#tw: abusive relationships

[chaoticace2005]

Thing a bit more about HB 207 and the whole thing with Fizz feeling like he has to earn Ozzie makes even more sense if you consider his background in the circus. Blitzø’s dad seems to give affection and attention based on who was being the most “value” in.

Fizz was the “son he wished he could have” because of how good of a performer he was and how much money he brought in. Fizz likely saw and internalized the way Blitzø was treated as well, with attention ultimately being a commodity that had to be earned We have never seen or really heard anything about Fizz’s own family- so at the moment going with the assumption that Buckzo (and later Mammon) was (were) the closest thing he had to a parent, and a parent who only ever gave him any kind of praise or attention when he was winning or doing “good” would explain a lot. And the thing with these kind of people that use others for their gain is that often times it’s never enough- there is always more. Fizz likely constantly to better himself, to reach for more, because if he doesn’t then he’ll be tossed away.

Then he meets Ozzie- who not just gives him love and affection openly but is also someone he likely perceives as being “higher class” than him given the hierarchy in hell. And Fizz works for him, making an even greater power dynamic. Right there, with the combo of him being someone of power and offering affection he likely doesn’t often receive (because as we see most of his fans are creepy and after Blitzø we don’t know if he has any other friends) makes it so Fizz feels like this has so be something he earns. Because all other relationships he’s had like this have worked that way. As a business transaction as sorts. He has to play the role of the top-notch performer, because if he doesn’t he’ll be replaced or thrown away.

And just… ow

I feel like this can resonate with so many people in so many different ways. For many relationships they feel transactional or conditional in a way- where you have to prove you’re worthy of them, and ultimately that puts pressure and stress on you.

Fizz and Ozzie’s relationship is adorable and they are clearly in love, but there still is some things they need to discuss and communicate. Their relationship isn’t perfect (as is the same with most relationships, both in reality and the media) and I’ll be really interested in seeing if they discuss this going forward. Fizz is finally seeking to communicate more with Ozzie, and with them being open about their relationship and him leaving Mammon (and acknowledging that Mammon is a PIECE OF SHIT) it definitely feels like a step in the right direction.

[promptful]

Hurt no comfort 👀??

Hurt No Comfort Dialogue

yikers there's a lot of warnings. heed them. do not add. you are responsible for the media you consume.

WARNINGS: Forced imprisonment. Cheating. Amnesia. Implied murder. Death. Possible implied toxic relationship. Injuries. Breaking up. Cigarettes. Self-destructive tendencies. Alcoholism. Wowie. 

1) “I trusted you.” 

2)“I’m sorry… who are you?” 

3) “Were we friends?” 

4)“Do you even love me?”

5) “What are we now?” 

6) “Damn you.” 

7) “No feelings involved.” 

8) “I never loved you, anyway.” 

9) “You’re nothing but a deceitful bastard!” 

10) “I don’t know you.” 

11) “Erase me from your memory.” 

12) “Understand that I don’t care to know you.” 

13) “Trust you? Hilarious. Tell another joke.” 

14) “Step away from them!” 

15) “I loved you.” 

16) “You broke my heart.” 

17) “Really? You’re cheating on me?” 

18) “You liar.” 

19) “Give one damn reason to not walk out that door!” 

20) “I’m broken. And I don’t intend on being fixed.” 

21) “Naïve little thing, aren’t you?” 

22) “I thought you loved me.” 

23) “If I have to pick me or you, I’m picking you.” 

24) “Take this and run.” 

25) “Forget about me. It’s for the best.” 

26) “They want us to separate. I’m sorry.” 

27) “We’re terrible together.” 

28) “I thought that I could learn to love you.” 

29) “Did our love mean anything?”

30) “I just want what’s best for you.” 

31) “Liar. Don’t even try.” 

32) “I know I won’t make it.” 

33) “Tonight is the last one.” 

34) “Pretend for one minute that we’re in love, and then kiss me. One last time.” 

35) “I’m keeping you safe.” 

36) “You’re hurting me.” 

37) “This is killing me.” 

38) “This is safe?” 

39) “Feelings make things complicated.” 

40) “They’re dead.” 

41) “I can’t find them.”��

42) “What did you do with them?” 

43) “You’re shaking.”

44) “I can’t breathe.” 

45) “This isn’t home anymore.” 

46) “I’m running away.” 

47) “I can’t take this.” 

48) “Don’t… don’t leave me.” 

49) “I can’t lose you too.” 

50) “Everyone is hurting me. Can’t you see?” 

51) “I’d burn the world for you.” 

52) “You never cared about me.” 

53) “Promise me this.” 

54) “I can’t stand how you’re fighting this alone.” 

55) “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

56) “Were you going to keep this a secret the whole time?” 

57) “I thought we didn’t keep secrets.” 

58) “I’m feeling a lot less like your spouse, and more of a convenient thing.” 

59) “Look at me, tell me that you love me.” 

60) “There’s only so much I can take.” 

61) “You’re leaving, again.” 

62) “I’m not who you think I am.” 

63) “You can’t fix me.” 

64) “I can’t pretend that things are okay anymore.” 

65)“Leave.”

66) “Don’t come back here again.” 

67) “I’m changing my locks.” 

68) “Give me my things, and then I’m gone.” 

69) “You’ve changed.” 

70) “I don’t like who you’ve become.” 

71) “Stop believing in them.” 

72) “Do you really think that I don’t know?” 

73) “This marriage is pointless.” 

74) “I want a divorce.” 

75) “I hate you.” 

76) “You’re nothing to me.” 

77) “I’m going to sleep on the couch.” 

78) “We need a break.” 

79) “Don’t come looking for me.” 

80) “You need to get yourself together, or there’s no more us.” 

81) “It takes two to make a marriage work, you know.” 

82) “I don’t want to talk to you.” 

83) “Leave me alone.” 

84) “Papers are on the table.” 

85) “Give me your ring.” 

86) “I just want to go home.” 

87) “You’re scaring me.” 

88) “Don’t go to bed angry.” 

89) “Are you hurt?” 

90) “Is that blood?” 

91) “What happened to you?” 

92) “Who hurt you?” 

93) “You’re limping.” 

94) “Sit down. Now.” 

95) “Why aren’t you sleeping anymore?” 

96) “Where do you go during the night?” 

97) “Do you think I don’t feel you slipping out of bed?” 

98) “Show me.” 

99) “I refuse to just sit back and watch you be hurt!” 

100) “You’re killing yourself little by little.” 

101) “Put down the bottle.” 

102) “Don’t light that cigarette.” 

103) “We’re breaking up.” 

104) “You hurt them. Why?” 

105) “They did nothing to you!” 

[bellatrixobsessed1]

To See Her Like That

Summary: Azula knows that she broke Sokka. She knows that Jet broke her. She doesn't want to do the same thing to Chan.

He said that he wouldn’t leave her. 

He said that before he knew what he was getting into.

Now he says that she is too much work and he just wanted something ‘chill’. 

To be fair, he isn’t equipped to handle the kind of problems that she has. She probably had been asking way too much of him. As fair as fairness goes, what is fair to Sokka isn’t fair to her. 

At least he had been respectful—as much as Sokka can be anyhow—not like Jet.

Sokka had disappointed her.

Jet had broken her entirely. 

She has been cautioned by veterans that psych ward romances are a dreadful thing to pursue but sometimes Azula thinks that, that is her only option. Really, the only people who could stomach visiting her when she finds herself there are the people who show up often themselves. 

She could probably find someone. A person whose problems are nothing like hers but, at the same time, are also compatible. She has yet to find anyone who is compatible with her personality. Most people, even there, find her to be abrasive and off putting. 

