calls Miya empty, his mood immediately shifts to intense anxiety and upset.

In just that one instance, Miya fluctuates between various extremes of emotion - anger, upset, joy - all within a relatively short amount of time.

7. Chronic feelings of emptiness

When watching the video of Miya practicing, Reki makes a comment that Miya doesn’t look happy. In fact, he tends to put on a fake smile and smug persona when actually he is lonely and hurt. The passion he had for skating has disappeared, but he continues because it’s what he is good at - the people around him can all see that. Despite that, the enjoyment has gone. But when Reki comes around and is soon joined by the others, he seems to enjoy skating a lot more and that emptiness is less frequent.

8. Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (eg, frequent displays of temper, constant anger, or recurrent physical fights)

Miya is shown to have quite a short fuse. I don’t really have much of an elaboration, so here’s a small list of sorts of the times he has easily snapped.

His jealously causes him to feel resentment towards Reki and Langa. Remembering his past experiences with his friends also caused him to feel more upset and caused him to be more focused on the beef against Langa. When Langa misquotes something Miya says, he gets angry at Langa, partially out of embarrassment. At the beach when everyone is fussing over Joe, Miya’s annoyance gets channeled into him sabotaging Joe though my theory is he somewhat did this because he noticed Reki was annoyed. As previously mentioned, Miya got mad at Reki for pushing him aside and abandoning him. There’s probably more examples but hopefully my point is made.

His anger never really shows up as physical aggression. It’s usually in the form of insults or showing off with his skating.

9. Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms

Once again, I have little to no evidence for this. However, it’s possible that Miya’s flashback mid-beef with Langa could have been a form of dissociation as he even comments ‘why am I remembering this now?’ But more likely this just isn’t a symptom he experienced.

x

Anyways, this post was kind of more projection. I think that even if Miya doesn’t fully have bpd, he most definitely has traits of it, the most notable features being about his fears and responses to abandonment (real or perceived).

[leechobsessed]

Chapter 1

“Not all storms come to disrupt your life, some come to clear your path.”

characters: Cora Crawford words: ~2.9k warnings: mentions of abuse and drowning, suicidal ideation

notes: It’s Cora’s birthday, so here’s chapter one of her story! Don’t know Cora yet? Take a peek at her bio here.

The Crab Isles are not a friendly place. 

Nothing about the climate, nor the people for that matter, are welcoming. Found further south than the Scrougelands, the weather is bitterly cold almost year round, making the main livelihood of the islands— crab fishing, as it would be— to be exceptionally dangerous, difficult, and undesirable work. 

The attitudes of the island’s inhabitants have only been made worse by the remarks and jokes of the rest of the world; the Crabmen were actually half crab, but whether that half be the top or bottom depended on who you asked. 

That bit, of course, was not true. Yet much like the crabs the people fished for, they had developed a hard, almost impermeable shell around themselves, turning their community into a collectively abrasive group. Fiercely protective of their own, intimidating to and wary of anyone else. 

The South is unforgiving, and the people who live there have adapted to their harsh environment, becoming harsh and unforgiving themselves. They were a collectively stubborn, selfish and superstitious bunch, quickly weeding out and eliminating what they perceived to be dangerous in order to ensure the survival of their community. 

And to them, nothing was more dangerous than Cora. 

Cora Crawford came into the world silent, an omen of bad luck that was only fed into when she was discovered to have been born with The Mark. In the center of her palms, a small black circle, almost resembling a bruise, perhaps a touch of dirt, easily missed by the casual observer. But the elders knew this was a mark of dark magic, a soul that came into this world tainted. Evil.

Her parents tried to deny it; not their child, it couldn’t be. No one in the Crawford family had shown a propensity for magic in almost a century, but here she was, undeniably touched by dark forces, silently observing the world with her hauntingly pale blue eyes. 

Her father wanted her drowned, as did the elders, but her mother wouldn’t allow it— or so she was told. She found it hard to believe her parents would have ever fought over her life, given how little they cared for it now. 

The Mark was rarely seen in the Crab Isles, but was spoken about often. Those with The Mark were said to be stronger than the heaviest winds, more destructive than the fiercest storm, as unpredictable and uncontrollable as the sea. Though her parents tried desperately to deny it, to hide it, the rumor that the Crawford’s girl had The Mark spread through the village like wildfire. 

Even if they weren’t sure it was true, those in the community ignored and avoided her, terrified of what she was and what she was capable of. And Cora was scared too. For the first twelve years of her life, she was constantly reminded how dangerous she was and she was silenced, hidden, forbidden to use any magic, even as she could feel it crackling under her skin like lightning, threatening to burst free at any moment.  

The power was overwhelming, and she had no way to control it, no one to teach her how. Cora tried, she really tried, to keep her magic hidden, and was successful more often than not. When she did give in and lost control, allowed the power to be free for only a moment, she was punished severely. Her parents hissed foul curses at her as they beat her, reminding her how horrible and evil she was, how she was a threat and hated by everyone around her. 

But every beating only seemed to make her magic stronger and harder to tame. And her mark only continued to grow. 

What had started as a faint black spot had begun to crawl through the veins of her palms, spreading to her fingertips, turning them black from the tips of her nails to the second knuckle. She knew the mark only grew when she practiced magic, but it didn’t grow every time. She couldn’t predict when it would or wouldn’t spread, and she had no one to ask about it. So instead, she continued to cover the marks and pretend that she didn’t terrify even herself.  

This morning, as usual, Cora wakes up earlier than the rest of the household to start her chores, knowing not having them done before breakfast will mean nothing but trouble for her. She sits up in bed and stretches before sliding out of the covers to get dressed. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she pulls her heavy flannels on, then her coat, her hat, her mud boots and finally her gloves before she sneaks down the stairs and out the back door toward the henhouse. 

The hens are all huddled together in the coops, unwilling to be outside any longer than necessary. And Cora doesn’t blame them. The weather this time of year is hovers just above freezing, violent storms prone to rolling in from the sea at any time. She stands out in the yard, looking dubiously up at the sky, her hair standing on end from the electricity in the air. 

She quickly spreads fresh feed for them and she collects the eggs the hens have laid in her basket before she jogs further down the hill to the barn. The barn used to house about a dozen goats until her younger sister was born, and her parents decided they didn’t need the stress of more mouths to feed. 

Truthfully, she was surprised they didn’t get rid of her instead, but she supposed her being able to work on the boat was more helpful to the family than the small amount of money they made from selling the goat’s milk.

Cora missed the goats. They liked her because she fed them, let her lay on them when her father made her sleep outside, and wouldn’t tattle on her if she used their space to practice magic, which is something she couldn’t say about her seven year old sister. 

The golden child of the Crawford family, she thinks, rolling her eyes.

The barn is now used to store fishing gear, but it’s still a suitable place to practice her magic if she really wanted, and usually she would. But the lashings on her back from when her sister caught her the week prior have just started to heal, and she really isn’t looking to get any more. At least not today.

Instead, she gently lies back on a pile of netting to stare up at the worn wood of the barn ceiling, pulling off her gloves to call a small orange flame to her fingertips. She lets the flame dance across the black tips of her fingers for a moment, extinguishing the illusion quickly when she hears someone approach. 

She wrestles her gloves back on and stands up quickly, picking up the basket of eggs, just as her older brother enters the barn. He studies her for a moment as he leans against the doorframe. 

“Ma is lookin’ for the eggs.”

She nods quickly, fumbling with her gloves and the basket. “I’m comin’.”

“I know. I just wanted to find you before Pa came out.” He takes the basket of eggs from her to allow her to fix her gloves properly, watching her with the same green eyes as their father, though his look more kindly on her. 

Cora offers him a small smile, nodding in thanks. 

Tevin had always been good to her. He was very protective of his younger sister, understanding from a very young age that she was being treated unfairly and unkindly by the people who were supposed to love and care for her most. Everyone in town, including their parents, thought she was dangerous and evil, but he knew her, and he knew she wasn’t, even if she didn’t.

But after speaking up in her defense a few too many times, and receiving just as many beatings for it, Cora told him to stop.

“It’s not like it helps anyway,” she had said. 

“Ma is making us breakfast,” Tevin says, looking back toward the house. “We shouldn’t let it get cold.” Cora nods and follows her brother out of the barn and up the hill, picking up the pace as thunder rumbles off in the distance. 

The two children enter the kitchen to find their mother preparing their morning oats, their younger sister Orla reading quietly from a book at the table. Riona glances at the two of them, her thin lips pulling into a frown as she takes the basket from Tevin. “I was waitin’ on those.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Cora says, taking her bowl from the counter and heading to her usual spot at the window.

Tevin takes his own bowl from the counter and follows his sisters lead. He joins her to sit on the windowsill, despite having a spot at the table he’s expected to be placed at. “Happy birthday, Cora,” Tevin says, loud enough to pull the attention of their mother toward him. She frowns at her son before turning around to crack an egg in the pan in front of her. “What’re you now, eleven?”

“Thirteen,” she mumbles around a mouthful of oats, which makes Tevin smile. 

Cora returns the smile before turning her focus back on her food. He looks just like their father, with the same strong jaw and dark hair, but Tevin smiles so much more that you’d hardly believe they were related. 

“Have they said anything to you? About your birthday?” He asks, lowering his voice, although he already knows the answer. Their parents have never celebrated Cora’s birthday, but he keeps hoping one year things will change, for his sister’s sake. Cora glances at him briefly before shoveling another spoonful of oats into her mouth. 

Cora doesn’t have to look up from her breakfast to know that Calder had entered the room. She can tell by the way his physical presence darkens the atmosphere of whatever room he walks into instantly, but her eyes fly up toward him nonetheless. He has his long, dark hair tucked into his cap, fully dressed for a day at sea, his emerald eyes flashing dangerously when he sees Tevin sitting next to Cora. He says nothing to anyone as he sits down, his back to his eldest children, his front toward Orla and his wife.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’?” Riona asks, raising a blond eyebrow at the man. 

“Out on the boat,” he responds matter-of-factly, shifting his large body slightly to peak at the book his daughter is reading.

Riona frowns, setting down the plate of eggs in front of her husband. “What d’you mean you’re goin’ out today? Have you seen the storm rollin’ in?”

“Aye, I have. Which only means that there’ll be fewer boats out and more for us to catch. Tevin, Cora, get your things, we’re leavin’.” He shovels the eggs into his mouth in three bites before pushing himself back form the table, heading out the door before anyone can respond. 

From his perch on the windowsill, Tevin frowns at the door his father just left through, before he and Cora turn to glance back out the window of their small house. The rising sun is completely obscured behind obsidian clouds, the only light coming from the frequent strikes of lightening on the horizon. 

“He’s bloody mad, that man,” he murmurs under his breath, just loud enough for Cora to hear. 

She smirks in response, lowering her head to hide her humor. “I could’ve told you that,” she whispers back. The siblings simultaneously hop down off the windowsill and place their bowls on the counter. Cora he follows her brother out of the kitchen and to their bedroom, waiting patiently as he pulls their fishing gear off the shelves and brings it over to her.

“Someone is gonna to die if we go out there,” he sighs, sitting down on the floor to pull his coveralls on over his flannels. 

“Maybe that’s what he’s hopin’,” she sighs back, pulling her boots on. She hisses as Tevin smacks her arm with the back of his hand, and she hits him back on his thigh. “Don’t pretend he isn’t.”

He shakes his head, lacing up his own boots. “They don’t want you dead, Cora.”

“You’re just as mad as Pa if you think that’s true.”

Tevin sits up straight to look his sister in the eyes. “I don’t want you dead.”

Cora pauses for half a second before shrugging her heavy outerwear on. She adjusts her gloves, keeping her eyes turned toward the floor. “That I believe.”

Tevin gives her shoulder a squeeze as he stands up. “Come on. We don’t want to keep him waitin’.”

The docks are full of boats and void of people, which is exactly what Cora had expected. It’s started to rain by the time she and her brother climb aboard their father’s fishing boat, and they immediately set about their usual tasks to help the rest of the crew get the boat quickly out into sea. 

“Oy, Tev! Cora!” A voice calls, and the siblings turn to find the first mate approaching them, fighting the wind to pull their long red hair back away from their face. “What in the name of the god’s is yer pa thinkin’?”

“I wish I could tell you,” Tevin responds with a shrug.

They shake their head, looking out to sea as Calder steers the ship out of the harbor. “He’s bloody mad.” 

“That’s what I said,” Tevin says, pushing his already soaked hair out of his eyes. “How soon d’you reckon he realizes this won’t work?”

“Not soon enough,” they answer grimly, giving the siblings each a pat on the shoulder before heading toward the bow to help get the fishing nets ready.

Once out of the break wall, the storm is worse than Cora could have imagined. The wind is strong enough to knock the ship over on its own, but the waves are doing their part to help out, crashing onto the deck every few seconds, making it impossible to cast any nets. The storm is howling too loud to hear anything over the wind, and the relentless splashing of salt water is making it difficult for Cora to keep her eyes open.

We’re all going to die here, Cora finds herself thinking. Not just me.

“Cora! We’ve got to get below deck!” Tevin screams, his hand wrapping firmly around her wrist. “Come on!”

Cora does her best to open her eyes as her brother drags them across the deck, pausing every few feet to grab onto something sturdy as another wave floods the ship. 

Suddenly, his hand is gone from her wrist, and she screams for him, panicked that the waves may have taken him overboard. She can hear every other word of her father’s booming yell as he approaches, and is relieved to hear Tevin screaming back in response. 

With one arm wrapped as much as it can be around the mast, she opens her eyes against the wind, using her free hand to shield her eyes, trying unsuccessfully to make out either her brother or her father through the relentless downpour.

Without warning, a pair of large hands grab her by her upper arms, and she blinks furiously at them, thrashing in their hold. Her skin goes cold as she finds herself staring into her father’s green eyes. He says nothing, just holds her about a foot off the ground, seemingly oblivious to the storm raging around them. 

“Pa!” She hears Tevin call out. “Pa!”

“I should have killed you when you were born,” Calder hisses, his deep voice ringing out clear over the wind. 

“Pa!” Tevin shrieks, his voice panicked. “Let her go!”

Calder keeps his eyes on his daughter, on his burden, his curse, his greatest shame. Cora knows better than to say anything, so instead, she clenches her jaw and holds his gaze. And then she begins to silently pray,  her tears mixing with the salt from the sea, asking the gods to have mercy on her.

As another wave crashes over top of the ship, Calder does just what Tevin asked. He takes two steps toward the side of the ship and throws her with ease over the side, allowing the force of the wave to carry her overboard.

Cora Crawford has thought about death more than any child ever should. She thought she deserved to die, that the world would be better off without her. She considered ways she could make death come for her sooner, but she never followed through. The idea of death was terrifying to her. If she was evil in this life, what would be waiting for her in the next? 

As she hits the water, the air is forced from her lungs, immediately sending her into a panic. She struggles against the water, trying to kick up toward the surface, but the weight of her clothing and the movement of the sea keeps beating her down further and further, until she can’t tell which direction the surface is. 

And the realization hits her; I’m going to die.

Knowing this, she stops fighting, allows her body to relax and lets the current take her where it may. Suddenly, all she feels is calm, protected even, cocooned by the silence and movement of the water. No one could hurt her here. She couldn’t hurt anyone. Even if the next life was worse than this one, she had this fleeting moment to finally feel safe, from herself and everyone else. 