And that’s why she has to keep herself in check. She has been doing so well. She walks with her head held high and her hair styled nicely. Her clothes are unwrinkled and they smell faintly of laundry detergent. She smells of the perfume that she has spritzed herself with that morning. Her makeup has been done artfully—artfully and with the extra care to conceal the bags that have begun to reappear under her eyes.

She leans against her locker and closes her eyes, forehead propped up against the forearm that she has raised above her head, her fingers curl around the frame of the locker. She stares at a pile of textbooks, willing herself to pick out the ones that she needs so that she can head to volleyball. So that she can look at them later and keep her grades at a perfect hundred. 

She can’t let them slip a second time, she’d pulled herself out with a low A and a searing cluster of B’s to mar what would have been an impeccable GPA. She grips the locker tighter and exhales, drumming her fingernails upon the metal. 

“You and Chan are going the movie theater this weekend, right?” TyLee’s voice causes her to jolt. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

She exhales again. “Yes. We are. Why?” 

“Well, I was wondering if Mai and I can tag along. We haven’t had a double date in awhile!” 

Azula flinches she hasn’t had a date at all. At least not in the last two years. To think that it has been that long. “The two of you can come along.” Azula replies. It might be better to take her first date in a while with company.

He texts her a lot. Mostly to tell her that she is pretty and that her haircut suits her. She doesn’t like her haircut, it hasn’t looked right since she’d tried to do the job herself. Her stomach tickles at the memory and she quickly shoves it back in its place. 

He calls her too. 

Talks to her for hours. 

But that’s only because he has no idea…

He’d hang up if he knew. 

She thinks about Sokka when he texts. They have the same sense of humor. They have the same typing quirks that drive her up the wall—that is to say that they always substitute ‘too’ with the number two and ‘for’ with the number four. Grammar is not important to them and spelling has even less value. 

And it hurts. Because she knows that it is her own fault. Sokka was perfectly caring. He meant well and she had done what she always does. Did? She thinks that she is a better person now, but sometimes she has her doubts. 

She loved Sokka so much. 

Maybe he would have been more willing to visit her in the psych ward if she hadn’t cheated on him for TyLee. Maybe he would have been less terrified of her screaming and crying if they hadn’t been preceded by lies and manipulations. Guilt trips and mind games. 

Sokka loved her and she loved control. She loved Sokka. She loved to control Sokka. She had to know what he was doing, who he was talking to. She told him that it was his fault; that she knew that he had a reputation for being flirty and that she wouldn’t tolerate it. That she wouldn’t have had to check his phone if he didn’t get around so much. 

Really it was her fault. Her own mind. Those whispers that were her own and her father’s telling her that she is impossible to love. In such a case, of course Sokka would seek love on the side. And so she’d done just the same—a preemptive measure. 

He didn’t leave her just then.

He should have. 

He had taken so much more than he should have. 

He still doesn’t hate her. 

But Katara does. 

And Hakoda does. 

He still doesn’t smile quite the same way that he had before he met her. 

That is how Azula knows that she deserved Jet.

The way he talked to her; oh he had said many things and sometimes when she is trying to get some sleep she remembers them. 

The early morning hours give her time to juxtaposed his words with her own. “You’re sleeping with Mai, aren’t you? To steal her from your brother? If I wanted to date a slut I would have picked TyLee.” Against “I saw you flirting Yue again. I expect loyalty, not a man who snaps nudes for every girl who looks at him.”  

“Why are you wearing those? You look prettier without them.” Until then she had liked her glasses, she thought that they made her look intellectual. But with some back and forth, she had come to decide that contacts would be better suited for her. They are less of a hassle with volleyball anyways. Even then Jet still concluded that she’s not that attractive anyways. Her face is too soft. It isn’t really any different than when she told Sokka, “keep making jokes, Sokka, I guess that you have to have something since you don’t have aesthetic pleasantries.”

“I can tell that it’s off season. I think that your face is getting softer. You should probably find another sport to join.” It sounds very much the same as, “I’m dating the hockey star, not the chubby band kid.” That had been a raw spot for Sokka who loved to snack on chocolate bars after practice but never did so in front of her again. Azula had taken up archery.  

“Everybody knows what you did to Sokka. I’m the only one who trusts you now.” It’s fine. She doesn’t trust herself much either. She doesn’t really trust anyone anymore. “I’m not going to get into that car with you, everyone knows about your DUI. You put Haru in the hospital.” It hadn’t been a DUI; she found out months later that Sokka is diabetic. The rumors in this school have always been outlandish. She loved listening to them and all of their ludicrous complexities. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!? I thought that you were a little off but y-you’re crazy. You’re batshit fucking insane!” Those were parting words but those words never parted with her.

She had never said anything like that to Sokka. 

Indeed Jet had a way of reminding her of what she is. No. It hadn’t been a reminder. It had been an eye opener. To hear versions of her words on someone else’s tongue and realize just how unpleasant, how utterly horrible they are…

She is not a good girlfriend.

She is not a good person. 

She had damaged Sokka, changed him for the worst. Left him to pick up the pieces and figure out how to love and trust again.

And Jet had done her the same.  

She can’t complain. She deserves it. 

She started it.

She would have stayed with him if he wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with her. 

They could have each other so that others won’t have to get caught up with either of them.

Maybe next time he texts, she will answer. 

Before she ruins Chan too. 

.oOo.

Azula thinks too much. She thinks until her head is pounding. It used to be the product of expectations—her own, father’s, those of her teachers, those of her classmates—and not being able to meet them. Her dread and stress had all boiled down to not being good enough. That was relatively simple and she had started to get used to that. Used to the fear that she won’t amount to anything in spite of her skill and her luck. 

Regret is new. Guilt is new. 

They stir in with her former anxieties and concoct something unpalatable. Something that she can’t deal with for much longer. 

She is supposed to be going to the movies. But she can’t dress herself because she can’t look in the mirror. She can’t look in the mirror because she is going to see an amalgamation of every horrible thing that Jet has ever told her. Every horrible thing that her father has called her when she fell just shy of his standards.

She is going to see the person who doesn’t treat other people right. 

TyLee tells her that she is doing better, that she has gotten a lot friendlier. But TyLee has a habit of telling her exactly what she wants to hear. Azula can’t tell if it is out of fear or just TyLee being her bubbly, happy self. 

Zuko had told her that she is easier to talk to these days. But right now she can’t recall him doing so.

She doesn’t want to go back to the psych ward. She doesn’t want that gossip to revitalize, not when it had just started to die down. She doesn’t want Chan to look at her the way Jet had. With disgust and with fear. With hatred. 

She has to get herself under control and she has to do it fast. 

Her heart is racing and it does so in double time; faster than it would have if she weren’t trying so damn hard to make it stop.

Her phone buzzes. 

Chan has this annoying habit of saying, “I’m on my way” when he is pulling into her driveway. 

He is going to see her like this; hyperventilating with tears streaming down her cheek. And if he bothers to ask her why, she won’t be able to tell him. She doesn’t know why she is so distraught; things have been going very well. 

She had recovered. She was better. 

She. Was. Better.  

She cups her head in her hands, practically clawing at her hairline. 

She can get herself under control.

She needs more time. 

She just needs more time.

She hears footsteps on the stairs and they are getting closer. She catches a glimpse of a shadow and then Chan’s frame fills the doorway. She told herself that it wouldn’t happen again. That she would never get that bad again. But here, now, she is feeling out of sorts and disconnected, panicked and numb all over again. Reliving that which has already happened. Same situation. Different face.

She had been feeling off for the better part of the morning.

School has been overwhelming, the workload combined with her volleyball practices, and those career building workshops that father has her attend just to fluff up her odds of getting accepted into the top universities. 

There is just so much to do. There is always so much to do.