Exhaling the last bit of oxygen left in her chest, Cora lets the darkness she was born from reclaim her. 

[sunflowersunshinevol6]

Forbidden Fruit

Drug cartel!Harry x OC

Warnings: mentions of drugs, prostitution, violence, mental hospitals, gangs, mobster harry

Summary: Nina'a been burnt out on her job as a psychologist, that is until infamous drug runner and mobster Harry Styles is sent to her prison for drug and murder related offenses. Slowly she becomes seduced by his charm and is willing to risk it all to set him free.

New York City Present Day:

"In other news, crime boss and drug runner Harry 'Kiwi' Styles, was sentenced to thirty years in Maxwell's State Prison for the Criminally Insane. He could be facing more charges in the following weeks across different states-" Nina shut off the radio as she pulled into her parking spot. She sighed, resting her head against the steering wheel for a moment.

She'd worked at Maxwell's Prison for two years now. The once bright eyed grad student had become somewhat disillusioned by the job. These patients didn't change. They didn't want to. It left her unsatisfied. Unhappy. But she couldn't quit. She worked too hard for this.

Slamming her car door she walked up to the large brick building, sliding her key card into the slot before entering a small 'click' accompanying her movement.

"Good morning Doctor." Her assistant came from around her desk, just outside Nina's office. Nina said nothing, entering the room and leaving the door open for her assistant to follow. She's too tired to deal with this today. "I'm assuming you heard about Mr. Styles?" Nina sighed, setting her bag down.

"Alexis not yet..." she rubbed her temples, a slight headache coming on. "Could you grab me a cup of coffee first and then we can talk."

"Sure...be right back." Nina sat down at her desk, blowing a kiss to the portrait of her late father before looking at the large file sat on her desk. H.E.S written on the front in large letters, a sticky note attacked reading:

He arrives at 9:30 am. You are to assess him and report back to me. -Kirk

Kirk. Her boss. Who handed every patient he didn't want, off to her. Probably as revenge for her not wanting to sleep with him that one time.

Alexis came back in, handing Nina a steaming cup of black coffee, just the way she liked it. Nina took a small sip, letting it warm her bones.

"So I see Kirk didn't waste any time passing him off on me." Alexis smiled sympathetically.

"I think it's exciting. Be nice to have a fresh face around here don't you think?" Nina raised her eyebrow, Alexis's wording sometimes was strange. But she decided to overlook it.

"I need you to cancel all my other appointments for today. I have a feeling Mr. Styles isn't the most cooperative person and there's so much to do."

"Of course." Alexis stood again, leaving Nina alone in her office.

She began to flip through the file, scanning the pages and reading up as quick as she could on her new patient. Around nine thirty Alexis knocks on the door again, opening it slightly.

"He's here Nina. They have him ready for you."

The interview room isn't comfortable. Nothing like a cliche therapists office. A steel table sits in the middle of the room, florescent lights making it glint. Two steel chairs, a camera and a tripod set up. No more.

He sits at the table, a guard standing in the corner, eyeing him closely, his head is down. Nina walks over to the camera, turning it on and angling it towards him.

"This is Dr. Mason, here with Patient 072310. First session. " she heard him chuckle as she sits down out of the way of the camera. She crosses her legs, holding her pen and clipboard in her lap. "Hello Harry."

He looks up, finally. Two bright green eyes focus in on her, staring intently as plump red lips curve up into a devilish smile.

"Hello Doctor." Nina knew he was from England. But it still didn't stop her from being surprised by his accent, the roughness of his voice, how low it was. She cleared her throat, straightening her glasses on her face.

"Patient has been prescribed 20 mgs of Ziatropin and Noxicin, to be taken twice daily-"

"They already gave me that love." He interrupted cheekily. Nina rolled her eyes, scribbling furiously before looking back up at him.

"Please address the camera during these sessions...." she looked down to see the restraints on his wrists the cuffs chaining him to the table. "Are you comfortable?" He shakes his head, looking into the camera lenses.

"No....no not at all." He taps his fingers on the table and shrugs. "But I suppose that's what happens when you get caught....they put you in a cage."

"You don't think you should be here?" He leaned forward, taking his eyes off the camera to address her once more.

"No." He looked down at the nametag on her shirt. "Nina....my, my that's a pretty name." She cleared her throat.

"Please refer to me as Dr. Mason." He chuckled again, sitting back in his seat.

"Whatever, look. I provide a necessary service....some people, well, they just can't handle it. That's not on me sister."

"You run a drug cartel. You've killed people. And you don't think you're responsible for that?"

"I come with a warning sign." Harry said, leaning in again across the table. Nina saw the guard out of the corner of her eye step forward slightly. "People...they know what they're getting into when they do business with me....they know the consequences if they betray me."

"Then what are you doing here?" Nina was genuinely curious. He seemed to know what he was doing wrong. Why bring him here if he knew he was wrong. Harry smirked, tilting his head.

"I don't have a conscience sweetheart. That makes me sick." Nina narrowed her eyes. She was annoyed with how cocky and arrogant he was.

"Not having a conscience doesn't make you insane."

"Doesn't it." Nina slammed her note pad shut, standing abruptly. Harry seemed amused, she knew that he knew he was getting a rise out of her. And she didn't like it one bit.

"These sessions are being recorded. Everything you say will be filmed and reviewed. If I can't find you mentally incompetent they will give you the needle....I'd lose the attitude and get a little more serious." She turned to leave when he spoke, his words sending a chill down her spine

"I like you....this could be fun.....I know I still have time left with you darlin' sit back down. I'll be good." She doesn't know what kind of game he's playing but she does, sit down again. "That's better....doesn't do well for my narcissism when people leave before I do." He said approvingly. He thinks he's in control. He needs control. Nina makes a mental note to mark that down later.

"Patient suffers from delusions of grandeur, narcissistic personality disorder-"

"Lots of big words to define me....you haven't even scratched the surface darling."

"Dr. Mason." Nina corrected. "And these are your diagnosis. These are the conditions that brought you here."

"What if I told you I liked the disease," he smiled at her again, a flash of white as his teeth were bared. "I'm true to myself. I don't want to get better if it means I can't be me."

"Well being you is what got you here." She ran her hand through her hair. "We're getting off track."

"There's a track?" God she could slap him.

"Tell me about your family." She said, ignoring what he had said.

"My mother and my sister never abused me. They were good to me. Still back in London.' His tone changed, his words softer as he spoke about them. "Isn't that a trademark of sadistic bastards? They're abused? Well I wasn't."

"Why did you leave them?"

"We were dirt poor. I knew America was the way to go until I got here. I got a job but wasn't making enough. That's when I started running. Made enough to send quite a bit back home to mum." He licked his lips, clearing his throat before he continued. "Worked in a strip club for a while, selling speedball to VIPs, keeping the girls in line....then I started moving up. And once I started climbing I didn't want to stop. I didn't want to go back down." He watched Nina take notes. He noticed her hair falling from her pony tail and into her face. He wanted to reach out, to fix it for her, but he couldn't.

When she looked back up he was staring again, green eyes gazing intently at her. She shifted uncomfortably.

"Do I make you nervous?"

"No," she lied, thankful when her time went off. She stood again, putting her notepad under her arm and shutting off the camera. The guard walked up to Harry, unhooking him from the table and cuffing his arms behind his back. Nina stood to the side, letting them pass, as Harry walked by her he winked.

"Same time next week doc?"

[desperateground]

since we're doing anti discourse i guess: the antis ive seen on their own blogs (as opposed to other blogs askboxes) seem more concerned with media that portrays pedophilia in a positive light, as that very much can influence people into thinking it isn't THAT bad. If portrayed as the bad thing it is, they dont mind. Personally, do you see a difference in something that goes "heres an adult in love with a child, how sweet" as opposed to "heres an adult in love with a child, isnt that fucked up?"

under a cut cause this got long

I would love to be on the internet where you are, because it sounds a lot more reasonable than the one I live on, where stuff like this just makes me go ???

the thing is that fiction actually does influence people’s perceptions of reality, and we ought to care about that! if a person grows up watching movies where cops break the rules but it’s OK because they’re the good guys; or where stalkerish and manipulative behavior counts as “grand romantic gestures” that obligate a woman to date a man; or where Black people are depicted as uneducated and violent, of course that is going to color their opinions of the world.

and there are a lot of really good conversations being had about issues like that, and we absolutely need to have those conversations about responsible media creation and consumption. this power can be used for good as well as for evil. many people cite shows like Will & Grace as helping turn the tide of public opinion against seeing “homosexuality” as deviant and instead seeing gay people as “normal” and “lovable” and “relatable.” superman was a beloved enough All-American Hero that a storyline where he fights the KKK is credited with helping turn the KKK from a mainstream fraternity into something seen as a fringe hate group.

so i would agree that a giant wave of media with positive depictions of pedophilia would be concerning. 

however, we do not currently live in a world where “here’s an adult in love with a child, how sweet” is a major issue in media narratives such that people are absorbing the attitude that pedophilia is fine, cool, and good.

in fact, pedophilia is such a hated subject that we have a whole political movement in my country based on people calling anyone they dislike a “pedophile” and accusing them of all sorts of depraved shit involving children. most people who have sexual inclinations toward children are fully aware that these desires are at odds with society and that they will become pariahs if these desires were known to others.

(In fact, this level of ostracization can put people at a higher risk of offending, because they feel hopeless, have nowhere to turn for support, and figure if they’re going to be a pariah anyway, they may as well do the one thing they can think of that feels good. Forcing conversations about this to go completely underground means that you end up with awful groups like nambla dominating the conversation and convincing lost, lonely, frightened people to hop on board with their dangerous attitudes. if the only people safe to talk to about this stuff are people who will excuse, justify, encourage, and promote offenses against children, it makes sense that people would end up in their grip. You can read more here and here.)

much of the “media” that these “antis” are up in arms about is fan created content intended for a small population. the people creating content that riles up antis generally recognize that this is not mainstream content and use things like tags and content warnings to set it aside from other content. the notion that certain tropes in fanworks are going to bring about a massive cultural shift is a bizarre slippery-slope argument, and i think people's energy would be better focused on problems that are actually currently existing rather than a potential future where a few tags on ao3 have become dominant themes in network television and blockbuster movies. 

another issue here is that when an “anti” uses the term “pedophilia,” it’s completely unclear what they are actually referring to. a reasonable person would assume that they mean “a sexual relationship between an adult and a child,” but the definitions of “adult,” “child,” and “sexual relationship” have gotten so blurry within this discourse that it’s impossible to determine what’s being discussed. i’ve seen people claim that any relationship is inherently “pedophilic” if the characters have any sort of age gap, if there is any sort of power imbalance, if they both belong to the same “found family,” or even if one looks younger in appearance.

so when someone says “fictional narratives that depict pedophilia in a positive light,” they may actually be referring to “fictional narratives that depict any relationship I don’t like,” which is such a vague and meaningless statement that it becomes completely useless.

finally, your actual question is whether I personally see a difference between stories where the narrative perspective seems to critique the relationship vs stories where the narrative perspective romanticizes the relationship. i think your question is...hard to answer, because there is just too much there.

first off, it’s not always easy to tell whether a story is “vilifying” vs “glamorizing” something. people watch movies like fight club and take away very different thematic messages about whether the protagonist is someone to admire and emulate. if we say that depictions of abuse are only “good” or “allowed” if the narrative clearly portrays the abuse as “fucked up,” then we’re going to have to establish a High Court of AP English Teachers to determine exactly what narrative devices are employed and how, and that’s just...not...workable.

also, some people like the “fucked up”-ness of these stories; if you’re trying to say that something is bad if people “enjoy it” or “get off” on it or “indulge” in the darkness of the content, then it doesn’t matter if the story itself is wagging its finger at the naughty, naughty reader. the taboo, the erotic, and the deviant are, and have always been, wrapped up in each other. you can depict something as “bad” and yet still “fun;” it becomes a useless distinction when talking about sexual content. 

do i personally see a difference, when it comes to my own enjoyment? yeah, absolutely. i stopped watching game of thrones not because it included rape, but because the way the cinematography, musical score, etc. made it clear that the show was expecting me to feel a certain way about those images, and i didn’t appreciate that. i also didn’t appreciate the directorial decision to give more dignity to a dog’s death by cutting to black than to violence against women. i would probably not enjoy a book or movie that’s just about how awesome and fun it is to hurt people; though i did like clockwork orange - i found the narrator abhorrent, but interesting.

but i think trying to split hairs about what does and doesn’t count as Problematic or Allowable Content, or trying to tell people that what they create and/or consume is Bad and they are Bad for doing it, because its inclusion of dark themes is Doing It Wrong - it’s not helpful. it’s impossible to develop a standard for what is “doing it wrong vs doing it right” that makes any sense, and even if you did, enforcing it through campaigns of hatred and social vilification is not going to be effective. 

[bigskydreaming]

For the record: I fucking adore pre-Crisis Dick and Bruce and always have. And would have ZERO problems whatsoever with people focusing on the version of events surrounding Dick’s leaving home in that last reblog…if not for how often this is paired with the reactions and attitudes Dick was written as having in direct response to the OTHER version of events in which he was fired. Its literally just the mixing and matching that’s the problem for me. 

(And additionally for the record, this has absolutely nothing to do with that reblog or its OP or anything other than the fact that I’ve been trying to write this particular post for like two months and could never muster the spoons before now. But seriously, not really about that post at all, it just finally got the gears working in the direction I wanted them to go).

Anyway. Like I said, its the mixing and matching of cause and effects that are inherently just not MEANT to match up and go together, because the effect was not referring back to a specific cause, but rather a different one altogether....that’s the issue. That’s always been the issue.

Because when you leave out the key fact that Dick’s hostility in later stories is written with the explicit intention of referring back to stories in which Bruce instigated their estrangement, you make it look like Dick is just a spoiled brat who throws temper tantrums when things aren’t about him, when that is literally not the scenario he was being characterized that way in response to. 

My problem has never been with Dick and Bruce having a good relationship or Bruce being a good father who loves his eldest and expresses that in a myriad of ways. Its with the narratives that twist a specific sequence of cause and effect to shift the focus away from any possible reason Dick could have for being upset with Bruce….to spotlight SOLELY Dick’s upset, with all actual relevant context deliberately stripped away and replaced with the context of “Bruce is a good father who loves his eldest and never fails to express that in a myriad of ways.” 

And with the way this pattern has then been mirrored over the decades since it was initially applied by fandom to avoid dealing with the earliest stories where Bruce was written as abusive….and with the ripple effect consequentially being that it has become a fandom staple for the focus to be put entirely on what Dick’s doing at all times and never on WHY, so that he constantly keeps getting upheld as the problem even in situations where he was clearly the victim. Like with Spyral, like with Ric Grayson, like Mirage and tons of other times throughout this character’s history because once you establish a precedent and uphold it to the degree that we’ve so often seen with “Dick is really the mastermind of his own misery, because none of the things that he’s miserable about really happened to him, look see, Bruce is a fabulous father and always was”.....like, you get a lot of repetition at that point.

Because that, right there, ESPECIALLY when paired with the reality that the stories that this tendency is most commonly used to distract from, like Dick’s firing and NTT #55 and NW #30 and other issues where there were clear and obvious instances of abuse in how Bruce was written......intentionally or not, that replaces these narratives of abuse, but NOT with stories where everything’s all fine and dandy.....but rather, with a narrative of abuse apologism, even if it is largely unintentional.