She should be working on the pile of assignments—they are all piling up and not for her own laziness. She has been chipping away at that stack of homework and college prep work, but for every assignment she turns in, she receives another. And when it is a competition weekend the pile doubles. Sometimes she thinks that father has unreasonable expectations. Most of the time she faults herself for not meeting them. 

She should be working on that pile but she is at the mall with Jet. They have just finished a movie that she wasn’t particularly interested in to begin with. A movie whose dialogue had been drowned out by her own inner monologue. 

She doesn’t feel like herself. She mostly just wants to go home. She hasn’t spoken to Mai and TyLee in a while and they are probably getting sick of her blowing them off for Jet and for her studies. 

Jet has his arm slung over her shoulder. She fakes a smile. He snaps a photo. They are an enviable couple and anyone in the school would kill to have the sort of relationship that they have…as it is presented on their screens.

She sips at her strawberry lemonade. Evidently it is the most enjoyable thing she has had all day. Really she would rather be alone. Alone and getting through all of her assignments with willpower and, perhaps, a touch of coffee. By the time she gets home she will only have an hour left to do at least three hour’s worth of work. And she knows what father will say. Perhaps there is a part of her that wants him to become furious and sacre Jet off so that she can finally be free of him without the option to take him back when he inevitably crosses a line before coming back with a gift and kind words. 

She thinks that he knows that she doesn’t want to be alone. 

Her head hurts so much. Maybe it is the lighting in this place. Maybe the movie had been too loud.

Maybe it is that she she spots Sokka with Suki on the other side of the food court, just leaving the arcade. 

The next time she looks up they are kissing and that is enough… 

Truth be told she doesn’t remember much about what happened after that. 

Just that Jet hadn't visited her. And that he had made it apparent that he thinks she’s embarrassing to be around. 

“Do you know how many people saw you screaming like that?”

She hadn’t been keeping track. She doesn’t think any of them knew her, aside from Sokka and Suki of course. But they didn’t talk. They didn’t talk because they hadn’t been there at all. And Jet didn’t talk—his reputation was at stake too. 

“What if you do it again? What if you do that in school?”

She likes to think that she has more self control than that. Obviously that day had been a fluke–the product of a few all nighters and a hefty amount of stress. A thing to lock up and hide away with the rest of her family’s secrets. If father could make Zuko’s juvie record disappear than he can cover up a brief visit to a mental health facility. 

And he had; people still ask her how her trip to Ember Island was. She tells them that it was uneventful. 

This time she will tell them that she had gotten to eat at an over the water restaurant. Just to add a pretty little kick to the lie. 

She isn’t crazy. 

She can’t be. 

She has too much going for her to let her own mind take her down. 

“Azula?”  Chan’s voice intrudes on her thoughts. 

She should have at least shut and locked her bedroom door. Not that her mind is in any place to think things through. At least father isn’t home. 

She isn’t crazy. She can’t be.

And yet…

Sometimes she sees mother in the crowd at pep rallies and volleyball games. Sometimes her face is as bloodied and broken as the car accident had left it. 

Almost every time, mother asks her why she and Zuzu did this to her. If only they could have just behaved; stopped bickering and let her focus on driving. 

She wonders if Zuzu sees her too. If that’s why he wakes up in the middle of the night screaming. If that’s why he has grown fond of weed and booze. She wonders if that’s why father is so cross with the both of them; why he doesn’t look at them the same way anymore. Why he tells Zuko that he is good for nothing and to stay out of his sight and why he loads her with so many extracurriculars that she is hardly home. 

It isn’t because he loves her and cares about her education. Sometimes Azula thinks that he wants to see her fail. She has simply been harder to sink than Zuzu was. But she is sinking now. Sinking and thinking. 

Thinking of Sokka who, before she had hurt him, had always kept her above the water. 

She doesn’t realize that she has been crying until Chan is wiping the tears out of her face. 

“What’s going on?”

“Go away, Chan!” 

He flinches. “Uh…I was kind of hoping to stay.” 

This earns him a laugh. One of those laughs that isn’t quite right, the type that falls upon ears the wrong way. But she can’t quite help it; what a ridiculous thing to say. “Why do you want to stay, Chan?”

“To make sure that you’re okay.” 

And a ridiculous follow up. “Do I look okay?” Her stomach sinks. He is just trying to help and she is being so hateful. But that is just her nature, she supposes. He can leave her like Sokka had. It is probably better if he does, she doesn’t need to make a mess of his life too. His father has it in for him as it is. He is probably one house party away from being homeless.

“You look fantastic!” He gives her a thumbs up. 

This time her laugh is more genuine, but it is not without that strange hitch. “That’s not what I meant.” She certainly hadn’t started this relationship with Chan for his brains. Sometimes she thinks that he thinks that she is only with him for his chiseled abs and athletic achievements. Truth be told she isn’t sure why she had gone for him—probably because he is just enough like Sokka for her to pretend…

But no. As he scoops her into his arms she thinks that she knows why; he doesn’t look at her the way most people do. With both awe and sheepishness. Sometimes she can best compare him to a golden retriever. And she thinks that she knows what her type is. 

She enjoys the company of goofballs: lighthearted people who add some color into her life. 

Chan rubs the back of her hand. “Should I tell Mai and TyLee that we won’t be able to make it to the mall?”

This time she is able to bite her tongue, to clear it of bite and sarcasm. She still doesn’t chance opening her mouth, opting to nod instead. 

.oOo.

Her throat is raw. That much is evident when she finally manages to speak. “Why are you still here?”

“That sounds like it hurts. Do you want me to make you some tea?” 

“Why are you still here?”

He stands up and her heart skips a beat. But he only walks as far as the bathroom. She hears him run the faucet. “At least drink this.” 

She doesn’t like tap water but her throat is terribly sore. She cups the glass in her hands and takes a good mouthful of water. It tastes like minerals and metal. Her face scrunches. “Why are you still here, Chan?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Because you just saw me…” she trails off. 

“Is that why Jet left?” At her grimace he winces. “Sorry, bad question. Insensitive?”

“That’s a good word for it.”

“Thanks, I heard you say it and thought that I would try to add it to my vocab.”  He gives her a finger gun. 

She rolls her eyes. And then her expression goes blank. “Yes. That’s why Jet left me. It doesn’t matter though. He wasn’t that special.”

“That’s like a polite way of saying that he’s kind of a dick?”

She laughs, as much as she can with her throat burning. “I suppose. Yes.” 

“You want me to carry you to the couch. We can watch a movie on the couch or I can play my mixtape for you.”

“Another mixtape?”

“Yeah! I call this one: songs to play when you’re in the locker room with the boys!” 

“You are neither in the locker room nor with the boys.”

“Which is why we have the mixtape! So we can create an atmosphere and use our imaginations.” 

“I suppose that we can listen to your mixtape.” It isn’t as though she has anything better to do. At least listening to the mixtape will make it feel like an ordinary day. An ordinary date. 

“Do I…?” She frowns to herself. “Do I treat you well, Chan?”

“Huh?”

“Am I…do I ever hurt you?”

“What? No. Where is that coming from?” 

She shrugs. “I’ve been told that I’m not good with relationships.” 

“Is anyone?” He quirks a brow. “Ruon and Jin say that I’m thoughtless and too full of myself to love them.” 

“There’s a difference between thoughtless and…what I am.” 

“What are you?”

Her therapist called her an abuser. A manipulator. Katara had too. And Hakoda. And Suki. “The kind of person who hurts people. Probably a family trait. Mai said the same thing about Zuko.” But Zuko has gotten better. Haru always speaks so well of him. 

“You never hurt me.” Chan shrugs. He sets her down on the couch and flops down next to her. She lets him rest his hand on her knee. 

“Yet.” Azula mutters. “Give me time.” 