Because when an abuse victim’s behavior in specific moments is called into question AT THE SAME TIME as the root cause of that specific behavior in those specific moments is shuffled offstage and KEPT out of focus, so that the abuse victim’s specific behavior is upheld as the ONLY issue at hand, leaving the abuser who they’re reacting to free to just keep on walking while no one pays them any attention now.....this is a fundamental cornerstone of abuse apologism in real life as much as in fiction. And it has nothing to do whatsoever if its INTENDED that way, its simply the reality of what results.

And its that last part that usually gets me and a lot of other fans so worked up because just like a lot of people turn to Bruce as their emotional support character because they relate to either his trauma or his coping mechanisms or a million other things about him.....there’s a shit ton of us who turn to Dick Grayson as our emotional support character because we relate to HIS trauma....which, like it or not, for many of us INCLUDES his at-times extremely shitty relationship with his parent.

The way people condescend about this in particular, acting like the ONLY POSSIBLE REASON anyone ever has for writing Bruce as abusive or writing fixes or codas or transformative response-takes on actual literal canon stories where he was written as abusive.....like, treating the situation as though people ONLY do this for the sake of angst porn or to smear Bruce’s character, like, they’re just in it for the drama and there’s absolutely no other possible reason to engage with those particular stories.....its aggravating as hell. 

Especially when this is paired with stuff like “oh, sorry I’m not addicted to making Bruce an abusive shithead, I have taste and am above click-bait angst lolol” like.....people really think they’re saying something there, but its probably not what they think they’re saying when you hold it up against the fact that most people saying this have ZERO problem with excessive angst and misery in literally any other context EXCEPT for ones where Bruce is to blame.

I like to refer back to the fact that people disparage any focus on Dick being fired as being ‘just a retcon’....because of how that coincides with the fact that Jason’s pre-Crisis stories were largely (though not completely) retconned as well. Because its not just the fact that Jason’s origin as an acrobat was retconned to him being a street kid that’s significant here....but rather, the fact that HOW he became Robin was retconned as well. Since originally, pre-Crisis, just like it was Dick who chose to move on from Robin himself, it was Dick who chose to make Robin the name Jason used as Batman’s partner as well. 

So I’d be fine with people being like “oh I don’t engage with the retcon of Dick being fired because it was just a retcon” except for the fact that they DO engage with a huge part of that retcon still. They engage with the part where Dick is bitter and resentful of not being Robin anymore, just not the REASONS for it, because they’ve supplanted all the history for the version of events where Dick is resentful with the history from when Bruce was nothing but supportive. And then ADDITIONALLY, they still engage with the part where it was Bruce who made Jason Robin, not Dick, as this is then linked in fanon to WHY Dick is allegedly so resentful of Jason as Robin.....even though that too is a retcon, and if they just went with the original story where Dick gave Jason his name and costume before Jason ever debuted as Robin for the very first time.....voila, no resentment or bitterness from Dick towards Jason would ever exist.

See what I’m saying? Its frustrating hearing over and over that people don’t like the firing retcon just because it was a retcon and they like the original....AT THE EXACT SAME TIME as they continue to interact with and engage with literally every part of the retcon EXCEPT for where Bruce did stuff that Dick understandably could be upset about.

And that people claim this is to avoid the more negative aspects of things between Bruce and Dick and make for a more positive family dynamic....except then they still KEEP Dick being estranged and not coming home and sniping at Bruce as WELL as keep Dick being resentful and bitter about Jason so its like.....Error 404, More Positive Family Dynamic Not Found, its almost like you’re totally fine with Dick being the fly in the family togetherness soup, just so long as Bruce comes across fine.

And this is the pattern we see over and over, and that’s why the frustration Dick Grayson’s fans have with a lot of the rest of fandom are not directly interchangeable with the frustrations fans of any character have when its their favorite character in the hotseat. Because its not the simple fact of other fans not liking his character or stories about his character, its the HOW and WHY of the reasoning, and how often that’s telling people who relate to parts of Dick’s narrative that include the uglier bits with Bruce, that like....the stories we’re upset about don’t matter, or aren’t relevant, or didn’t happen, lmfao.

Because here’s the thing: nobody has to engage with parts of canon they don’t like. We all come to these stories and characters for different reasons and if Bruce written abusively is totally counter to everything you love about the character, OF COURSE you don’t want to engage with those takes! Of course you find that out of character and view it as shitty writing that should never have happened. And that’s FINE!

But its not about whether or not you just choose not to engage with these stories or ones based on them.....its about how often people then TALK OVER the people who DO choose to engage with these stories or ones based on them.....and belittle their validity in existing at all, try and paper over the stuff that people are directly trying to address by way of fic by arguing points that aren’t in contention.....because we’re not disputing that there’s a version of events where Dick left home happily, we’re literally just saying THAT’S NOT THE STORY WE’RE TALKING ABOUT.

Like, if I go on a post where people are just having a good time with good wholesome father and son interactions between Bruce and Dick and say something like “wow wish this was real and that Bruce wasn’t actually an abusive shithead”....I’M THE ASSHOLE THERE. Lol, make no mistake. But the flip side of that is when people go on posts where people are talking about times and places and ways the dynamic between Bruce and Dick is shittier, and say stuff like “wow good thing this isn’t real and everyone with taste knows that this is just angst bait and Bruce is actually the Best Father”.....uh....what exactly is the difference here?

(Especially, and I CAN NOT stress the hilarious irony of this enough....when they then just go back to making another Whumptober entry. LOL that’s fine! The part that’s hilarious though is condescending to people who write abusive Bruce Wayne takes as just being in it for the misery business when like......umm. Like I have a point here, but I’ll let people reach it on their own. The dots though. They’re extremely connectable).

Also also, I would just like to point out that Batfandom in particular has always leaned heavily on the “sometimes people write things to cope” in regards to rape and incest fic, etc........so as long as certain corners of fandom are willing to lean heavily into that argument to defend any and all kinds of sexual content in fic, they might consider extending that very same logic to “sometimes people write things to cope” in regards to abuse survivors writing about abusive dynamics within the Batfam to work through their own shit with abuse.

But I’m just extremely tired with the “but its a retcon/its bad writing” arguments rearing their heads anywhere people are like “here is a canon story I would like to engage with because hey I thought fanfic was supposed to be about us being able to fix shitty canon or address shitty canon or just lampshade that shitty canon is shitty”.....particularly when that awareness of things being a retcon seem to be devoid of any awareness of how retcons WORK.

Because the thing is, we all know and get how retcons work. We understand that retcons act as an insertion point for a second version of events that later stories can refer back to or act upon INSTEAD of the original version of events.

This is why literally nobody in fandom writes stories about Jason as the Red Hood and tries to like....use them to make points about Jason’s childhood as a circus acrobat. Because everyone gets that the issue there isn’t whether or not Jason’s early childhood was retconned, and there only being ONE TRUE VERSION of that you can go with......no, people get that it doesn’t matter IF they for whatever reason prefer Jason’s original story.....literally no canon story about the Red Hood has been written with the intention of referring back to THAT origin instead of the street kid Jason origin. No story about the Red Hood is attempting to SAY anything about or DO anything with Jason the child acrobat instead of Jason the street kid.

So why does that awareness vanish the second that stories about how Dick RESPONDS to the retcon of being fired come under scrutiny....with people acting like they just don’t get how retcons work all of a sudden, and its fine to argue the point about how that second inserted sequence of events isn’t relevant and everyone knows this so clearly there’s no problem treating Dick’s reactions to those events as though they’re just reactions to Bruce and Dick fighting over college?

Every character has at least two versions of themselves, tbh. A canon version and a fanon version. And obviously with a shared universe as old and having passed through as many hands as DC has....you could argue that there are many canon versions of Dick’s character. 

I would argue however that there are two distinct fanon versions of Dick’s character as well. And to be clear, each of these fanon versions encompass a spectrum unto themselves, there’s a wide range of varying DEGREES of these two fanon takes.....but there’s two specific fanon Dick Grayson STARTING points.

One of these of course is the happy-go-lucky, air-headed, never worried about anything in his life, cereal-munching, fashion disaster, sails through everything without a care in the world other than his care for everyone but himself Dick Grayson. 

I mean, I don’t particularly care for that one, but it is what it is, and like I said, every character has that fanon take that has a lot of their fans going Lol wut a mess, like plz just no.

The fanon starting point I’m usually more concerned about is this one: the Dick Grayson who grew up in the lap of luxury but never really appreciated it or what he had, who is territorial and possessive, prone to fits of anger with very little provocation prompting people to walk on eggshells around him, who cares about other people but is often oblivious of his effect on them because he’s just so reckless, so impulsive, that frequently he jumps into situations without thinking about how other people will be impacted by what he says or does, and then is too proud to take it back.

The reason I’m bothered so much by THIS fanon Dick Grayson is because I flat out don’t believe we get to him by looking at canon....but rather by extremely selectively AVOIDING looking at canon, but only specific PARTS of canon.

And thus we get a Dick Grayson who never really appreciated his childhood or what he had.....as evidenced by the Dick Grayson who at times takes shots at Bruce for how he raised Dick......but without ANY examination of or awareness that the way those shots are written in canon, are with the intention of referring back to specific stories in which Bruce DID fuck up in certain ways while raising Dick....rather than a Bruce who was nothing but supportive and nurturing and did no wrong ever.

And thus we get a Dick Grayson who is territorial and possessive....as evidenced by the way he’s been less than graceful about ‘sharing’ Robin with certain of his siblings, or even Bruce himself......but without ANY examination of or awareness that the reason he’s written as ungracious about these things in these specific moments is because they were written with the intention of referring back to specific stories where something he built from the ground up - Robin - was stripped from him and given away without consulting him, or when he had to watch others enjoy a specific aspect of their relationship with Bruce that he was never (or at least not yet) ever offered himself......rather than just because Dick’s spoiled and selfish and never learned to share because he has only child syndrome.

And thus we get a Dick Grayson who is prone to fits of anger with very little provocation prompting people to walk on eggshells around him.....as evidenced by the way he blows up at certain people at certain times....but without ANY examination of what they said or did to him just BEFORE he blew up at them, or awareness that the reason he said awful things or displayed such anger is because he was specifically being written as reacting to things that very understandably PROMPT such anger, or he was written standing up for himself in the face of people saying or doing shitty things as well, or even outright attacking him......rather than just because Dick has a hair-trigger temper and anger management issues, and nobody’s ever said or done anything that justifies him getting angry at them ever.

And thus we get a Dick Grayson who is oblivious to his effect on other people because he’s just so reckless and impulsive that he jumps into situations without thinking about how they’ll be impacted....as evidenced by the way he does things like fake his death without thinking through what this will do to others......but without ANY examination of the fact that the stories in which he’s originally written MAKING the decisions to do these things, he DOES think through how others will be impacted, like how in NW #30 he did nothing BUT argue how it would affect his siblings and Barbara, or awareness of the fact that the reasons these arguments don’t change the outcome of events is because they’re deliberately written as not being ALLOWED to change the outcome, as Dick’s objections and concerns for other people are actively overriden and over-ruled.....rather than because he doesn’t make these objections in the first place or think through how other people will be impacted by things.

And thus we get a Dick Grayson who is just too proud to take things back when he fucks up.....as evidenced by the way that he either doesn’t apologize for certain things, or his apology seems hollow or insincere, or his apology doesn’t preclude him from doing something similar again later down the line....but without ANY examination of the fact that the reasons for all of these more often have to do with the fact that the crimes aren’t his to apologize for in the first place, its often him that’s owed the actual apology, and he simply won’t be ALLOWED to not get into the same situation in the future because the entire reason this pattern persists so frequently is because there’s zero sincere examination of what the pattern actually consists OF and just WHY it is that Dick in specific is so frequently stuck in this particular pattern....rather than just because Dick’s simply too proud to ever acknowledge when he fucks up.

Does that specific fanon interpretation of Dick Grayson sound at ALL familiar to anyone else?

And can you understand how the frustration with it could stem from not simply the fact that it exists, or that its not canon based....but rather the fact that it in order to exist at all, it REQUIRES building upon a foundational cornerstone of abuse apologism and outright ignoring and disregarding stories where he is the one victimized in order to prioritize that no blowback for the canon instances of abuse impact or reflect badly upon the actual victimizing characters in fandom conversations about these things?

Because speaking solely for myself now....this is and ALWAYS HAS BEEN, the ONLY issue I have in this matter. I have zero problems with good dad Bruce Wayne content, with prioritizing takes where Dick wasn’t actually fired, with simply not wanting to engage with canon or fan content where Bruce is abusive....none of these things have EVER been my problem or ever will be....as long as they like....don’t go hand in hand with making an abuse victim his own victimizer and everyone else his hapless victim whenever the specific instances of when he’s been a victim of other characters in canon comes up either in fic, headcanons, meta or just casual conversation.

[angrycowboy]

So my original idea was to just tackle my thoughts on RNM’s portrayal of Michael Guerin’s bisexuality, which is something I have loved a lot. But then 2x06 aired, and we got some beautiful insight into Alex Manes, and I had to shift gears a bit to include that.

Because I know tensions regarding this episode are high, consider this a warning - I am going to talk about Michael and Alex, and a bit about the airstream scene in 2x06. And I am going to discuss how it has resonated with me in a positive way. But mostly, this is about how sexuality is complicated, and how amazing it is to see depictions on television that truly make me feel seen.

One of my favorite things about Michael Guerin, and about how RNM has chosen to portray his bisexuality, is that it’s not obvious. He doesn’t feel the need to talk about it, or discuss it - and in fact, only offers it up to Isobel in 1x10 as she’s questioning her own feelings in an effort to make her feel more comfortable. Later in 1x11, he snaps at Max because well, Max has just poked and prodded at him talk (and they’re stuck in the bunker together with nothing else to do). And someone who isn’t comfortable in who they are doesn’t say things like, “It’s not that complicated.” That is something firmly in the camp of yeah, this is who I am, what of it? Because make no mistake, it is incredibly important to me to hear characters like Michael Guerin self-identify on screen as bisexual.

Part of this portrayal can of course, also be attributed to Michael’s upbringing in the foster care system, where talking about himself was never encouraged or allowed. Because I don’t think, given how it is repeatedly reinforced that Michael shunned most aspects of humanity on Earth, that he was ever ashamed of his sexuality. Though I do believe that said upbringing did affect his own feelings of self-worth, and how he saw himself in the eyes of others.

Something I’ve seen mentioned a lot are two interactions we see on screen: between Alex & Maria in 1x10, and between Maria & Liz in 1x13, and the idea that there is “outing” of Michael. And while, I do understand and respect a lot of those arguments, especially regarding their importance regarding the LGBTQ community as a whole, something I don’t see discussed are people who don’t necessarily want to have a formal coming out, or who don’t feel the need to initiate those conversations regarding their sexuality. Even though yes, both Alex and Maria do technically out Michael (though neither do it with any malicious intent), I don't believe that Michael himself would care that other people know he is bisexual (his feelings for Alex are a different story entirely). And part of that may be that he doesn't believe anyone else thinks of him that much to even discuss him due to that upbringing he had, and also because the act of coming out would involve the feeling of being under a microscope (thanks for that wording, Riley), and Michael Guerin would definitely want to avoid that.

But back to my original point - at no point during Season 1 does Michael Guerin give the impression that he is ashamed of his sexuality - the lack of bringing it up first does not read that way to me. It reads more as Michael sees it simply as part of who he is, and that’s it. He can’t change it, and he’s already different (he’s a literal alien, ffs), so why worry about it. It very much reminds me of how I have viewed my own sexuality for years - it is simply just part of who I am. I have never felt the need to sit anyone down and announce my sexuality - in fact, I came out to my mother as I was walking out the door to go on a date. She asked what his name was, and I just replied what her name was.

But there seems to exist this idea within the LGBTQ community that every person needs to have a “coming out.” That we need to be completely in control of who knows, and how they find out, and when they find out, which is not something I agree with completely. Now, also know that I understand the importance of this idea to many, because of rampant homophobic attitudes that remain present within our society. But I see very few people discussing and supporting those of us who would rather not have to announce it in some grand way - because is this not also allowing someone to control their narrative? It has definitely made me wonder how different my own acceptance of my sexuality could have been had I believed that it wasn’t a requirement for me to come out to the people in my life (an idea which sends my anxiety into a tailspin, tbh).

Again, this is just my perspective regarding the overall portrayal of Michael’s bisexuality. It is not meant to act as a correct version, just sharing why I have particularly enjoyed what RNM has done.

But it was not Michael Guerin that made me want to write fanfic, and it was not Michael Guerin that truly made me love this show - it was in fact, Alex Manes. It was Alex Manes, who is confrontational, who is analytical, who needs facts first and who lives so much within his own head, that truly drew me into this show. Alex Manes who very clearly has struggled not with the fact that he is gay, but with that outward expression of his sexuality. In canon, this is very much due to the trauma of his childhood, to growing up in an abusive household that rejected everything about who he was as a person, and tried to force him into a box that was very much not who he is. And while I did not have that kind of upbringing, the idea of believing you won’t be accepted even among the people who should love you unconditionally is a universal feeling within the LGBTQ community. 

Alex’s talk with Maria in the truck is perhaps some of the most relatable queer representation I’ve ever seen. Because it dives into the different types of love and attraction and how not every touch between two people needs to be sexual in nature. And it lays out very plainly how important it is to have trust between people. But it’s also about recognizing what you do want, and accepting that for yourself. And that conversation is so important toward understanding what happens later on in the Airstream.

Because Alex, due to his upbringing, doesn’t believe that he is worthy of being loved in that way. When Maria comforts Michael over the realization that he could have lost both of them, Alex says he should go, not because he doesn’t want to be there. He says it because he feels like he shouldn’t be allowed to be there, to want to be there. Alex feels like an intrusion, even though he’s gone through the same horrifying ordeal and he’s with two people he loves and feels safe around. Maria recognizes that immediately, and moves back to Alex in order to give him the safety he needs as well. Maria is acting in regards to both of the boys love languages - Alex needs that physical touch of reassurance (kissing him), Michael needs to hear it verbally (”it’s okay”). And furthermore, they all need each other in that moment (”I just want us all safe”).

But it is specifically Alex’s speech in the truck earlier, about touch and self-acceptance that has me sobbing every time I watch it. Because even though I got my first crush on a girl as a teenager, it wasn’t until years later that I actually allowed myself to act on that. It was only years later that I learned just how different my attraction toward men and women really was, that I enjoyed different things for different reasons from the different sexes and that was okay. So that speech has just really resonated with me as a bisexual woman who struggled for years with acceptance of her sexuality, of being able to act on it, and it makes me incredibly happy to see a television show (A CW SHOW ABOUT COWBOY ALIENS OK) conquering these things in such a relatable way.

All of this ended up making me go back to something Chasing wrote last year about Michael’s bisexuality, and the portrayal we’re seeing, and something she said in her meta: “No one is harder on queer representation and queer media than queer people - and I get it. We’ve had so much bad representation and we’re sick of it and that’s understandable. But it’s turned into this thing where every slice of representation has to be Perfect or it’s Garbage, and it’s leading creators to not want to try because they’re so harshly run off every time they do. And when they don’t try, they don’t learn, and when they don’t learn, they don’t do better.” So maybe the rep isn’t perfect, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a valiant effort being made to reach out to an underrepresented community. And for me personally, the depiction doesn’t have to be perfect, because people aren’t perfect, and sexuality isn’t one size fits all. What may make one person feel seen and understood, another may not see themselves represented at all - but that’s okay. Because with more representation in media, comes different tellings and stories, and comes different ways people can relate because the queer community is not a monolith. We all look at things through different lenses and experiences, but it becomes hurtful when those who don’t see themselves represented in a specific piece of media start telling those who do that they are wrong. And I wish more people would take that into consideration during discussions and criticisms.

Finally, I want to end with this gif, because woo boy. This face and that look. I know that look. I have made that look. This look is so goddamn recognizable and familiar. Because there’s also something about knowing you’re watching an actor who has probably also gone through a lot of these same feelings the character is expressing, that it just comes through in their performance and makes it all the more relatable and real (and especially how even the script itself makes it obvious it was written by people in the queer community).

[sierraraeck]

Why Men Suck

BAU x OC Aundreya

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Summary: Reid has to talk to Aundreya about what’s happened and try to explain himself. Aundreya has an unexpected visitor in a high stress situation. Story eleven.

Category: Angst.

Warnings: Cussing. Shots fired. Very quick mention of suicide. Implied abusive relationship.

Word Count: 3.4k

I walked into the office with a whole new demeanor. A whole new attitude. A whole new level of confidence.

I was a whole new person.

I wasn’t exactly the old street and prison me, but that was a lot closer than the pathetic, emotional version who’d possessed my body for the last year and a half.

I walked in with a new fire in my eyes, a new growl in my voice, a new ice block in my chest. I walked in like I owned the place. And everyone could feel it.

“Hey, Aundreya,” Prentiss said, a little hesitation coating her voice.

“Hey,” I said, “Do we have a case?”

“I believe so. Hotch said he wants us in the briefing room in five,” she replied.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” I was in the hallway approaching a small table with snacks on it when he caught my attention. I was wondering when this would happen.

“Aundreya, wait,” Reid called after me.

I turned on him. “Why? What could you possibly say to me right now?”

He let out a huge breath. “Is this about what Morgan and I talked about on the jet?”

I put my hands out and cocked my head to the side, letting him know that was exactly what this was about.

“She’s just someone that I’m talking to for my headaches, and I knew she could help with the case.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

“We both know you are. Why would you need to call her on a payphone, then? Why would you need Tara to drive you there instead of me or Derek? Why have you been so secretive about who she is?”

“It’s because I just wanted to keep one thing-”

“Personal?” I finished, raising my eyebrows.

“That’s not what I mean,” he huffed.

“I think that’s exactly what you mean. And she must be pretty special if even the possibility of her getting hurt is worth risking both of our lives.” I started to turn away, heading back down the hallway.

“I didn’t-”

“Yes. You did. Last time I checked, you didn’t know for sure if that was even where she lived, yet you were willing to get shot and put me in the line of fire for her.”

“Aundreya, please,” he pleaded for me to let him explain, but there was nothing to explain.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve made what you want pretty clear,” I stood there staring into his sad eyes. I wanted to walk away so badly, but I just had to ask, “I just have one question for you. Did you call her that night?”

“What?”

I already knew he called her throughout those two weeks, and I realized that he even called her the night before we returned to work when I was freaking out about where he was. But I wanted to know if he called her right after we…

I swallowed. “That night. Did. You. Call her?”

He looked me dead in the eyes and responded, “No.”

It didn’t make it hurt any less, but at least he didn’t add insult to injury. I’d gotten my answer, so I pushed by him, heading back to the round table room, suddenly having lost my appetite. I didn’t even reach the steps before a loud bang echoed off the ceiling.

I whipped my head around and saw Reid in a choke hold, a man holding a gun to his head. But that wasn’t just any man.

That was my father.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

All of the desk workers who weren’t armed were clumped together near the coffee maker or were ducking under their desks. Anyone who was armed had their weapon drawn and aimed at my father. Our team members were all standing behind the railing to my right in a line, each one panicked and furious, guns trained on the man who held Reid.

He scanned the room until his eyes landed on me. A smile spread across his face and he said, “Hello, Aundreya,” he sneered, letting me know he knew about my name change.

“Hello, Joe,” I returned.

“What? Come on, no ‘hi dad?’” he fake-whimpered.

I scoffed. “We may be biologically related, but you are not my dad.”

“Ouch,” he smiled.

“Yeah, well the truth hurts,” I said, raising my eyebrows. That was what he always loved to tell my sister and I whenever he was trying to manipulate us into believing his lies.

He laughed. “Well it looks like I did teach you something after all.”

My emotions were on a whole new high. Everything seemed to be crashing around me, and one of the only honest connections I thought I’d made had just shattered. I was sick and tired of letting other people affect my emotions and the constant lies that people told and truths they deliberately withheld. “Yeah, you taught me that loving someone meant manipulating them and lying to them and degrading them and the ones they love. You taught me how to mimic those behaviors for my own personal gain. And you did a great job teaching me that I can’t trust men and that they can’t treat me right, especially in relationships,” I offered, my voice strong.

“Honey, that is not at all what I taught you.”

I wanted to vomit at his term of endearment. “Great, then I guess it’s your borderline personality and narcissistic genes that got passed down that made me this way. My bad.”

He shook his head in disbelief, that same smug look absorbing his features, but changed the subject. “So you’re in the FBI now, huh?”

“Sure am. I enjoy putting evil men away, envisioning that they’re you I finally get to put handcuffs on. Who knows? Maybe you coming here will finally satisfy that desire,” I said with a smirk, holding my gun up a little higher.

“Oh really? How are you going to do that? I mean, I guess you could, depending on how much you care about him,” he said, gesturing toward Reid with the gun still trained at his temple.

“Oh, him? Yeah, I don’t really know him,” I said. At the moment, that statement felt true.

“Are you sure? I thought I saw you two spending quite a lot of time together recently,” he said.

My eyes got wide. “You’ve been stalking me?”

“I have to say, you are quite a hard person to track down these days. I just wanted to make sure it was actually you. I’ve wanted to see you, talk to you, but I knew you’d never respond to me directly.”

“I can’t imagine why that would be,” I snapped.

“I just want to know that you’re doing well.”

“How considerate. Well I’m great, so you can leave now.”

“Yeah, I don’t think you all are just going to let me walk out of here,” he said. He turned his attention to the rest of the team. “So this must be the BAU?”

“Yep,” I said, popping the ‘p’, “Your point?”

“Are they really as great as I’ve heard?”

“We do close a lot of cases.”

“But are they good people?”

“Yes, they’re in the FBI. What are you getting at?” I’d had nearly every possible argument with this man, so I always had a good idea where things were going. But this? This confused me.

“Do you all really consider each other family?”

Then I got it. If he was trying to inflict the maximum amount of pain on me, he would want to know who I cared most about so he could hurt them.

“Not really. We just work together,” I stated. I didn’t want to add any more than I had to, especially if I was reading the situation wrong and he wanted to hurt people he thought were hurting me. By taking Reid as his hostage, I couldn’t tell which one was true.

“But what about this one?” he said, peering down at Reid.

“What about him?”

“You don’t consider this one family?”

“I just told you, even if I’ve been talking to him more recently, I still barely know him.”

“Uh-huh. So you wouldn’t mind if I just killed him, then?” he asked.

My heart was pounding. I knew that he was most likely trying to inflict maximum pain on me, so showing that I did care about him could be lethal, but I didn’t want to say yes and have him obey my wishes. The one time he would.

I took a deep breath, knowing if I hesitated any longer, he’d know my answer. “No. Not really. I mean, I don’t think you should kill anyone, newsflash it’s my job to make sure people stay alive, but if your question is if I have a personal sway one way or the other, the answer is no. He’s not as important to me as some of the others.”

Reid made eye contact with me, and the look of hurt in his eyes was devastating. He actually believed me. He genuinely thought that because I was mad, I would just flip that criminal switch and want him dead. I didn’t really know how to take that and I couldn’t think about it now. I had to stay focused. At least I had confirmation I was doing a good job being convincing.

But of all the things I thought I knew about shooters, about hostage situations, about my father, I did not anticipate his next move.

Joe approached me, shifting his aim from Reid, who was still in a chokehold, onto me. I stood my ground, refusing to cower under his advance. He tossed Reid like a rag doll in front of me, and without blinking, stepped around behind me. I felt the barrel of the gun swipe some hair out of the way, then come to rest on the back of my head as he commanded Reid to his knees.

This was going to be an execution.

“So you don’t think I, or anyone else, should be killing people? But what about you, daughter?”

I swallowed, vaguely aware of how he was using me as a human shield, not a single person behind him who could get a shot off. This one was on me.

“Those days are over,” I casually noted.

“Which days are you referring to? The killing days or the more recent scheming days?” he asked.

How much does he know? He couldn’t know about … That’s impossible. No one knows about that.

“Both.”

He laughed. “I guess we’ll see about that, ‘cause I don’t think you are getting out of this without having to tap back into those skills.”

“What do you want?” I asked, enunciating each word carefully.

“I want you to kill him.”

I refused to look down at Reid up until that point, but after that, I had to. I looked down at him looking up at me, his expression clearly wondering what I was going to do.

I may be angry and upset, but I would never do something like this to you, Reid. I willed him to read my mind.

“What?” I was still processing his request.

“You heard me. You kill him, and the rest of us walk out of here.”

I shook my head and right as I did, he pushed the barrel farther into my skull.

I knew I couldn’t turn around and shoot Joe: he would be able to shoot me much faster and would probably shoot Reid as well before the team could kill him. I knew I couldn’t kill Reid. That was just a given.

But there were three people in this equation, leaving me with one last variable to manipulate.

I turned the gun on myself.

I contemplated just dropping it all together, but I figured that would result in the first outcome I’d envisioned. But threatening to take away the person he wanted to hurt or force back into old habits, taking the common denominator away, I knew that would foil all of his plans. And I’m known for self preservation not being suicidal, so it would be a scenario he would have never considered.

“No.”

“What are you doing?” I could hear the slight panic in Joe’s voice, the same feeling reflected in Reid’s eyes.

“I said no. I told you, those days are over for me. If you want to hurt me, then you should know that the person I care the most about, above all else, is myself. What would you do if I decided to ultimately protect myself from you once and for all?” I asked. When I got no response, I concluded with, “So take me. I’m who you’re here for, right? So just take what you came for.”

“You seriously mean that?” he asked with a glimmer of hope.

“I’m not one to play games.”

He grabbed me by the arm and demanded I drop my gun, pressing his own to my temple. I did as he said, all but placing the gun in Reid’s hands, giving him one last look that tried to convey as much hope as I could without just winking at him.

I continued to walk slowly, Joe still using me as a human shield, on our path to the exit. He reached the glass doors and turned around, about to push through with his back. But I knew something he didn’t. Those doors were deceivingly heavy.

I used the back of my head to jam his nose into his skull, simultaneously ramming his head into the glass doors. They budged, but not enough to knock us both completely off balance. I cranked my body out of his grap, and turned around to face him, hitting him hard enough to disarm him. The shock of my blows gave me the upper hand as I reached for his weapon, claiming it as my own. I now stood in front of him, the tables having drastically turned.

“FBI. Put your hands up,” I said smugly. He wore an expression of pure rage which only increased the pleasure I got from this moment. “Joe Spade, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of multiple FBI agents.”

He put his hands up and I tossed his gun aside, quick to replace it with handcuffs. “It looks like I was able to not only get out of this situation without having to kill anybody, but also fulfill my fantasies of handcuffing you after all.”