“We’ve been together for almost a year now.” 

“Sokka is still scared of me.” And he probably should be. She would stay away from someone like herself. 

She does avoid someone like herself. 

She isn’t sure if she is afraid of Jet, but she certainly isn’t comfortable around him. 

“Have you tried apologizing?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want him to forgive me, Chan.” She replies. “I want him to be happy with Suki and…move on.” She wants to forget about Jet. About the habits he has instilled within her. The seeds of doubt and mistrust that had been planted by Ozai and nurtured by Jet. 

Chan tilts his head. It’s the same gesture and expression he gives her when she is helping him with his homework. 

“Some things just need to stay buried. It’s better for everyone.”

“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his head. “I guess.” 

Azula wonders if Sokka hopes that she is happy with Chan. She can’t imagine him wishing her ill, even in spite of everything.

“You should still apologize to him though. I don’t know, tell him that he doesn’t have to forgive you if he doesn’t want to?” 

Azula furrows her brows and presses her lips together. “Yes. Perhaps.” She swallows. 

“I can come with you.” 

She shakes her head. “I’d need to do it alone.”

Chan nods. “Fair enough.”

They are quiet for the longest time. She relishes in the feeling of him rubbing up and down her thigh. And then he takes her hand. 

“Do you want to listen to that mixtape now?” 

Azula nods. 

“Okay well, now that I’m thinking about it, some of the songs are a little embarrassing so try not to cringe too much.”

“Maybe I’ll like your horrible taste in music this time.” 

“What kind of music do you like?” He asks as he puts the disk into the player. 

She enjoys grindcore and black metal but she doesn’t think that he is ready for that just yet. “Whatever TyLee is listening to.” 

“I think that you are lying and that you should make a mixtape for us to listen to on our way to our next date.” 

“I suppose that I can.” She supposes that, since he had stayed with her today, he can probably handle her interesting musical choices. Maybe one day she will be able to tell him exactly why Jet had left her. She probably should, before he figures it out on his own. 

She lets a few songs come and go. She doesn’t hate them. She doesn’t love them. But she enjoys that they make Chan smile. She appreciates that he tries to sing along; that he is willing to risk his impeccable reputation to make her smile. 

She will tell him. 

By the end of the night she will let him know exactly what he is in for if he chooses to stay with her. 

By the end of the night he is still holding her. He doesn’t exactly know what to say, which is probably why he says nothing. He doesn’t need to. She is just glad to know that he is willing to give her a chance. She is just glad to know that she is not a lost cause. 

She is glad to know that she is not like her father. 

That she and Jet are not as similar as she had thought.

[honeymochibubbletea]

Hey, what about T-oby??? We MUST give this boy/robot some love too! (Since Phantasmo gives him none, poor guy...)

Omg! How could i have forgotten about our sweet (a little murderous sometimes) robot boy!?

Well, there you go: have some headcanons about our favorite robot!

I imagine T-oby’s voice to be like this: https://youtu.be/lvCssr21KDM?si=f4M4xMlY4OQyMzHd

If you and him were dating, he would be the most sweetest and caring boyfriend!… if his father (Phantasmo) approves of this relationship… of course. If not… well… you better be a fast runner, because these two are going to hunt you down… (much to T-oby’s displeasure if he actually likes you)

His relationship with Phantasmo isn’t one of the greatest… heck, it would be probably very problematic and toxic… (and very one-sided too) Phantasmo would beat him up if he makes the slightest mistakes; break his screen; call him useless and other things… (indeed… poor guy…)

But despite that, T-oby always tries to be cheerful and friendly with everyone he meets! :D

T-oby is probably a little jealous of Viola (Phantasmo’s daughter) because she receives more attention than him (and also more love too). But tries to have a good relationship with her… despite her being as cold as her father with T-oby…

T-oby existed way before Phantasmo became… well, Phantasmo. He was created by Victor and… their relationship was much more healthier than what it is now with Phantasmo… Sometimes T-oby misses that…

I think T-oby would be Pansexual. That’s it. That’s the headcanon.

I imagine (or like to believe) that T-oby and Squirt are secretly besties! Why do i like to believe that? Because one: whenever T-oby would feel sad or lonely, he would have a buddy to cheer him up! And two: because i said so! (UwU)

I imagine that Phantasmo tried once to build a girlfriend/boyfriend for his “son”, but he (T-oby) politely refused and said that he wants to date a human… of course, Phantasmo laughed at his face and said who in their right mind would date a robot… and added salt to the wound saying that even if he (T-oby) found someone who would want to have something with him, that person would never ACTUALLY have something serious, like a true commitment…

Of course, this broke T-oby’s heart and that’s why he’s so suspicious of people when it comes to relationships…

And one last thing: i imagine that if T-oby decided to leave Phantasmo and join the good guys, Phantasmo would play the “mother Gothel” card and basically manipulate, gaslight and fuck with his mind (and self esteem) to make him stay…

Phantasmo would say things like: “you know i created you, right~? No ONE is going to know how to fix you except ME~”; “go on: they will abandon you just like you are abandoning me eventually~” or “Oh~? So is that how it is then~? Fine, but just know this: you have failed me, you are a disgrace and more importantly: you’ve DISAPPOINTED me…”

And with that, the poor guy would never be able to get free from Phantasmo because of that…

[munstysmind]

Maturing is realising the all fairytales and romantic relationships you looked up to and hoped for when you were younger are actually toxic and abusive as fuck

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Very interested in the ex-boyfriend story now

Lol so I fell asleep immediately after posting this but BASICALLY trigger warnings ahead because I'm going to discuss an abusive relationship.

So anyway back in (edit because I got the dates wrong) 2006 when I was 18 I started dating this guy named Jason (he was 21 at the time so 😬) who I worked with in a toy shop, and because I placed importance on unimportant shit when I was 18 I asked him to read the first Harry Potter book and LET ME TELL YOU, after he'd read like, the first ten chapters he texted me like "I hate Harry, he's an arrogant little prick and thinks he's so special" which was A TAKE, but even then I remember having a feeling that Jason felt threatened by this kid who people thought was special and had discovered a natural talent for a sport. So for whatever reason it made me super uneasy. By the end of the book he told me his favourite characters were Neville and Snape, which is SUCH an odd mix but also said SO much about him as a person, like Neville was okay because he was so completely unimpressive that Jason couldn't see him as a threat to his own confidence? And if you think that this was me overreacting, he was also really glad that James "got what he deserved" by being dead because I was reading fanfic about him and Lily and according to Jason that meant that I was "choosing James over him." Also he was doing stuff like trying to cut me off from all of my friends and threatening to unalive himself if I left him and having vivid fantasies about murdering Kristina (aka cgner aka fetchalgernon) because she and I were super close, then he spent quite a long time stalking, harassing and threatening me after I broke up with him soooooooooooooo anyway the police had to get involved and the moral of this story is trust your instincts.

RE: the Christmas present he gave me a framed photograph of Marilyn Monroe, which in itself was mildly odd because I had no special interest in her, but what really elevated it was the fact that he gave it to me at work in a plain cardboard box that was SO GIGANTIC I couldn't fit it on the bus home and my boss had to drive me home in his van and my brother and I were both able to fit inside it and shut ourselves in with additional space on Christmas Day but there was like, a small framed photo in it. In this gigantic box. Which he claimed was for its protection when I asked him about it but also ????!?!?!?!???????!?!?! I had bought him a portable DVD player.

[109moons]

It has been 158 days since I had a sip of alcohol.

130 days since I found out I was dying.

97 days since I found out that I was going to live.

274 blood draws. 7 IVs. 6 blood transfusions. One less gallbladder. Someone else's liver. Someone else's life, that now lives on through me. A family that missed their loved one over the holidays. My family, who spent the holidays with me for the first time since my Father passed away.