I brought his hands down behind his back and tightened the cuffs as much as possible. I walked him forward a few paces so he could really get a good look at my team members.

“You see those people up there behind that railing? Those people are my family. They actually look out for me, and I will always look out for them. Those ladies over there? They are like my sisters, compassionate people I aspire to be like. And those men? They’ve taught me that good men and healthy relationships do exist. All of them have helped me overcome my trust issues and anxiety when it comes to opening up and letting people in. They’ve shown me what love truly looks and sounds like, and I’ve started to learn how to reciprocate. And you know what? They are the reason that I didn’t kill you,” I snarled, letting him, and the rest of the team, digest that. “Take a good, long, look. Because they are the only reason you are alive right now.”

I made him stand there for a few seconds, marinating in that information, before yanking him towards the door, handing him off to the officers that were to escort him down to a squad car.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

“Ohmygod! Are you okay?” Penelope squawked as she rushed toward me.

I couldn’t even get a response out before her lung-squishing hug surrounded me. I hugged her back but quickly answered, “Yes. I’m all good.”

“Are you sure? That was … I mean that was-”

“I know. And I’m okay,” I said with a reassuring smile.

“Did you mean all of that?” she asked me with hopeful, gleaming eyes.

“Yeah,” I replied, but I could tell that Rossi heard my uncertain undertone. For the most part.

“What was that?” Rossi interjected, stern but concerned. “You put yourself in harm's way and made a reckless, stupid, decision.”

Yeah because focusing on myself up to this point has worked out so well for me. I decided I’d try something new, and look at that, not giving a damn about my safety worked out for all of us.

I kept those thoughts to myself and opted for, “It worked out. I’m fine.”

“What's happened to you? You went from yelling at a guy who reminded you of your father to not even being phased by your own. Not to mention he was holding a gun on you,” Morgan acknowledged. I knew what he was getting at, all of them noticing my change in attitude this morning before all of the madness that followed.

“Well, shit happens. Things change,” I stated coldly. I saw Reid cringe from behind the rest of the group.

“And I guess so do people,” Rossi said pointedly.

“Yeah,” I finally looked at Reid, skimming my eyes up and down him, “They do.”

A moment of awkward silence passed over the group before Hotch said, “Let’s all take the rest of the day off. We’ll start on our new case tomorrow.”

The group agreed and each gave me their varied versions of condolences and then turned to check on Reid. Most of the rest of the bullpen had already left, receiving the same deal Aaron gave us, and our team started slowly breaking apart so they could grab their stuff. Soon, that just left Reid and I standing there. I went to walk by him on my way to get my stuff when he stopped me.

“Aundreya, wait,” he squeaked.

I turned to face him, waiting to see what followed.

“I know it doesn’t make this any better but I am sorry. I never intended for this to happen.”

“I believe you, but the damage has been done.”

“I know. I just … I don’t know-”

“Look Reid. Everything I said was true. I let my guard down, I let you in. I trusted you, which went against every instinct in my body telling me to run. For the first time in my entire life, I felt like I could breathe. Like I could actually breathe. Do you know what that feels like? For my whole life, I have been suffocating under the weight of my father, the Slaughterer, the streets, just waiting for the next bad thing to happen. I never knew what it felt like to just be okay and to feel safe. Until I met you. I had just started to break down my barriers, my entire belief system, because I started to understand that I was wrong, that not everyone is out for themselves, just manipulating me for their own personal gain then tossing me aside like garbage. I mean, you just met the one and only male role model in my life! That’s what I thought everyone, specifically men, were like! And just when you started to prove me wrong… I’ve tumbled all the way back down to square one. So was what you did world-ending? No. Is that the worst thing that could have happened, that you could have done? Definitely not. Our job proves that every day. But it felt pretty massive to me,” I ranted.

I didn’t mean to raise my voice or draw attention to the situation, but those thoughts had been playing an intense game of Pong inside my head for a while, and I just had to get them off my chest. It was Hotch and Prentiss that were straggling, and while they were out of earshot, they weren’t blind.

I let out a nervous laugh, absorbing the irony of the whole thing. “And you told me you would never hurt me,” I shook my head in disbelief, “Look at us now.”

I reached around him to grab my stuff and barreled toward the door without another breath.

It wasn’t fair of me and I knew that. We fucked and maybe that was it. It’s not like we were together and he was cheating on me or something. We actually had never even talked about what we were, and now, maybe we never would. I guess I would just have to accept that the whole thing, all the lead up and shit, was just a fling. A harmless, nothing-to-get-your-panties-in-a-wad-over, fling. So maybe I did dish out too much, and he didn’t really deserve all that, but I couldn’t worry about it now. I’d said it, and it made me feel better to say it, and I wanted him to know how much it hurt. Sure, he’d just had a gun to his head thanks to my father but so had I, and there really is no better time to get emotional than after a shared trauma.

I got home and laid on my couch, recounting the events of the day.

He mentioned my scheming. He couldn’t know, could he? But he seemed like he might’ve…

That would be yet another fun excuse to recount to the team, if they even remembered or felt courageous enough to ask.

But for the time being, I curled up on my couch, queueing up the series finale of ‘Sherlock.’

Taglist (open)

@justanothetfangirl

@kris-stuff

@wooya1224

[zinniarhee]

Say Your Prey-ers || Zinnia & Alcher

TIMING: Pre-Full Moon, 2 days before.  LOCATION: A simple farm / Zinnia’s vet clinic.   PARTIES: @zinniarhee​ @zahneundklauen​ SUMMARY: Zinnia and Alcher run into one another with like minds. Things get a little messy, but Alcher ends up with a new dog.  CONTENT WARNINGS: Torture, animal abuse, death, gore, blood. 

Zinnia wasn’t new to the lies that so often spilled from a human’s lips. The quick witted excuses, the way they couldn’t maintain eye contact. It was laughable, really. Still, she listened, she nodded. It was for show, of course. She had no intention on ever letting this dog go back to its owner. The signs were there. The abuse that this poor creature had endured. It was disgusting. Zinnia wanted nothing more than to reach out, to sink her nails into the man’s throat, but she held back. Cleaning up a murder would be easier on their own property, to make it look as if he had been bludgeoned to death by the horses he spoke so highly of. 

It wasn’t until the stars hung in the sky did Zinnia make her move. The lights in the house flickered off, and she had full intentions to go in with ease. There had been no mention of a spouse, no mention of children. She had little to worry about. Zinnia crossed the distance with ease, her car parked still, at her office. Beads of sweat dotted the back of her neck as she moved forward, but the sound of somebody behind her had her spinning. She couldn’t see anybody, but she had heard the distinct crack of wood beneath the weight of somebody’s foot. She quickly took refuge behind a large piece of plywood propped up against the side of the house and listened. It’d be easier to shift, but she couldn’t risk somebody seeing her do it. 

Anger was the only emotion Alcher registered as she’d watched the man raise a hand to the cowering hound. She’d wished for nothing more, then and there, to pull out her claws and rip him apart with them. So much so, they’d grown against her will and she’d had to duck into an alleyway to calm herself down. It was too early in the day, there were too many people around-- killing him now would draw too much attention. But if she went at night, it would be so easy to make it look like an animal attack. To free her cousin and make sure no one ever hurt him again. In fact, she would take him herself if she had to. The poor thing smelled so afraid, she could hear it in his whimpers, even as she’d slunk away, bristling with her anger.

When Alcher returned, her ears were focused and ready. She was holding in her anger until the right moment-- shifting completely would not work yet, she needed to be inside first, and so she’d remained in her human form, slipping into his yard and dropping from the fence. Wood cracked under her feet but she did not care. At least, not until she smelled another. Freezing in place, covered in shadow, she listened intently-- but nothing stood out. So, instead, she followed the smell. It was familiar yet so very unfamiliar, she didn’t quite know what to make of it. It smelled almost like a cousin, but there was something distinctly...not about it. Slipping from her spot, she followed her nose, over towards a piece of plywood. She stopped a few feet away. “I know you’re there,” she said under her breath, “I can smell you.”

Zinnia could hear the footsteps, despite the fact that they were dull thuds. Quick enough to warrant her worry, but slow enough for her to know that they weren’t coming for her. At least, she hadn’t thought so. The footsteps stopped just a few feet away, and then a voice. She could barely hear it over the sudden rustle of leaves. If she were shifted, she would have no issues in hearing, smelling, seeing. Though, the individual’s words caught her off guard. Smell? Zinnia narrowed her eyes, and though she knew she’d have no trouble in defending herself if it came to that, she slipped from behind the plywood. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness, the moon illuminating the woman before her. She hadn’t seen her before, and Zinnia immediately felt wary. 

“That’s strange.” Zinnia commented back. She didn’t particularly feel like outing herself to a stranger tonight, not when she had come with the intent to kill. She gave a quick furtive glance towards the house. The lights were still out. At least they hadn’t stirred the man. She cut her glance back to the woman with an arched eyebrow, “may I ask why you’re out here?” She looked over the blonde-- she didn’t necessarily seem as though she were there to rob the place, not dressed for such an event. Then again, she wasn’t dressed for much at all. Was she somehow related to the man? ZInnia’s blood ran cold. Would she have to kill two tonight? “He left something at the clinic, I’m here to return it to him.” She lied, though it was seamless-- she had plenty of practice. 

“Strange how?” Alcher asked, unmoving. She stayed planted in her spot, even as the other woman’s eyes examined her. That smell...what was it? So strange yet so familiar. It was animal but not. Her eyes glanced back towards the house, then to the woman. “I did not ask you why you are here,” she answered truthfully, “I do not care.” Perhaps it was dangerous to speak such a truth to a woman she had found hiding in a man’s yard, but that was exactly why there was an ease to the admission. They both had secrets here. “I have business with him,” she finally answered, turning to look back at the woman. “It’s best if you leave.”

Zinnia raised a brow as she looked at the woman opposite her. She seemed very curt. Much of her attitude was lost on Zinnia, however, as she never felt the need to look too far into other people’s words. It was their actions that mattered. “Do you not?” Zinnia asked as she looked to the house, curiosity lighting up her features. I have business with him. The woman’s words caught Zinnia off guard. “Why should I leave?” She asked as she ran her fingers through her hair, closest to the back of her neck. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes flickering to the house, then back to the blonde. “Did he dent your car?” 

Alcher tilted her head in turn. She recognized that look-- curiosity, intrigue. Whatever this man had done to her, she was not afraid of him. Perhaps she’d even come here for a similar task, though Alcher had begun to doubt that there were many others of her own mindset here. She’d only met one other so far, and he smelled of death. “I don’t wish to implicate you in what’s about to happen,” she said simply, rolling her head and turning towards the house. “No. Something much worse,” she answered, hand clenching subconsciously, “he hurt one of my cousins.”

Zinnia was smart. She caught on quickly. As soon as the woman mentioned implicating her, the light went off. She looked towards the house. Cousin? She watched for movement from within the house, then after a moment, she finally looked back to her company. “I think I can help you here.” She motioned for the woman to follow her, “it seems we’re here for a common task,” Zinnia explained quietly as she crept up to the door. She tried the door knob. It opened easily. “Doesn’t look like he thinks he’s got many enemies.” She looked over her shoulder at the woman. “I don’t doubt that you’ll kill me if I double cross you, and I, you.” She pushed the door open slightly. “So let’s try to take only one victim tonight.” 

Though wary, Alcher followed. Intent was clear in the other woman’s eyes and she did not feel her instincts telling her not to. They made it to the door, which was unlocked. Much easier than breaking a window. She crouched low behind her, flicking her gaze to her. “What’s there to double cross,” she asked quietly, “if we’re here for the same thing?” She could smell the animal. And she could smell his blood. Her rage boiled. “He needs to suffer,” she said, her voice suddenly ragged, eyes sharp, “like he made him suffer.” Skin bristling, she urged the other woman forward. “Death is too easy.” Looked her directly in the eyes. “You can still leave.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Zinnia growled as she pushed the door the rest of the way open. It creaked, but only slightly. Not loud enough to alert anybody. Before she made her way into the house, she shook her head, “I’m not new to this.” She didn’t want to give too much away. Already, she was trusting this woman a little too much. If push came to shove, she would do what she needed to do to take care of the second problem, but for now, the dog’s abuser needed to be taken care of. She moved into the house, light as a feather. She stepped towards the hallway, careful not to make any noise before she reached the door from which she heard loud snoring. She looked over at the woman and nodded to tell her that he was in there, but something told her that she already knew. 

Where was the poor dog? Alcher was quieting, listening, smelling the stale air inside this house. The dog was in a back room, locked away. She could hear his labored breaths, and the whine on the end of them. She could hear the man snoring behind the closed door. Her eyes met the other woman’s and she nodded back. Alcher was tired of wasting time, though, and she reached for the knob, throwing it open. No one else was in the house, anyway. The man sprung up, alerted, but Alcher was faster, and her hand was on his throat, squeezing his esophagus, pinning him to the bed. She didn’t wait for the other woman before brandishing a knife and holding it over him. “Do you think it’s fun?” she growled, teeth gritting, “Do you enjoy hurting those who can not fight back?”

Typically, Zinnia moved quietly. She could afford to. This woman, however, it seemed as though she was ready to lunge. There weren’t many other houses in the area, so if they made noise, it wouldn’t come back to bite them in the ass. Zinnia followed after the woman as the door opened. She watched the man scramble from his sheets, terror written across his features. She watched as the blonde moved with inhuman speed towards the man. Ah, Zinnia thought. Maybe that was why she was not threatened. Zinnia took her time in rounding the corner to the window, pulling the curtains. Just in case. She looked over her shoulder at the man who was now whimpering. He started to plead, but all Zinnia could do was laugh. “You think that will work? You’re wrong.” Zinnia began to look through his bedside drawers before she found a baseball bat. “Humans…” Zinnia looked from the bat, to the man, “they think strands of wood will protect them.” She dragged the bat along the ground as she repositioned herself so that she was near his legs. She had remembered that the dog had come in with a broken leg. Excellent. She drew the bat up into the air and brought it down onto the man’s kneecap. The sound of the crunch, mixed with his screams-- it was music to Zinnia’s ears. 

Torture was not something Alcher usually enjoyed. Even when killing hunters, a swift death always seemed the most practical. But as her hand held the man down on the bed, his own nails clawing at her arm, trying to remove her vice grip, she felt as if he deserved a slow, torturous death. The wood that scraped along the floor was music to her ears. The cracking of his knee caps a songbird. His screams a babbling river. She found herself smiling down at him, looking over at the other woman. Her darkness reflected Alcher’s own and she had to stop for a moment to appreciate the fact that she’d somehow found another kin. The grin stayed plastered to her face as she said, “Do it again,” with a growl in her throat, “hit the other one.” Tears plastered the man’s face and he begged and squealed like the lowly filth he was for them to stop. Alcher’s eyes turned sharp on him and they reflected the moonlight that was shimmering outside, gold and bright and angry. “Did you give him mercy?” she asked, leaning down so he had nowhere to look but at her. “Did you stop when he cried?” Her grip tightened, she could feel his bones crunching under her grip. Any harder and she’d crush his windpipe, so she let up, ever so slightly. He shook his head. “Then why should we give you any?” Stood up again and looked over to the woman with the bat. “Do it.” The man screamed before the bat even swung again.

His screams wouldn’t be heard, no matter how loudly he let them splinter from his chest. There was nobody for miles. She had made sure of that. She could hear the dog whining from the other room, his nails digging at the floorboards. Of course he’d be worried. He loved unconditionally. Zinnia lifted the bat up again, bringing it down swiftly onto the other kneecap. It made the same sickening crack that the first had, and the man started to howl with pain. The woman began to speak, and Zinnia realized that they had more in common now than just torturing this man. She watched silently as the woman spoke to him, her fingers digging into the flesh of his neck. She dragged the bat against his knees, pressing it into his swollen flesh. He whimpered helplessly, and as the woman turned her attention back, Zinnia grinned at her words. “My pleasure.” She moved around her company before lifting the bat into the air, bringing it down with a sickening crack into the man’s skull. Blood spattered across her face, across the wall. She looked down at the man as he writhed. She glanced over at the blonde. Usually Zinnia worked alone, so this was… new. She wiped her face with her sleeve. He was still alive. They could make this look like a home invasion, easily. “Do you want a go?” She asked as she lifted the splintered and blood matted bat into the woman’s view. 

Human weapons were so...strange to Alcher. As she reached out and wrapped her hand around the wooden bat, she could feel its weight so fully. It hung in her human-like hands, and she longed for claws and teeth instead. But she was practical, if nothing else, and she understood that changing right now would not benefit their situation. And while she could crush his windpipe with her very hands and watch him writhe and suffocate, this, perhaps, would be more satisfying. She raised the bat up above her head, awkward and unsure, before swinging it straight down into his ribs. More cracking, more screaming. She’d been right, though-- this felt much better. She did it again. And again. Listening to him sputter, watching blood bubble up his throat and out his mouth, staining his pillow case, the sheets, their clothes. Did he understand, now, how he made her cousin feel? Did he understand, now, what it meant to be weak under another’s fury? Did he understand now what it meant to be destroyed? After a few more seconds, she paused, and held the bat back out to the other woman. “Finish him,” she said in a tone that was all too calm and all too cold for the actions they’d just committed. “I need to find my cousin.”

The sound of wood against the man’s ribs sent guttural sounds throughout the room. The sound of him struggling to breathe was what Zinnia had noticed first. He was covered in blood now, and she bet that a rib had punctured one of his lungs. She knew that this was what had to be done. There was no forgiveness, not with a creature who succumbed to brutality against a being that had no protection. The addition of somebody new, however, was what made Zinnia uneasy. It seemed as though that she had the same intentions-- to protect the dog, to avenge it. Zinnia would have to trust her, and if anything ill came out of it, she would take care of it then. She looked down at the splintered bat as it was extended back towards her. Zinnia gave the woman a curt nod before she shoved the tip of the bat into the man’s windpipe, just where the blonde’s hands had been. “Rot,” Zinnia spat before she swung the bat down once more unto his head. The screams quieted, then taken over with the sound of gurgling. Zinnia’s hold on the bat had her knuckles white. She turned around to follow the woman out to where she had found the dog. “We should leave soon,” she said as she watched the dog. She held the bat above her head, the smell of blood filled her nose. It no longer made her queasy. She was used to being painted rouge. “I’ll be back,” she said again as she pulled gloves-- forgotten due to the appearance of her company. 

Zinnia first worked in identifying all paperwork pertaining to the dog. Bought from the pound a two or year back in a city over. That was good. She shoved it into the inner pocket of her jacket. She moved throughout the rooms and began to tip over items that she thought somebody would search through in order to find their prize. She had done this enough times now, it wasn’t new, but the addition of the blonde-- that was what had caught her off guard. It might be easier, she thought to herself as she shoved a wad of 100$ bills into the same inner pocket of her jacket. Once she was done, she returned to the blonde and the dog. “We’ll take him to my clinic,” She said as she looked down. “I’ll find out if he’s chipped. If he is, we’ll remove it. If there are any issues, it’s safe to assume he wandered out the front door that was left open.” She looked towards the room where their victim lay. 

Alcher didn’t wait to see how the dark-haired woman finished the man off. She simply revelled in the gurgling sound of his death as she made her way through the house and to the back room the dog was locked in. In a dark room and a cage much too small for him sat the mutt. Alcher could not entirely discern his breed, there were too many cousins to count-- but the look on his face, the whine in his throat-- that was familiar. She unlocked the cage quickly, watching his ears go back. “Shhhh,” she cooed, holding out her hand, bending down to his level. She planted herself on all fours, and let him sniff her hand. Her smell was familiar to him. He could smell the wolf on her. As he went to move forward, Alcher watched his hobble. The leg was broken. Her anger returned, but she pushed it away, remembering that his abuser was dead and gone now. Now, he would be her responsibility. 

Finally, the other woman returned. She looked cleaner than before, she had collected something, but Alcher did not care. She kneeled and scooped the dog into her arms, standing with him. His whole body shook. “Clinic?” she asked, tilting her head. It was best to not question her companion right now, but if this was some trick, Alcher wasn’t sure she could escape while also helping this poor creature. So, she would have to trust, and hope. If it came down to it, she would have to leave her cousin and come for him another day. She would not abandon him. Grip tightening, she nodded. “Lead the way,” she nodded, licking the blood that trickled onto her lips. She only half wished she could’ve stayed to enjoy this man as a meal, but his blood would’ve been foul, like dirt or tar. When the other woman moved, Alcher followed after her. Sometimes there were more important things than a meal.

“I’m a veterinarian,” Zinnia said as she looked over the dog, a careful touch to the dog’s obviously broken leg. It was worse than she had seen it earlier. Anger surged in her once more, but there was little to be done now, the man was already dead. She drew back her hand and looked up to meet the woman’s eyes before nodding. She turned on her heel, careful as she walked out of the house. She approached where they had both come from. Luckily, it didn’t seem as though there was mud, just grass. She swiped the side of her foot against what dirt there was and smeared their footprints. Somehow, it didn’t seem as though either of them had gotten blood on their shoes. Lucky. There were a lot more things to worry about with the addition of company, she thought. It made her nervous. 

“Be right back,” Zinnia said as she disappeared into the house once more, careful to take account of any footprints that might’ve been left behind. Just in case, she thought. She wouldn’t let tonight ruin her life. If she did get caught, she’d leave, it’d be easy. She had started over plenty of times. It was nothing new to her. Once she confirmed that they were in the clear, she returned to the blonde. “We’re covered in blood. We need to clean off before we try to go into town. I parked my car on the other side of the woods, through there.” She pointed past the field. “There’s a stream on the way. We can clean off there.” she said as she moved towards the area in which she had motioned towards. “Once we get to the clinic, we’ll discuss what needs to be done from there.” 

Of all the human professions, a veterinarian was one of the more noble ones. Using human hands, human techniques to heal animals. Alcher was mildly pleased with this development. Back in Poland, her pack knew a veterinarian who would help them in times of need and healing. He was human, but his smile was always warm and he always treated them with kindness. Sometimes, humans had purpose outside of being prey. She wondered what her father would have thought of it, though, as she waited for her companion to return from inside the house once more. Alcher was used to making scenes look like animal attacks. Leaving things behind like tracks and blood, then, didn’t matter. Police could test it all they wanted, she wasn’t in any system, and her blood would turn up more animal than human. 

When she returned, Alcher still held onto the dog as if she were its only lifeline. It had stopped shaking, its head resting on her shoulder, and she looked across at the other woman. “You are thorough,” she said as she followed in the direction she’d pointed. “You have done this before, then?” But even if she didn’t answer the question, Alcher remained quiet as they made their way through the trees, careful not to leave a trail-- that much, Alcher was good at. Leave no trace. They cleaned themselves in the river and Alcher let her companion clean the dog as she held him in place, and then they set off back to her car, and ultimately, her clinic. It smelled stale inside, so sterile. The other woman’s scent was easier to parse out here, though, and Alcher watched her carefully. “You are not human,” she finally relented, “usually I can figure it out, but your smell...I can’t place it.”

“I’ve done it, yes.” Zinnia held onto the bat tightly. She would dispose of it later, throw it into her fireplace. She recalled the bags in her trunk. The woman was correct. She was thorough. The dog seemed to have calmed down considerably, but Zinnia was still worried for its leg. They ventured through the woods, the stream easily washed away the traces of blood that had been left on them from the man. It was quiet, and Zinnia was thankful. She enjoyed silence, and it was reassuring to her that there hadn’t been many questions. At least, there hadn’t been until they were in her clinic. 

Zinnia looked over the dog’s leg. There was certainly a break, but Zinnia could tell it would heal in place. She would need to cast it, of course. Unless she were to heal it. She worked quietly until she decided to answer the woman’s comment, “you’re right.” She looked up to meet her gaze. “You aren’t either, then,” she confirmed. She resorted to scratching the dog behind his ears as he laid on the table. Zinnia knew about other creatures-- some like her, some unlike her. She wasn’t stupid. She had been around long enough to tell the difference between humans and not humans. “What would you guess?” Zinnia asked as she looked back down to the dog. Silently, she decided she would heal the dog’s broken leg after the blonde left. 

“I am not,” Alcher confirmed easily. For whatever reason, she felt the confession was okay for this woman. She was not human, and that always made it infinitely better. Not hunter, either. Gods, not even close. But, then, what? Alcher was not wise to the many different creatures of the supernatural world, they were unimportant to her father and her pack. But she had been taught of other shapeshifters. Perhaps this woman was one of those? She did not smell of sweat and musk like the fae Alcher had met here, but whatever she was, Alcher could not quite place it. “I can not give much of a guess,” she said finally, her eyes glued to the dog on the table, “only that you are not human and perhaps part animal, like me.” She bent down so that she was eye level with the dog now, knees pressed against cold, linoleum flooring. Reached out a soft hand to brush through his thick, matted hair. A softness that was not present at the house took over her. “Your smell is wholly unfamiliar and yet so...familiar,” she murmured, resting her chin on the table as she continued to pet the dog. “If you do not wish to say, that is your prerogative. I trust you’ll keep my secret, however.” Finally looked away and up at her dark haired companion. “But I would at least like your name.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” Zinnia said with a polite smile. Unless where were in her fox form, she wouldn’t be able to discern exactly what this woman was. She decided early on it was none of her business. They had worked together to put a man who did not deserve life down, and that was enough for her. She had always respected others like her far more than anything else, and she was showing her respect by not asking questions. Though, it didn’t seem as though this woman was at all content with not knowing. Zinnia looked down at the splint she had set the dog’s leg in and tilted her head to the side. “We think of ourselves as more than that, I think.” Truthfully, she couldn’t remember much of her past, or what she had been taught to think of herself as. She knew that she was something close to the sun and sky, the moon and stars-- she was holy, yet she was not. “But… when it comes down to it, you would be correct.” Zinnia shifted her gaze back to the woman. “I wouldn’t divulge your existence to anyone, you don’t need to worry.” She gripped the edges of the table as she looked at the blonde. “My name?” She let out a laugh, “of course.” She didn’t bother to extend her hand in greeting-- it was a human formality. Neither of them were of such lineage. “Zinnia. Zinnia Rhee. You are?” She asked with a tilt of her head. 

“We would have similar thoughts, then,” Alcher said, finally standing back up, but staying close to the tired pup on the table. His eyes were beginning to droop, and his breathing was steady, though a few low whines did still escape his throat. Alcher looked the other woman in the eyes-- a sign of respect, her father had taught her-- and gave a nod. “Not human, not animal. Something...more. Better.” She traced her fingers along the cool surface of the table before bringing it up to her hip to rest. “Thank you,” she said when she came to a stop in front of the other woman. Her laugh bounced off the walls like a windchime. Her dismissal of human rituals made Alcher smile. “Zinnia,” she repeated, “I am Alcher. Alcher Krieg.” Kept her steady gaze on Zinnia for a moment, before relenting it and looking back at the dog. “I have not met many others in this town who are so...similar to myself,” she said finally, running her hand softly over the dog’s back. “I wish to stay with him,” she instructed, and it wasn’t a question, “I want him to know he’s not alone anymore.”

Zinnia knew that there was no reason to withhold her name. If the woman looked anywhere, she’d see it. There was a common ground that the two of them now tread upon, and Zinnia felt respect seep into her smile as she looked at the blonde. “Alcher,” she sounded the name out. “It’s nice to meet you.” It might have been odd to anyone that they hadn’t spoken their names until after their combined efforts to murder a man (rightfully so). Though, would anybody else see what they did as just? She didn’t think so. Zinnia matched Alcher’s gaze as she looked back down at the dog. “I have to say that I haven’t either.” The majority of whom Zinnia had come across, they were different than her-- they were… grander, more frightening. She liked to steer clear of them. She would make her messes and clean them up quietly, not interfere, continuing her work as she had done for the past 120 years. “I’ll stay here with him,” she replied slowly, “I know that you want to stay with him, but--” She smoothed her hand over the dog’s side. His tail picked up and began to wag ever so slightly. She had done enough revealing for tonight. She didn’t want to heal in front of Alcher, too. “I have a cot that I sleep on when animals come in badly injured, just to monitor them. If you really do not want to leave, I can offer that to you, but I think it’s best if you leave and come back tomorrow.” She eyed the woman. “Do you want to take him home with you? After?” The process in which she typically put those looking to adopt any of her rescues under was a rigorous one, and Alcher underwent the questions. However, Zinnia knew that she could trust her to take care of this dog-- she looked at it as if it mattered more than herself. 

“I want to stay,” Alcher repeated firmly, but not demandingly. Not angrily. Just firm. Steady in her words. If she went home, she would just spend the night worrying about the dog. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her newfound companion, but Alcher was hardwired to care for those who could not protect themselves. She was supposed to be the head of the family, leader of the pack, back when she still had a family to call her own. Now, this was all she had. Gathering up strays and holding them together for as long as she could before they figured out how to do it themselves and she could move on. This one, however, needed her more than the others. Alcher had never had a dog before, though many had followed her around from place to place. In Canada, they ran free with the farm dogs sometimes, or the loose strays on the streets. She would bring them food and offer them safety, but she’d never had one by her side. Something, however, about this one, told her it would be different. With a real home to live in and a roof over her head, keeping him as her own was much more doable. “I think I would like that,” she said to Zinnia finally, looking at her with gentle eyes again. “Thank you.” Whatever morally obtrusive act they’d just done didn’t matter to her. This dog was safe now, and it was because of her companion that he was. “For what it might be worth, I am glad I ran into you tonight.” 

Zinnia observed Alcher silently for a moment. She had seen that look. She had given that exact same look, and to plenty of people. All of which were a part of her past, long gone, and most nights, forgotten about. “Very well then,” she said after a moment. She couldn’t argue against the woman, she had proven that she was more than capable of being trusted. Still, Zinnia knew what she was doing was slightly out of character, but there was something about this woman that struck a familiar cord with her. “Don’t mention it,” Zinnia said with a smile before she removed herself from Alcher’s and the dog’s space. She moved towards the door before stopping at Alcher’s words. “Me too.” She wasn’t sure how glad she was, but there was a part of her that was. It might’ve been miniscule, but Zinnia did find it cohesive, the way that they had moved together, the way that they knew what the other wanted without so much as a word. Zinnia had been on her own for so long, bringing justice to somebody who deserved to rot, that she had forgotten what that could look like on somebody else. “I’ll get your cot ready. Then we can move him into there.” There was a bed set up as well for the dog-- any dog, really, that needed overnight care. She would hopefully gain a moment alone with the dog to heal the hardest part of the break, that way it could have a peaceful sleep without the pain. After she returned to the two of them from placing a fresh pillow and blanket onto the makeshift bed, she motioned for the woman to follow her. “The bathroom is just inside of there, if you wanted to clean up more.” Zinnia motioned down the hallway as she helped situate the dog onto the bed. 