14 pills in the morning. 14 pills at night. 6 pills in the afternoon. Don't eat this. Be sure you eat that. Here's a protein shake. You are gaining too much weight. Now you are too thin. Make sure you do not handle your cat's litter boxes. No, you should not go back to work. Hire someone to help you clean. No, the government will not help you with disability. You are guaranteed disability for a year. No, social security denied you. You have PTSD and severe anxiety. Stop talking about it a concerning amount.

Lately I am consumed by the idea of what is defining me and my life, and how much I despise the precedence that other people dictate that definition. I desperately do not want to be the beer chick who publicly fled an abusive relationship. I do not want to seem ungrateful when I become irritated with kind people who offer me a chair saying, "I'm recovering from surgery". The phrase, "you're so strong!" has become my least favorite statement. Forgive me, but what option did I have? Strength was not some personal choice, I did not sign up or alter my personality to handle my medical trauma the way that I did. It was simple.

Do it or die.

So I did it. And I didn't die. And I channeled all of my energy into overcoming, into living an authentic life, to not dwelling in the things that hurt me, to standing up on my own every day even if my joints killed me and my tacrolimus was making me want to keel over. Even if I don't sleep at night from the nightmares, from the regrets, the stress of financial loss and thinking about all of the money I wasted trying to foster a life that I frankly deserved more from.

At the end of the day, the regrets are useless, and I suppose the statement of strength is as true as my sentiment that I had no other option. I have always been a force of nature, my Father would not have had it any other way, and a lions heart. There was no world that I was going to crumble, and if I was going to die, I was going to do so with my head held high.

I wish I could go back a year. I would erase you. I would have gone to the doctor before my liver completely failed, and tried to slow the death inside of me. I could have saved my money, worked harder, become sicker slower. My heart would be intact and I would sleep easier at night. Regrets would lay less heavily. In this parallel world, I am so much lighter and my torso isn't scarred in half. A lot of the aspects of my old life when I was drinking were much more difficult than my life now. The secrecy, the shame, the illness. My struggles are brazen now and unapologetic.

I can live like this.

[vvolfatthedoor]

(✨Soft✨) Emmett

“You’ll always be safe with me.”

​Aven didn't stay in most relationships long enough to feel the need to explain her history, but occasionally it made itself known whether she wanted it to or not. Flinching away from what she understood to be a casual touch was a dead giveaway for most people. She'd mostly broken herself of the habit, but Emmett had slipped under her guard quicker than she'd expected. She was starting to feel safe with him, and that was dangerous.

She could tell he really believed that. Maybe it was even true. She'd been wrong about that kind of thing before, but she tried not to make that everyone else's problem. "I'm safe with me, Emmett." There were exactly three people in the world she trusted to protect her, but the first would always be herself. She was the only one who could keep that history from repeating, no matter how much her brother might have wanted to do it for her. "I am sorry about that though. It wasn’t intentional, and it wasn’t your fault. It just caught me off guard."

[ironwoodscollective]

💎 When I said I wanted to get out more, this is not what I had in mind. Big warning for this post about domestic violence and self-harm.

The kid's cousin is in the hospital. They've got her on a 72 hour psych hold. She's been threatening ta kill herself. She's been trapped in an abusive relationship for a few years now. The family's made it clear she's got a place ta go when she decides to get out, but it's not that simple. Never is. She and the asshole have a son. She's been afraid ta leave 'cause she's afraid he'll take their son. She doesn't want asshole gettin' custody of him. She doesn't wanna take that risk. So she's stayed with Asshole because at least if they're together, she's there. She can protect her son better if she's there.

Her daughter is safe, thank fuck. Asshole ain't her dad. He's got no legal claim to her. So our cousin sent her to stay with our aunt. (That's cousin's mom and chica's grandma.) Asshole can't do shit about that, 'cause he ain't her legal guardian. But chico... Asshole is his dad. Custody shit can get messy as hell. The family's probably gonna get child services involved. We're hopin' they both lose custody. Because then custody will probably go to our aunt. The one who already has chica. She's their grandma and they usually try to place kids with family first. And we know if there is anybody in the world cousin would trust with chica and chico, it's her mom. And it might be harder for asshole to fight it if they both lose custody.

And tha things wit' t ha child custody shit is that if aunt has custody of chica and chico (or at least chico), then they kids are safe. So that might make it easier for cousin to get the hell out. We just want everybody safe. It sounds like she's finally ready to leave this asshole. We're just hoping everything turns out alright.

[lostmf]

[hey-michael-young-history]

Oz, Part 2

TW for past abuse, abusive relationships, Bi-Han being a teenage dick. January 2nd, 2022 3:40am

Kuai Liang stayed quiet through dinner. He hadn’t spoken since Bi-Han told him to stop accepting gifts. Bi-Han was yelling at him and threatening him more and more often. He couldn’t exactly ask him to stop. The only time he remembered successfully asking Bi-Han to stop was ten years. He had been crying. For their mother. For warmth. For the sting of his face, where his father had just smacked him. Bi-Han yelled. 

Father had yelled right before he had hit him, so Kuai Liang promised to stop crying if Bi-Han stopped yelling. His brother hugged him for a long time and let him sleep with him. 

He stopped being so forgiving as they grew older. Kuai Liang did manage to stop crying and was trying not to while he was in heat. But Bi-Han never stopped yelling. 

He usually sat with Bi-Han’s friends at meals but rarely spoke to them. Sektor didn’t like him and ignored him completely. Cyrax used to talk to him. Kuai Liang wasn’t sure what he had done to offend him, but Cyrax didn’t say much beyond “hello” anymore.  Smoke still spoke to him but his pheromones always intensified when they spoke and his scent made him light headed and dizzy. Sometimes it seemed like he noticed Smoke’s pheromones right before his heat cycle started up again.

He didn’t touch his food until Bi-Han demanded that he eat. He wished that Bi-Han wouldn’t be so aggressive in front of other people. 

Every so often, he’d reach under the table and touch the container Oz gave him. He thought about Oz’s curly hair under his face and quickly redirected his thoughts before he lost control of his pheromones in a common area. He was told during training that that would lead to an automatic meal restriction punishment. And when it came to punishment, sometimes it was just the offender punished, sometimes it was everyone within a certain radius. He didn’t need Bi-Han any more upset.

Fortunately, Smoke didn’t show up at meal call. Bi-Han and his friends ignored Kuai Liang. The cryomancers went back to their room and Bi-Han went to bed.

“Good night, Bi-Han.”

“Go to fucking sleep.”

He got into his blankets and pulled them over his head. It was dark but he had gotten pretty good at reading without light. He pulled Oz’s gift out and examined it. 

It was a little glass jar that read “peanut butter”.

He opened it and was surprised by how strong it smelled.  He turned it upside down but the contents didn’t come out. So he touched it, then curiously swirled his finger around. It was thick and stuck to his finger, getting under his nail and coating his skin. 

It was food. I heard you like sweet things - but we don’t want to rot your teeth out. Try this instead.

He took in the rich scent and licked it. 

God.

It tasted as strong as it smelled, a savory earthiness that was so smooth. He stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked the rest of the peanut butter off.

It was so tasty. He kept dipping his finger in the jar and eating it. So tasty. He couldn’t contain his pheromones and could feel himself relaxing. It was just Bi-Han here. He would be okay. 

He thought so. 

His blankets were ripped away right as he stuck his finger back in his mouth and Bi-Han was standing over him. Ice was beginning to materialize on his arms and it was making Kuai Liang’s ice react. He clenched his teeth as he felt ice solidifying on his scalp. 