Alcher watched her go, before kneeling next to the pup again. His fur was so soft. It reminded her of her youngest brother’s fur. Sometimes, they would take turns being wolf and being human, resting on each other, telling each other what colors they thought they were-- a downside to being color blind-- and how soft their fur was. She shifted enough to lay her head just barely against the dog’s chest and listen to his breaths. She hadn’t cried in years, perhaps even a decade, but a tear wet her eye at the soft, soothing sound of his even breaths. No rattle, no shake. Just like when she’d lay on her brother and hear his heart and his lungs and know he was so alive. She made sure her eyes were dry before Zinnia returned, nodding gratefully to her as she followed, helping carry the dog along. “You really care for these animals, don’t you?” she asked as she looked at the small bed beside the cot. “I wish more of us were like you,” she murmured, before looking to the bathroom. Gave her once last look before heading in, stripping her dirty clothes off to clean them and wash the skin underneath. The pack, she’d always been taught, came first. The pack was only wolves. But over the years, perhaps Alcher had come to know another truth-- the pack was who you could find loyalty in. The pack was who you could put trust in. Perhaps she’d found more than one candidate tonight. When she came back out, she was fresh and bathed. “Will you be staying as well?”

“I do,” Zinnia confirmed. She cared more for them than herself at certain points, she thought. She could consider this to be one of those times. Risking it to save an animal in need. Who else would do it? Though, she supposed there were more than just her, as one of those individuals were standing in front of her now. The comment brought a small smile to Zinnia’s lips. She didn’t do what she did for praise. She did what she did was because it wasn’t only what she thought was right, it was because it was right. It had to be. If it weren’t, then she wouldn’t have years behind her, creatures of all sorts saved from paths that would’ve led to their demise. She hated the idea of standing idly by and letting something suffer, especially when she was capable of putting an end to said suffering. Zinnia watched as Alcher left for the bathroom. She moved quickly and took the dog’s leg into her hand gingerly. It only took a moment to heal it to the point of being nothing more than a sprain, something that would heal within a week. The dog’s tail wagged and she reached out to pat the top of his head, giving him a scratch behind the ears once again. Hopefully Alcher wasn’t familiar with bone breaks. If she was, well, then Zinnia would deal with that then. Zinnia busied herself with ensuring that the bedding was comfortable enough for the dog before taking the paperwork out of her blood stained jacket. It was a wonder that a man who treated a creature like that would hold onto such important details. After confirming that the dog had no known allergies from a vet visit in a few towns over, she dished out some of the finest kibble they had on hand and looked up at Alcher as she reappeared in the room. “I don’t need to if you don’t feel comfortable with it. I have a separate couch in my office.” She smoothed her hand over the top of the dog’s head as he ate up his kibble from the dish. 

It was an instant relief to see the dog up and eating, even if Alcher was sure moments ago that his leg was injured gravely. She came over to the other two and sat on the cot, reaching out to pat his head once again, as he scarfed up the food. “Bit skinny, isn’t he?” she said, running a hand along his back. “You’ll never go hungry again, cousin,” she murmured to him, letting her hand stay on his back momentarily. When she looked back up at Zinnia, she smiled, softly, perhaps a bit tired. In human years, she was young. In those who lived centuries, she was nothing but a child. But in the hard years she spent breaking and bending her bones, stretching sinew and muscle to change, she was old beyond her years. All the wiser for it. “It is your clinic,” she answered after a moment, “you can stay.” The dog gave a small, happy whine and licked Alcher’s hand. “I think he might prefer it if you did, too, anyway.”

“He looks like he’s getting better already,” Zinnia commented. She was a great liar-- had perfected it over the years. “With the right care, he’ll be back up to his rightful self.” Zinnia smiled down at the dog as she looked to Alcher. So she had been right, Alcher was a wolf. There was no unease, no animosity. They were close enough, at least when it came down to things. “Thank you for your permission,” Zinnia laughed as she moved towards the door. “My office is just around the corner. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to come in.” She made sure to take the dog’s paperwork with her. She’d get rid of it, claim him as a stray, and once Alcher adopted him, all would be right for him. “Sleep well.” She left through the door and into her office, curious at what this new person in her life would turn out to be.

[luminousbeansarewe]

what are your takes/version of how the sequel trilogy went down? because i also have my own version in my head, not.... that, but im really interested in the ideas other people have had for it

hoo boy there’s a lot of ground to cover here lmao i will try to keep them as short as i can... i also enjoy multiple versions of events and outcomes for the sequels as long as they’re in-character so i’m not trying to say no other version of the sequels is good or cool bc only a sith deals in absolutes amirite? (i won’t apologize for that dumb joke.) first the jumping-off points:

first of all, i fully support Force-sensitive Finn. even if he didn’t become a full-blown Jedi, if the entire concept of the Jedi was reforged and we don’t see him become the kind of Jedi we saw in the prequels (more on that later), i see him as someone who was attuned to the Force in a way that is similar to how i conceive of Barriss; empathetic to the suffering and joy of others. this would drive him to defect from the Empire and fear it, too. i also saw him becoming a reluctant leader for the rebellion, and there’s a GREAT fic which i’ll link here that riffs on the idea that he creates a spark within the stormtrooper ranks and more and more of them begin to defect... which i love

Rey being a nobody is cool to me. the ONE character moment where she became super relatable for me was when she realized how frightened she was of her own Force abilities. but i don’t think she has to be the legacy of Palps to have that. she doesn’t need supercharged powers to be spooked by them in a post-Jedi Order world where the most recent memory anybody has of the Force is Vader. (also Rey being a Kenobi seems more out of character for Obi-Wan than anything else lol he was pretty committed to the ways of the Order even after they were destroyed, plus he already had one kid to furtively watch over... just imo). this also ties into my expansion on the Force.

Poe being not a carbon copy of Han. i think Leia looked after him, found him somehow after she sent Ben to the Jedi Academy and was a motherly figure in his life. i like the idea that he was a little shit, and she’s the one who taught him to turn his reactive defiance of authority into bravery when fighting for the rebels. i think he looked up to her, wanted to be a leader like her. i saw him in the position of generals like Akbar by the end, as he learns to balance risk-taking with steady leadership. I wanted to see that growth, how those leaders are formed, see Leia get to impart her wisdom to someone. (also i fully support Finn/Poe and Finn/Rey/Poe, i’m not a committed shipper so i’m down with no romance at all between them but those ships are choice af and Stormpilot is all Oscar Isaac wanted anyway, so...) plus can u imagine the dichotomy of Ben the fallen son with Poe, the “adopted” son who became what Ben couldn’t? the guilt of Leia for not knowing how to teach her son about the Force, doing better half-raising a nobody who had the same shitty attitude as Han when they met but no Force ability? THIS IS JUICY CHARACTER CONTENT

Rose was given cheesy lines to introduce an important topic: that fighting is all well and good but throwing away your principles defeats the purpose of the fight in the first place (an important theme in the Clone Wars era, too.) she was there to be the voice of the truly little people in the gffa, who we don’t hear much about in the other trilogies. Finn’s sensitivity puts him at risk of the sorrow-to-hate arc i described for Barriss; Rose is there to be the empathy that sustains hope rather than becomes a crushing weight. i love the idea that she might rally volunteers from blue-collar places (like... Lothal, for example?) and spearhead the notion that the New Republic should be very different from the old one, calling out the fact that working conditions didn’t change with the shift from republic to empire and the First Order simply took it to an extreme that left her and her sister with nothing else to lose.

Ben Solo, hoo boy. so here’s the thing, we don’t KNOW Ben Solo. we were expected to want him to be redeemed because he was the son of Han and Leia, and that’s it. that’s lazy as fuck. him killing Han in the first movie (if it happened it should have been in movie #2, that’s how fucking second acts work) was an excuse to shock people, subvert the ‘i can’t kill my own father’ thing, and make sure we knew he was “evil” even though we’re supposed to also want a redemption arc? you have to read the Rise of Kylo Ren comics to learn that he was a) hounded by the voice of Snoke in his head from childhood, manipulated by it, which is horrific bc it’s like grooming... or b) that he felt HUGE pressure as a legacy Force-user to save the galaxy, lead the New Jedi Order, etc. these are much more empathy-generating and we should have learned them in TFA. echoes of Anakin much? which is why i think him being redeemed in a way other than self-sacrifice (which made sense for Vader given his long history of being a terrible person, knowing it was too late for him in the end, and really just wanting to save his son rather than “become good again”) is more interesting than him just falling (which is too much the same as the prequels.)

it should have been Finn’s call, a moment of Truth that held the balance of Finn as either falling prey to darkness or learning forgiveness, whether or not Kylo got redeemed. Finn and Rey working together to get to that point while Rose and Poe took on the military aspect of the Big Finale would have been great. Finn with a lightsaber to Kylo’s throat, feeling the temptation to murder him instead of making him face what he’s become in a meaningful way? Rey trying to urge him away from darkness as she’s been tempted before, but this is the first time Finn’s really been tested, and he was the one who so often reminded her of her own humanity? Rey calling up Rose’s point of creating a new paradigm instead of recreating the old one, of Poe’s growth or Leia’s willingness to take Ben back showing it’s possible? shiiiiiiit

the rest is going under a cut!

SO... given those things as a basis...

there being no scene where Force-ghost Anakin bops Kylo on the head (but you know, more subtly and with gorgeous metaphor ofc) was a travesty. we needed some version of that, also imo that reaffirms that Anakin was the chosen one... as him redirecting his grandson away from that path would be restoring hella balance

Snoke should have had his own fucked up backstory, if he was even there at all. a dark sider fucking with Ben Solo is reasonable to me, but Snoke could have been someone who looked up to Palps as much as Kylo supposedly looked up to Vader. that would have been interesting... maybe there are multiple “nobodies” who are being touched by the Force, just like there always were in the prequels era, but some are going dark with no Jedi to try to convince them otherwise? or, maybe Snoke’s life was ruined by the Empire and he chose to become the beast that harmed him, whereas Kylo becomes the version where you think you want to do that but then realize that it’s just as bad and you still have empathy and regret what you’ve done?

Thrawn being the main military antagonist, since they couldn’t be arsed to make Hux into anything but a sniveling baby fascist (despite his really upsetting backstory of an abusive father, also found in the comics... noticing a trend here?). Thrawn was already established and beloved in the legends. why would you not use him. whY?? he’s like a foil for Tarkin. contention between him and the Force-users in charge (Snoke and Kylo) would have been VERY interesting, esp with the character of Thrawn in the new canon seeing the Empire as a ‘necessary evil’ and now maybe having the potential to make it into something else? how’s JOINING WITH THE NEW REPUBLIC for a subversion of the classic tropes, Rian?????? you fucker????

if Thrawn’s history is “too storied” for a bunch of cowards to "fit” into a new movie trilogy, invent another antivillain to take Thrawn’s place whose history is a little more concurrent with the sequel era... you cowards

Luke fucking off after his failure isn’t out of character IMO. he was THE STRONGEST JEDI EVER and his star pupil still fell? maybe he broke under the same pressure Ben did. maybe that’s what allows him to reach back out towards Kylo and reconnect, admitting his failure. i want to hear more about him cutting himself off from the Force bc i LOVE KOTOR 2 and Kreia, but maybe that’s too much for one trilogy to delve into meaningfully, i dunno

Han fucking off after Ben wrecked the temple isn’t OOC either. i think Han was always a little frightened of the Force, the way many non-sensitives are. I think he was critical as a father, because he was critical of himself and Han is the king of projection. i wanted more of the dysfunctional relationship between him and Ben.

if Kylo kills Han, the scene needs to show more of the fact that Kylo actually regretted it, which Snoke only alludes to in TLJ, foreshadowing his future. i rewrote Han’s death scene for a friend and got a lot of good feedback about it so maybe i’ll post it here sometime. i can get behind a version where he doesn’t die, too, i just haven’t fleshed it out in my own head.

i like the idea that the Jedi Order needed to be remade, and that Luke saw the failure of the old order when he saw Ben turn like so many of the Jedi in the Order did. i like that Rey and Finn might spearhead this, and maybe Kylo’s role is to know the dark side intimately enough now that he can actually teach how it works, how to deal with it... how inevitable its temptation is. because...

in this canon, i don’t think the Force has light or darkness. i think it’s Force-users who do. it is their internal landscapes which cause them to “fall” or be redeemed or not, after all. Finn can attest to the same, so can Rey and Luke... so like, all the Jedi need DBT therapy or something i guess. lmao hold the dialectic, you nerds

the Force has shown time and time again that it cannot be “balanced” so maybe it is ourselves who need to become balanced instead

the Force is chaos, a never-ending series of colliding butterfly effects that to us will always and inevitably be seen as turmoil, cause and effect on a cosmic scale. if you drink too greedily of its power, or try to exert total control over it, by its nature it will consume you because it is beyond your mortal ken. whatever you hunger for, the force will give you more and more of it until you are overwhelmed, drowning in it

this is why peace was a central teaching of the Jedi... peace, the antithesis of chaos, which can only ever be created from within, the eye of the storm which must be sought time and time again

anyway thanks for coming to my ted talk? i’m always down to hear other people’s ideas for these characters tbh. and always down to get more into these topics if you want to know more... esp as it relates to the failure of the Jedi Order, or KOTOR 2 and Revan and Kreia, or OF COURSE my OCs because Sol has a very interesting relationship with the Force.

thank you for this ask lordimperius!! ^_^

[dianapana]

SasuHina Month 2020 - Day 5

Prompt –Collage AU

Long Distance- Part 3

Hinata POV

Sasuke drives like a pro; whenever I’m in the car with Ino I fear for my life, Neji drives really smoothly but he always goes really really and I mean really fast so, I find myself griping the side of my seat a lot. But with Sasuke the speed is good I don’t feel like we’re about to pierce to the vail of time and his movements are confident and easy; he seems to be at ease. We’ve been on the road for about 45 minutes and we haven’t really spoken much but the silence is pleasant and it doesn’t bother me.

“So, you’re from Konoha and about my age how come we never met in school?” Sasuke is the one to break the silence.

“I was homeschooled until 10th grade. And after that I went to Suna Academy for girls. I am what you would call ‘sheltered’. My mom told my dad I should attend public school before university but he just about had a heart attack. He didn’t really want me going to University either” I didn’t mind being homeschooled I’m more of an introvert and I know that; it’s not because I didn’t go to public school it’s just how I am and I’m ok with that. But I did want to go to university so I fought for that as well and when mom came to my aid too dad didn’t stand a chance. I’m happy with my decision; I’ve made a few really good friends and enjoyed the experience so far. I also loved the freedom of doing whatever I wanted without asking for permission. I’m not a party person but I did discover I enjoy certain things that mom or dad would never allow.

“Ah makes sense. My older brother was homeschooled for about 2 years but neither mom nor dad really liked that so when I started school, they sent me to public school from the get go”

“Are you going to be a senior this year?” he looks older and more mature than I do, or at least than I feel.

“Yep, what about you?” I look from the corner of my eyes at the way his muscles move in his arm when he changes the gear. He’s not built like most guys in my classes.

“I���m also going to be a senior. What’s your major?”