“Are you purring and humming? Why are you making so much goddamn noise over here? I-” He narrowed his eyes and sniffed at him. “Is that food? Are you eating something?”

Kuai Liang didn’t move. Ice was covering the jar and once Bi-Han spotted it, he ripped it out of his brother’s hand, leaving his palm bright red. 

As he tried to ice his tender skin, Bi-Han inspected the jar. “An Alpha gave you this.”

“Yes.”

“Do you even know what it is? Where it came from? It could make you sick.”

“It didn’t, I like it. Try some.”

Bi-Han threw the jar against the wall, shattering it and splattering the little peanut left. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I eat anything from any one of these fucking animals. I told you. Don’t accept anymore gifts.”

“I don’t understand, Bi-Han. You complain when I ask for extra food and they bring it to me without my even asking.”

“They’re not doing this to be nice, you dumbass. They’re going to want something from you in exchange,” Bi-Han snapped. 

“What else can they take from me?” Kuai Liang asked quietly. 

“You know how I make you hide when you’re in heat? You’re supposed to go to the elders. Do you know why?”

Kuai Liang didn’t answer. He had known why since his very first heat. His brother wasn’t always there when they were triggered. 

Bi-Han rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Be the good little slut the Lin Kuei wants you to be.”

Slut. He had been called a lot of things but that one hurt the worst. Hearing it from his brother, the last person left who cared about him, twisted his stomach. Be the good little slut the Lin Kuei wants you to be. The sentence burrowed into his brain and he couldn’t stop hearing it. 

“What’s wrong? You like taking their gifts, you like the attention, but you don’t want to be labeled as a whore?”

Yes, he’ll make a fine breeding whore. We haven’t had a stable cryomancer breeder in centuries. Excellent work, Vortex. 

Look at you. Crying while your body is begging for it. You’re a good little slut, aren’t you?

“Seriously,  are you about to cry? You’re a sensitive slut-”

“STOP IT!” He screamed. Ice spikes burst from his arms and his back. The temperature in the room fell and frost appeared on their belongings. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his fingers into his scalp. Why was Bi-Han saying this? Calling him that? 

… everyone knew. Omegas were only good for one thing. And that one thing made him untouchable, disgusting. It was the last thing his father had told him before he stopped acknowledging him. And now Bi-Han was saying it. 

They disagreed about the gifts the Alphas were giving him, sure.  Bi-Han had been a little more stressed, ever since he got his code name. He yelled and they fought sometimes but he never looked down on him like this. 

Or maybe he was. He was like all of the other Alphas in the Lin Kuei. All Alphas were the same.

“Please stop,” he begged. “Not you, big brother, please.”

Arms were tugging at his, but he could feel the ice shards coming through his scalp. This was why the grandmaster wouldn’t send him on missions. He couldn’t even control the ice he was born with. He had no discipline over his pheromones. And everyone thought he was only good for one thing. 

“… breathe…”

Bi-Han’s hands were on his shoulders. He was using his ice to calm his brother’s.  Kuai Liang had asked his trainer about this technique, after the first time Bi-Han had used it. Only skilled cryomancers could do that and it was supposed to take decades to learn. Their great grandfather had apparently developed it and their father was the only cryomancer left who could use it, after their grandfather died. Bi-Han didn’t tell anyone about it and made Kuai Liang promise to keep it a secret when he asked why. 

Bi-Han pulled him close and pressed their foreheads together. “I don’t think that about you. You are my little brother, Tundra. I was simply trying to make you aware of how dangerous it is to entertain so many Alphas.”

They were sending Bi-Han away more and more. Tundra was getting older, his body maturing and sending out signals he didn’t even seem aware of. The other day, someone was pestering him and Bi-Han had to fuck him up for it. The Alpha claimed that Tundra had been pelting him with pheromones being for impregnation. He couldn’t even bring himself to ask.

He had already suspected that Tundra had been… used. The fact that someone touching him had triggered his powers to fully activate so early was proof enough.  He tried to explain that to their father, who, in turn, explained that if he killed another Alpha, even in self defense, the Lin Kuei would lock him away and forcibly breed him until his body gave out.

“I know that I may seem cruel, little brother. But listen to me. Do not engage with any Alphas outside of your instructors, the elders, Smoke, or Cyrax. Do you understand?”

Kuai Liang barely nodded before pulling away and retreating to his blankets. 

——

“Hey.”

Kuai Liang buried his face further into his knees. 

It was yard time, but he was alone. Bi-Han was on a mission and Smoke and Cyrax were on some other duty. He suspected that this was purposeful. 

He was back out in the yard but this time, he was in the center. 

In a cage.

Releasing pheromones. 

They had done something to him. Injected him with something that made his heart beat faster and his lungs heavy. He struggled to breathe and immediately, he was suffocated by his own smells. 

It almost felt like heat. 

They had pushed this cage out and the Alphas surrounded him immediately. The same Alphas who talked to him and gave him gifts were now yelling at him and bombarding him with their own pheromones.

It was too much. He was overwhelmed, but there was nowhere to go.  He couldn’t escape any of it.

“Can you hear me?”

It was Oz. He recognized the soft voice through the raucous chorus and slowly, his voice became the only one. 

“It’s okay. Go ahead and take a breath.”

Kuai Liang’s fingers curled into his arms. He just needed to exhale. 

“It’s okay. It’s just us. Look.”

Bi-Han had told him not to engage with any Alphas. But Oz made him feel warm. Through his own ice, his frigid body, and Arctika’s unforgiving freeze, there was Oz, making him feel warm. 

Slowly, he lifted his head. He opened his eyes and looked around. 

The Alphas who were at the bars of the cage,  trying to get in, were now doing their assigned trainings and ignoring the cage. 

Except Oz.

He had his arms around a couple of bars with his face pressed between.  When Kuai Liang looked at him, his dark brown eyes lit up. 

“Hey, ice boy.”

[isaac-morey]

Task 10 --  Love Is Stored In The Garlic: Write about 10 significant meals that your character has had in their lives. Is it their favorite pasta dish? Is it the meal they were broken up over? Up to you to decide! Bonus points for images. 

TW: child neglect, food issues/childhood trauma from them, abusive relationships, blood (not graphic but mentioned)

Peanut butter sandwich (Chicago, age five)

He didn't know where his parents were. There was some assumption they were both at work, but he didn't know exactly what work was; just some place people went, like school was where his older siblings disappeared to; and he was too young to do either so he stayed at home. 

Was supposed to stay inside, but inside was cold, the heater wasn't working again, and he liked sitting at the big window at the end of the hallway, near the stairwell; he could see the city streets below from there. People were never home that time of day. It was safe, quiet.

"What're you doing out here?" 

He froze, fingers resting on the dirty glass, eyes wide under hair that needed a trim but nobody was going to bother fixing.  He said nothing. 

"Seen you before," the owner of the voice was just a bit taller than himself, bundled up in a jacket and holding tight to a plastic box decorated with a castle on the front. "You live over there," she pointed, "don't you go to school yet?" She must have been a little older, he decided, as he shook his head no.

"I don't haffta go today, mommy said so, cause my sister is sick." She continued, studying him as if not sure what to make of this odd, scruffy little kid before her. "Where's your mommy? She at work? Why'd she leave ya out here?" 

He swallowed hard at the questions, at being caught. And she must have figured out he didn't want to answer because she shrugged and walked past him. 

"Don't talk much, do'ya?" And that was that, until she sat down on the wide sill of the window and opened her little box, shifting around the contents. "Well, I'm gonna have lunch out here; you gonna stay?" 

He blinked, head tipped to watch as she set her drink upon the ledge, followed by her chips, and finally a sandwich wrapped in plastic. He glanced away, his mom's voice ringing in his ears. 

Don't stare at people, it's rude! You want them to think we ain't got anything? They're going to if you stare so much. They didn't, but people knowing that must have been the worst thing in the world given much his mom yelled at him about it. 

The silence stretched out and she took it in stride, only catching him right as he was about to go back across the hall to the cold apartment with a wave of her hand as she plucked the plastic from around the bread. 

"Here, you wanna share?" 

The question perplexed him, so openly that it stopped him in his tracks as she continued. 

"What's your name anyway?" She thrust her hand out, offering up half of the sandwich, faintly sticky from the peanut butter tucked between the bread. 

He couldn't find his voice and he wondered if it was fair; everyone else was gone though and it maybe wasn't fair that they had lunch at school or work or whatever else, without him. So it wasn't okay, he knew with a hint of guilt, but if nobody knew? Maybe just that once?

And he was hungry, it was hard not to be; sometimes that feeling went on all day, or, when dad was gone too long and mom was busy, longer.  He couldn't find his voice though, it got drowned out by yelling so often he didn't even like the sound of it, but in a panic he realized that she might rethink her offer if he didn't answer. 

But it wasn't much of an answer, just a hesitant, soft murmur "Isaac." Was it enough? 

"Isaac, huh? Okay." Satisfied, she pushed the half sandwich at him and motioned to the spot next to her, and in a numb daze he sat down, nodding at her confirmation. 

She smiled, taking a bite of her half and he was careful to match the motion, right down to the smile that he offered after; it happened so naturally he was surprised. 

Chicken Makhani (first meal with the Moreys)

He didn't know how to fit in there; it wasn't much different from all the other foster homes, still better than the group ones; but someone else's home. It was always someone else's home and he was just passing through, a temporary visitor. 

He had a bedroom to himself though, all to himself for once, and spending most of his time there seemed like the best way to get through it until things changed again. 

He dreaded going downstairs when Mrs. Morey called him for dinner; he still dreaded that every place he ended up at. He was never sure what to do with himself while everyone else talked and carried on. And he was hopeful maybe she'd just forget he was there; sometimes they did. Sometimes he knew it was on purpose. But he never blamed them, the tired strangers and the dismissive ones; he wasn't really supposed to be there.  But that call came, so he couldn't ignore it. 

He couldn't find a corner in the kitchen to put himself out of the way in though, the space was endlessly busy and Isaac was sure he was going to panic trying to. Then something was pushed into his hands and his brain registered it as a bowl, but he had no idea why and simply stood there staring down at the large wooden object filled with rolls.  He may have stood there a while, if not for Mrs. Morey's hand resting on his shoulder and guiding him over to the dining table. 

He had little idea what many of the dishes spread across the table were in their grayscale unfamiliarity but it didn't matter, he'd never had a chance to learn the luxury of being picky. 

The rolls joined the rest as he pushed the bowl in with the others and waited to be motioned to one of the chairs. He sat quietly while all the conversation happened around him, nodding at times but training his attention on his plate to make certain he wasn't eating too slowly. Eating too quickly was a reflex, one he couldn't help. Eating too much still was too, but that wasn't usually a problem, it wasn't usually an option. 

When the questions came about if he liked the meal he wasn't sure why they had asked, but the answer felt like it should have been yes so he nodded as he idly chewed on another roll, falling silent and sitting with his eyes roaming from person to person around the table as they talked. He wasn't quite part of it, the moment, but it felt like he almost was. It was the closest he had gotten before. 

Rogan Josh (first cooking lesson)

She was teaching him how to cook, Mama, she was Mama now, and he had asked so she was teaching him to cook. He had her recipes on the counter, a set resolve to doing it mostly himself, and a mess on his hands. 

And it wasn't going well at all. The rice was wrong, he'd stared in utter dismay at the scorch marks on the pan as he'd dumped the sauce out of it; he couldn't put a name yet to the shade of orange it was but it didn't look like the one she made. Everything was wrong. 

He sighed, eyes drifting towards the trash bin near the sink, gripping the bowl tightly; he probably needed to start over. But the thought of it made his stomach tighten, a wave of nausea washing over him at the very idea of doing that, of throwing away even that mishap. There was an anxious feeling there that made him dizzy, still. 

Well, he didn't have to make anyone else eat it, he could though; that thought eased some of the tension in the pit of his stomach that was trying to tie itself into a knot. 

Mama breezed into the kitchen and took quick stock of the scent of faintly burnt spices in the air, the seemingly frozen boy clutching that pot with a weary determination, and smiled as she placed a hand lightly upon his back. She might have suggested starting over, any other time, but it felt important not to. 

"I messed it up," he got the words out but barely above a breath, it was his eyes he couldn't lift though. 

It could be fixed, she confirmed, guiding him back to the counter to tend to the problem at hand, smiling rather than let her thoughts dwell too much over how he looked so relieved at her words, more relieved than any small child should have been. 

Dinner was still not great, they all knew it, but they smiled regardless and let it be what it was. Isaac didn't say much, he was grateful nobody did either; the next time would be better, he hoped. Mistakes could be fixed; he hadn't believed it before. 

There would be a next time, there would even be a day where he'd end up enjoying the process of figuring out how to adjust and fix his mistakes, plenty more meals he would cook for mama. 

But that first one, mistakes and all, she would always say was still her favorite. 

Airport Food Court (leaving after graduation)

"I'm not sure this counts as real food," he laughed, elbows resting on the narrow table and eyeing the edge of the plastic container. The faintest scent of airport faire drifted upward, hanging in the air around the table like a cloud. 

Papa huffed, pushing the container forward with a nod of agreement. 

"Not like anything your mother would have made," he commented in regards to the pale yellow liquid that, as far as Isaac could assume, was intended to be some manner of soup that was too nondescript for him to really make sense of. 

Papa was right, Mama would have been nothing less than appalled if she knew. 

"Best we not tell her," the older Morey added, as though it were some conspiracy between them. Isaac laughed and nodded, the messy crest of his bangs falling into his eyes. 

He was going to miss her cooking; nothing else was going to be as good, nothing would feel quite like home.  But home would still be there; Isaac was ready to see what lay beyond it. 

"You look after yourself," Papa reminded him, the board on the wall behind them proclaimed in illuminated letters the arrival and departure of flights and every so often his head would lift, eyes towards it as he kept check of the minutes. 

"I will," Isaac promised, the same way he had promised Mama, and Dian, Mads, Elli, Seb, even Gem and Devyn; had promised he would be okay so they didn't have to worry. So they could be excited for him instead about his new job, new life; so he could keep them with him but still find his own way. 

They would worry a little, regardless, and he would miss them; that was all a part of distance. Absently, he grabbed the spoon for a bite of his own meal, cringing at the terrible idea that turned out to be. "Oh, yeah, no; that's terrible." 

A moment of shared stillness among the rush of people on their way from terminal to terminal, shared laughter among all the other busy noise. 

Rigatoni with Vodka Sauce (the breakup)

He didn't bother to clean up the broken mess, the splash of red across the tile had spread outward into runny streaks, jagged shards of colorless glass spiked upward from it and, in the back of his mind, he considered the risk of leaving it there. 

But he was just so, so very tired. 

Just tired, an empty, emotionless gray that seeped into the edges of everything around him. And, not for the first time in the last month, Isaac just wanted to close his eyes and block out even that. 

He'd stopped trying to see the colors in the apartment weeks past, everything remained the same hues of stark, tense crimson and sickly swampy yellow-green and when it never changed it felt suffocating.  It gave him less warning though at the sharp words as they brushed past him, making him bristle. 

"I'm not cleaning that up; I don't have time to deal with this anyway."  Max was a blurry, shrill tone as Isaac felt as though everything was out of focus. 