“I only declared my major last semester so despite it being my last year I’ll have a lot of courses to take. I’m majoring in education. I was accepted on athletic scholarship and have been a starter on the hokey team since the second semester of my freshman year so I plan to either go pro or coach. What about you?”

“I major in creative writing and minor in photography or as my dad says, I’m paying money to become a starving artist. I’ve never seen a hockey game; my sister likes it and played a little in middle school but I was away in Suna so I never went to any of her games.”

We talk a little more about collage, I find out that he lives with one of his teammates who is also his best friend and another friend that’s a tattoo artist and is majoring in fine arts at KU. I also applied there but the creative writing program is better at the UoA. I did hear that the graphic design department from KU has some of the pest teachers in the country. I told him about Ino who I met at orientation but, we also share the same minor; her major though is flower arts, surprisingly she has a lot of business-oriented courses to pretty much teach her how to run her own shop. We’re about 15 minutes away from KU and once again I feel guilty; he’s been on the road for 4 hours even though under normal circumstances he’d just now hit the road. After passing KU we finally hit the highway and Sasuke speeds up but it’s still comfortable.  

We talk a little more for the following few hours and I’m surprised by how easy it is to talk to him. He even explains hockey to me as briefly as possible and says he’ll invite me to a game when the season starts. The implication that we will talk after the end of this pleases me. We’re about half the way to Konoha when we stop so Sasuke can fill the tank and so we can go to the bathroom, maybe drink another coffee since we drank the extra ones I packed as well already and eat something. Thankfully the gas station has a McDonalds next to it.

Sasuke POV

Once we hit the road again after eating the only noise is the radio but we don’t talk. The silence isn’t unwelcomed and awkward. After a couple more minutes I peek at Hinata and see she has fallen asleep. I dim the music a little and continue driving. We have about 5 more hours to go.

About 4 hours later I make another stop at the gas station; I need to go to the bathroom. Hinata hasn’t woken up yet. I’m debating whether to wake her up or not when her phone starts ringing loudly and waking her up anyway. She wakes up and answers in a hurry while rubbing the sleep away from her eyes.

“Hey mom. Yea we’re about…” she looks towards me and I mouth ‘1 hour away’ “1 hour away. We just stopped at a gas station. I’ll see you soon ok? I want to go to the bathroom. Bye” she hangs up not really waiting for a reply.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry I fell asleep for like 4 hours.” Her cheeks are red and I can tell she feel guilty and embarrassed but I shrug.

“No big deal” It looks like she wants to apologize again so I get out of the car. Each of us goes to the bathroom and then Hinata buys some snacks and I get myself a Pepsi and we get back on the road.

Hinata rips open the packet of candy she bought and eats a few. “Do you want some?” she asks. Usually I’m not a huge fan of sweets but I do want some sugar to get energy so I nod. I can’t take my hand that instant off the wheel so I make a small pause with full intention to extend it in a few moments but before I can do that Hinata leans over and pops a candy in my mouth. I am shocked and I look at her from the corner of my eye and she is frozen in place, her face red as a beat.

“I…umm I am sorry” her voice is barely a whisper and she leans back in her seat. “I did that without thinking sorry. I do that whenever Ino drives. In the beginning she would take her hand pff the wheel mid turn and it would freak me out so I developed this habit of feeding her rather than her letting go of the wheel. I am so so so sorry” she talks really fast and her hands are over her cheeks.

“It’s ok. You just surprised me” I say. Hinata I realize is very socially awkward. She blushes easily and apologizes a lot about everything. Despite me trying to reassure her she doesn’t talk much for the rest of the road.

Hinata POV

The candy incident happened almost 20 minutes ago but my heart still beats way too fast. I did that on instinct and the moment my fingertips touched his lips I was gone. I am way too aware of him now to be able to talk to him normally. Even if I don’t want to I notice everything about him. From his muscles that shift whenever he moves the slightest bit, to his beautiful profile, to his dark and shiny hair.

I keep my hands joined in my lap because I’m scared, I’ll do something embarrassing again. I want to touch him. I want to take pictures of him. He would be a great subject for a photoshoot. Images of him in a studio dim lighted and a bit destroyed fill my brain. He would suite something grunge or maybe something with neon lights to give him an eerie atmosphere. That is his attitude, if we were to talk about his looks, he is handsome and beautiful; he would look good surrounded by white, that would make him look like an angel. The angel analogy starts to run while when I imagine him naked with only a silk sheet over his lap. I feel my cheeks growing redder again.

I shake my head and look out the window. The familiar scenery tells me we’re only about 15 minutes away from my house, after waking up I gave him my address to put into the GPS. I curse myself for sleeping half of the ride. There’s no use lying to myself. I like Sasuke, he’s easy to talk and cool. His good looks only aid this predicament.

“We’re almost home” I say.

“You don’t sound that happy. You did say you didn’t want to return. Why is that?” He answers, eyes still focused on the road, his voice even. He really does not think about the candy incident. The knowledge hurts a little. I kind of wanted him to be as shook as I am.

“I liked the freedom I have at University. I’ve never really been the one in charge before” Mom and Hanabi are the only ones home which means we will be doing a lot of shopping. They’ll make me try on things I don’t particularly like. Most of my closet consisted of thing mom and Hanabi think look good on me but that I don’t like to wear so when I got to University I started selling them.

“I get that, I feel the same. That was also my reason for not coming back home” He admits and it shocks me a little, Sasuke doesn’t seem like someone that would let himself be controlled by someone else. This makes me relate to him, admire him for admitting something like that, Neji is very prideful and he would never say something like this.

When the car pulls to a stop in front of my house, I have to admit I am glad. I like spending time with him but I feel myself developing a crush on him that can only lead to my own demise. I look to the front door half expecting mother to come running outside but she doesn’t. Sasuke gets out of the car as well and helps me with the suitcases. I go to open the door but it is locked. I unlock it and the house is silent. Sasuke asks me where to take the suitcases and I abuse his kindness and tell him to follow me to my room. In the mean time I call mother.

“Hey mom I got home…but where are you?”

“Hinata baby I’m over at Mikoto’s come with Sasuke. She wants to meet you and we can all have a nice late lunch or early dinner” Her voice is chipper and light, is…is mom drunk?

“O….k?”

“See you soon baby” She says and hangs up on. I look at my phone and then to Sasuke.

“Um…she’s at your house” I say and he laughs.

“Of course, she is. How did we not see this coming?” Sasuke asks rhetorically as we walk back to the car. I top to lock the door. “I mean they are best friends so of course they are together.”

The drive to his home takes about another 10 minutes and this time when the car stops mom and another woman, I assume Sasuke’s mother wait for us on the front porch and they each have a wine glass in their hands. Mom is smiling wide and chats with Mikoto lively.

“Are they drunk?” I say out loud. Sasuke narrows his eyes.

“I don’t know about your mother but my mom is a lightweight. If she drank a glass of wine, she is not only drunk but wasted.”

“Mom can’t hold her alcohol very well either” I admit, we both turn to look at them still chatting away, obvious to the fact that we have arrived. We turn to look at each other and chuckle a little.

“Come o let’s go join them, drink a glass of wine too. Why should they be the only ones to have fun?” He says and gets out of the car. My heart is beating faster once again. I can’t move for a moment. Sasuke opens my door and extends his hand to me, I look at it and take it. His skin is warm and rough but I feel sparks going up my arm. I look up at him and he’s smirking at me. The sun is just now setting behind Sasuke and it gives him a golden glow. That is the moment when I realize that I already like him, this boy I met today. He lets go of my hand to go get his own bags but I can still feel his touch. I close my eyes and take a deep breath in. When I open them he’s next to me and nods towards out mothers, I nod back and we start walking up the driveway. The two of them finally see us, put their wine glasses down and come towards us for hugs. Mom kisses my cheek and tells me how much she missed me; than she hugs Sasuke and thanks him for bringing me while Mikoto hugs me and tells me how nice it is to meet me.

Looking at this scene with them so happy makes me realize that I don’t regret coming home. I’m glad I could make mom happy. I’m glad to see her having fun with a new friend. I peer from the corner of my eye towards Sasuke. I’m glad I came because I met him. I’m still looking at him when he turns his eyes to me as well and smirks. I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if he feels even remotely like I do. Even if he doesn’t, I hope he will still be my friend because Sasuke Uchiha is pretty cool and I’d love to have him in my life. If his mother is anything like him, I can’t blame mom for calling Mikoto her best friend already.  

Part 1 (This happens after the 2nd and 3rd part)

Part 2

[leviathangourmet]

(Archive Link)

I recently attended a Washington-D.C. event focused on community-building hosted by The Aspen Institute’s Weave project, which works to reduce social isolation and build bonds between Americans. During one portion of the event, various activists described how racism had impacted their lives and their communities. Following a number of such testimonials, a white woman from southeast Ohio named Sarah Adkins spoke about her own community work, which involves raising money to provide post-trauma support to individuals affected by tragedies.

Perhaps because several speakers had discussed racism and issues related to white privilege, Adkins spoke about her own self-perceived racial privilege. “I followed the perfect mold…I did all the things, I went to college, and I keep thinking of white privilege in my head so forgive me, that’s what’s in my head right now, very much white privilege,” she said, while reflecting on her middle class life in an affluent neighborhood.

But Adkins also went on to describe the reason she originally had become involved in community work—which is that her then-husband had killed both of her sons and then later took his own life. One can only imagine how much suffering this caused her. Yet she still viewed herself as privileged due to her race.

“I was wealthy, okay, I was a pharmacist, I made a lot of money, right? So after that happened, I really wanted to understand that for me there definitely was a lot of white privilege. I had money, I had health insurance, so people came in and cleaned up my house. I was able to pay for a funeral for my children,” she said.

I wondered how someone who’d lived through such an awful tragedy could consider themselves to be in any way “privileged.” Yes, she had the funding to clean up her home and bury her relatives. But nearly everybody has at least some advantages in life. It feels perverse for someone who has suffered so much to be confessing their perceived advantages.

When activists and academics invoke the phrase “white privilege,” they typically are speaking of advantages that whites, on average, have over members of other ethnic minority groups in our society. And there is no doubt that racial inequality is both real and persistent in the United States, where I live, and elsewhere. There is a sizable racial wealth gap, a life expectancy gap, and an incarceration gap. Many of America’s most pressing social problems disproportionately harm people from minority groups.

But there is a danger that, by talking about this inequality as an all-consuming phenomenon, we will end up creating a flattened and unfair image that portrays all whites in all situations and all contexts as benefiting from unearned advantages. Indeed, it’s possible that we will cause people to confuse a structural inequality that exists on the level of group average with the circumstances of every individual within a particular racial group.

In the case of Adkins’s tragic story, it’s not even clear that being white in any way constituted a form of privilege. Recent research has found a huge surge in white working-class suicides. In 2017, whites in the United States had a suicide rate of 17.8 per 100,000; for Hispanics, that rate was 6.9; for African-Americans, it was 6.9. The only group with a higher suicide rate than whites was Native Americans, at 22.2.

The phenomenon of suicide is not perfectly understood, but it is generally believed that loneliness and alienation are driving factors. Whites in America tend (on average) to be more culturally individualistic, while those from other groups tend (again, on average) to exhibit more collectivist social values. The group of which I am part, Asian-Americans, would be “privileged” on this index, since our rate (6.6) is well below that of whites. But would it really be wise for me to tackle the social problem of suicide by zooming in on some idea of “Asian privilege?”

In fact, research recently published in the Journal of Experimental Psychology suggests that such an approach wouldn’t just be unhelpful. It would actually be harmful.

I recently interviewed Erin Cooley, a psychology professor and lead researcher at Colgate University, about her research for Greater Good magazine. She studies prejudice and structural inequality and her research has illuminated the ways in which persistent racism continues to negatively impact the lives of racial minorities in America. A study she recently published, for instance, shows how participants were more likely to associate poverty with blacks as opposed to whites. Her team found that this association helps predict opposition toward policies that involve economic redistribution, since it is widely believed that these policies benefit blacks over whites.

Her team was curious about the impact of teaching people about white privilege. Would it make people more sympathetic toward poor blacks? As part of their research, Cooley and her colleagues offered study participants a reading on white privilege—based partly on the seminal work of Peggy McIntosh, who originally formulated the concept in the 1980s—and then described to them the plight of a hypothetical man, identified as either white or black, who is down on his luck.

What the researchers found is that among social liberals—i.e., participants who had indicated that they hold liberal beliefs about social issues—reading a text about white privilege did nothing to significantly increase their sympathy toward the plight of poor blacks. But, as Cooley told me, “it did significantly bump down their sympathy for a [hypothetical] poor white person.” (Among conservative participants, there was observed no significant change in attitudes at all.)

What accounts for this? One possibility is that social liberals are internalizing white-privilege lessons in a way that flattens the image of whites, portraying all of them as inherently privileged. So if a white person is poor, it must be his or her own fault. After all, they’ve had all sorts of advantages in life that others haven’t.

When we talk about racial inequality, it is important to understand that we’re often talking about structural or society-wide averages, not the status of all individuals at all times. It is true, for instance, that African Americans are disproportionately impacted by poverty. That means a higher percentage of African Americans live in poverty as compared to whites. But the largest number of individuals in the United States who live in poverty are white. We can’t, and we shouldn’t, assume anything about any individual’s life solely based on his or her race, or based on larger facts about racial inequality.

Racism exists, of course, and its impact is disproportionately felt by society’s minority populations. I have personally spent a decent chunk of my reporting career documenting this. But the fact that disparate treatment is inflicted on racial minorities doesn’t prove the existence of an all-encompassing pattern of white privilege. “If you’re white, chances are seeing a police officer fills you with one of two things: relief or gratitude,” writes one advocate of a privilege-centric worldview. But around half of the people who are killed every year by U.S. police officers are white. True, police violence falls disproportionately on ethnic minorities, especially African Americans. But if you’re white and you’ve been abused by a police officer, your individual experience may be just as painful as that of a black person who’s suffered similar abuse.

If we extend the logic of privilege beyond the issue of race, it’s easy to see the flaws with this approach. We know, for instance, that 93 percent of people in U.S. federal prisons are men. In nearly every part of the criminal justice system, in fact, men on average have it worse than women do. But does that then mean we should be discussing “female privilege”? Would it be beneficial to the men behind bars for women to proclaim awareness of their “privileged” status?

A typical conservative response to privilege discourse is to downplay the very real inequalities that exist. This isn’t helpful. We can’t escape talking about inequality in a diverse society. For instance, we shouldn’t shy away from looking at high maternal mortality rates among black women and how it may be linked to inadequate cultural competence among medical staff. However, what I would suggest is that we change the way we talk about this inequality. Asking whites to publicly confess their white privilege—in a manner that often resembles a religious ritual more than anything else—may lead us to unfairly flatten the experience of whites while, ironically, actually shifting attention away from those who are underprivileged. The Cooley study shows that this isn’t just a hypothetical concern; it’s a reality that has been demonstrated through research.

One alternative to white-privilege discourse would be to focus on the causes and consequences of deprivation rather than on naming groups of people we believe to hold special advantages—and to stop referring to things that we should expect for all people as “privileges.” It is not a privilege to have a decent and safe childbirth, or avoid harassment by the police, or to have enough to eat. All of those things should be something we expect. While we can and should aggressively address inequality, we should make sure the methods we employ serve to strengthen our sense of empathy rather than sap it.