He watched the sticky line of sauce drip downward from the edge of the counter, a puddle of inky darkness to his eyes; oily at the edges.  A disarray of bits and pieces, a dull, shattered plate fanned out in chunks married with the splatters.  He was so very tired. 

"Isaac, wake the hell up; did you ever hear what I said?" 

He hadn't, he hadn't even been trying to that time; most of the questions never felt like questions and the demands all sounded the same.  He wondered, idly, if there was going to be a stain across the tiles later. 

"Isaac." 

He couldn't bring himself to care, not about the stain anyway, or the broken dishes, the ruined meal or even the fight that had caused it all.  He couldn't remember what the fight had been about; that too just ran all together those days.  Work? Maybe it was that. Maybe it was nothing at all; there were more of those lately. 

Max had made it all the way into the living room, a trail of accusations heavy in the air that felt like he was only hearing it muted, from a distance. 

Isaac sighed, retrieved a cloth from one of the drawers and knelt to pluck piece by piece the broken glass from the puddle. If he didn't do it Max definitely wasn't going to, and the argument later would be worse than just a few broken dishes; he was too tired for that, to even consider it. 

He flinched, feeling the bite of glass and drawing his hand back sluggishly, the line of swelling blood the same indistinguishable gray as he held the fabric to the shallow wound. 

Too tired. 

"I'm leaving," he left the cloth in the sink, the glass scattered across the floor and the spreading red to sink into the tiles; more of a mark than he wanted to have there anymore. 

Max scoffed, disinterest obvious in the eye roll that accompanied the words, "Yeah? And go where? You'll just come back anyway." The sneer, cold, turned into a mocking laugh.  

It was a good point though, a point that felt like a weight on his shoulders, a dragging sensation; did he have anywhere to go? Friends? Anything that hadn't been poisoned from the inside out by Max?  No, he didn't, not anymore. 

"I don't know," he answered, honestly.  He didn't care either, so long as it was anywhere else but there. 

Chinese Takeout (the night after)

It shouldn't have felt so strange to be alone, shouldn't have felt like such a relief. 

The too-oily, too spicy noodles in the white carton weren't even good; the plastic menu tossed on the bedside table argued otherwise but was clearly a poor judge of such things. The ugly carpet blanketing the floor was the distinct mix of red, brown and gold that made up the hotel room standard but he didn't mind; it was better than grays. 

His phone had been buzzing for a good hour, bouncing and humming on the bed with missed calls, texts and voicemails but that time he had made his mind up not to answer. That time he was sticking by his decision. He didn't even notice when the battery finally died and the phone went blissfully silent. 

The glow of infomercials on the television lit up the space in soft tones of saturated blue as he took a bite of the weakly flavored Chinese takeout and thought, again, that there in the quiet of the tiny room it was just about the best meal he'd had in months. 

Pizza Planet delivery (Dian's disappearance)

"You need to eat," she reminded him in that tone both kind and resolute; giving no room for argument. And he had plenty of them to offer, not the least of which was how he couldn't bring himself to care about those things when everything else felt so out of place.  The knot was back in his stomach in a way he hadn't felt since before Swynlake, before home and family. 

Because family was the reason for it, wasn't it? Every day that tumbled into the next he felt the space where his brother should have been get a little larger, the ache settled a little deeper; Isaac didn't want to mourn someone he knew was still there, just too far for him to reach. But it felt that way, like he was standing vigil over an empty grave. 

He couldn't find much reason to manage many meals lately that weren't only something to dull the worries; alcohol had taken the place of anything more substantial on his worst days, indifference had taken over the rest. 

"Sorry Jess, I don't feel so great is all." The excuse felt weak, true, but that didn't make it less shallow when he offered it. The couch around him was soft enough that he just wanted to stay there, pretend it was all okay, and count the days. 

"I can see that," she agreed, but gave him little choice as she pushed the plate into his hands, "but you promised me a movie night and we can't have one of those without pizza." As though it were some rule, some dire truth that the entire evening hinged upon.  It wasn't that, but she would make it be, if it swayed him into the idea of doing just a little better job of taking care of himself. 

Isaac started to protest but lost the determination, knew she was right; but that didn't make it any easier. Didn't make the first bite more appealing, nor the second, but nothing was going to taste very good while he was so resolved to disconnect from that simple pleasure. It was a purposed motion, an effort. 

But an effort he had to make, bite by bite, so he could get through that evening, the next, and a few more difficult ones still to come. 

It would get better, it just couldn't yet. 

Eggplant Parmesan (first date, the second time around)

He moved around the kitchen with what was fast becoming practiced ease; only a few months in the house, his house, and Isaac had spent enough time inside that brightly-lit, sunshine yellow space to navigate it without having to devote his full attention to watching his step. And there, even more than most of the house, he felt in his element. 

A splash of red spilled across the counter and something in the back of his mind shifted with an old discomfort that had been buried for years. He stared for a moment, then took a breath and shook his head, reaching for the cloth by the sink to wipe it away. And if it stained, well, he could fix that too with just a hint of the magic that ran through his veins, couldn't he?  That was all that mattered; even stains could, like mistakes, be fixed. 

The oven door stood open, the glass dish retrieved and set up the counter, and his hands didn't shake that time. They could have, but they didn't. 

There were so many could haves and might haves in his memories; all greytone and stale and so far away in that moment. He wasn't certain they would be, in a way it was like a test again, for himself. 

It would be different this time, he told himself, let himself believe it; years since he had ever thought things might get better but maybe they could. They were starting over, starting better; starting with more honesty between them.

He didn't feel giddy over the possibility the way he assumed he might, he felt something better than that; Isaac felt grounded. He felt like the maybes weren't just hopeful notions because he needed something to hold onto; they were possibilities that gave him something to work towards.  And he didn't have to do that alone. 

He admired his efforts as the kitchen filled with the warm scent of oregano and garlic, wiping his hands on the cloth; he hadn't forgotten the faint scar across his fingertips, no, it just didn't really hurt as much anymore.  He still needed the scars, and what he had built from them, but the apprehension came and went, good days and bad ones. 

The knock at the door pulled him away from his thoughts and left them behind there within the sunny walls. Good days and bad ones; it was a good one.  He reached for the handle when he reached the end of the hallway, knowing that Nick was waiting on the other side; the smile had already reached his lips.  

Of all the places he could have, there wasn't anywhere else he would have rather been.

[compassionatereminders]

But I do think part of healing from trauma means sometimes giving people the chance to treat you right. And no, I'm not talking about forgiving your abusers. Or giving random people endless chances to hurt you. But sometimes you gotta fight that voice that says everyone just wants to harm you and give someone a chance to get close enough to actually prove it wrong.

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Have I ever told you all the time when I first recognised some red flag behaviour in my obsessive stalker ex-boyfriend Jason because of the way he perceived the characters in the first Harry Potter book? Because that story is almost as bizarre as the Christmas present he bought me that same year (you will literally never guess what it was)

[mswarriorbabe80]

Throwback Thursday.  A 14 year old picture of me at 28.

This young woman had just gotten out of a 5 year abusive relationship.  Someone who told her she was an ugly “Puerto Rican Monkey” who was good for nothing.  Took her money, ruined her credit, made her feel worthless.  Until she ran, literally leaving all her belongings behind.  Got her Uncle to co-sign an apartment in Chicago (after her other family refused to help her).  

But she was free.  And for one year had a pretty good life.  A job she loved, lived by the Chicago lakefront, made friends.

Yet she still felt fat, ugly and unworthy of a decent relationship.  Desperately seeking acceptance for who she was.  She didn’t know it at the time, but emotionally abused parents and relatives raised her to be emotionally damaged too.  She still deals with it to this day.

I wish I could go back in time.  Talk to her, tell her she was worthy. 

I miss 28 year old me.