#the worst experiences i had this year had a common root:

[californiannostalgia]

Processing identity as a child abuse survivor

Recently I had a huge revelation. Come with me on this childhood trauma realization journey (if you want).

This post was written for those wavering on the 'was it abuse' question.

Fair warning, each of these revelations were a whammy. I recommend you keep in mind that these revelations will transform the way you see yourself and the world. This took me out of commission for hours at a time.

Revelation 1: Was I Abused?

Read this Tumblr post. Go down the list. Check the 'yes'es and 'maybe's.

'Was I abused' is a yes or no question. I need you to really think about this if your answer is 'kind of'. If you could be truly honest with yourself, what would your answer be?

For years I've gone to the logic of 'it wasn't that bad,' and 'at least the worst didn't happen,' or 'others have had it worse'. This is such a low bar. You deserve better than the bar your parents set for you. The socioeconomic circumstances and the normalization of violence in your living area? Yes, influential. But not a justification.

At the end of the day, the veracity of these statements don't even matter. It's a yes or no question: 'Am I a survivor of child abuse?'

It may take a really long time to truly process, and even then it might feel uncomfortable saying it like it's truth. I need you to know your truth is truth. It's a yes or no question.

Take a break. I recommend you don't progress further until you've processed Revelation 1.

(Shameless plug-in of my fandom blorbo interests: Rick Riordan's Trials of Apollo series really helped me with this first revelation. It made me feel seen and less alone. It may not be perfect, but I personally liked it!)

Revelation 2: What does this mean? (health-wise)

Listen to this Ted Talk by an expert (medical professional).

This is the part where I got angry and really fucking sad. Let yourself be sad. Let yourself be furious. Our life is not our fault and we're still stuck with this lot.

Genuinely this was such a shock for me to realize. The thing that has the biggest impact on my life is not my anxiety, depression, ptsd, insomnia, blood pressure, immune health, etc. The root cause of my physical and mental illnesses is Adverse Childhood Experiences.

ACE is more common than you'd think. Acknowledging that what happened to you was bad will be beneficial to humanity's survival in the long run. Like any illness, ACE can be fought at a societal level.

Take a break. I recommend you don't progress to the next revelation until you've processed Revelation 2.

Take your time to be angry and sad. Take forever. You never have to forgive your abuser, even if they change their behavior. The chance at a civil acquaintanceship you might be willing to extend to your parents doesn't require your forgiveness.

.

Revelation 3: Why is your therapist recommending you retell your life story?

This one is mostly for when you have steady access to a therapist. Here are some things I wish I'd known before seeking out therapy in the US.

(Is it shitty that you can't get therapy on your own terms when you're underage? Yes, it fucking is. To those of us who survived to adulthood: holy shit y'all. At 19 I felt like absolute fucking bullshit, like my brain was a burning ball of tangled barbed wire. It does feel absolutely shitty. But reaching 19 is an achievement.)

The thing is, I do or say a lot of things that I later come to think of as embarrassing, inappropriate, or in certain circumstances, potentially abusive. Genuine trigger reactions happen. I will always have to live with a piece of my parents in my head. But I don't want to do to another person what they did to me. Self-awareness is what separates me from my abusers.

What to do about this? Number 1: chill out. You're not gonna be your abuser. Humans are unique and imperfect. They have not replicated themselves in you. It's okay to make mistakes when you're talking or reacting. Your brain is fucked up. You can do something differently next time.

Number 2: read this article about Overthinking, Over-apologizing, Oversharing, and Overwhelmed as trauma responses.

Then read this article on how to deal with Unresolved Trauma.

Yeah. It be like that. Isn't it fucked up? Recognizing the four Os in my behavior helped me realize I'm not an antisocial asshole by default.

Unresolved trauma is the root cause for my behaviors that I think of as unhealthy. This revelation happened very recently for me. Before this point in time, I couldn't understand why I would want to recount traumatic events in therapy.

At this point in time, I have regular access to a therapist I'm okay with. Going over memories and deconstructing the blame system seems like a reasonable thing to try.

What happened to you as a child is not your fault. You're not the one who landed yourself in your life. You've been given an unfairly difficult situation to be responsible for. You did not create your coping mechanisms for shits and giggles.

So yeah. Number 3: figure out your life with the help of a therapist. Let's see where we are ten years later or something.

Nothing is easy and everything is confusing. Take a break, hydrate, eat, sleep, do something nice for yourself. Do something you like doing. Thanks for reading.

#child abuse #domestic abuse #trials of apollo #mental health #life advice #my thoughts #resources #therapy #Youtube

[jakehoon]

i've been so bored of men lately. it’s not so weird because i used to like one even tho im embarrassed to admit (if u look at the material u would understand why im saying this). now i'm at a state where i'm at peace with being alone than having to deal with the emotional intelligence of a ten year old paired with a conservative societal mentality that makes them have complete disregard towards women and a lot of close mindedness regarding mental health issues.

#I'm getting too personal but gooooddd #i can't vent at them about it but jesus fucking christ #don’t come at me about topics related to women’s issues or mental health issues #and say ‘nah i get it’ at first #but go around being a COMPLETE biggot #idk if it’s gen z cis men or what #but holy shit #the worst experiences i had this year had a common root: #men #i'm so done #abt.txt

[catgirlbussy]

im gonna do a lil sadpost, as a treat. if u dun wanna read that or interact or anything there's no harm done <3 it kinda feels nice sayin stuff into the void tbh, cause i know as i look out ill always see myself at minimum, and im still thankful. im alive. if someone can relate or whatever then thats a neat bonus ★

I'm not super sure how to formulate these thoughts, cause lots of it is just incompressible /feeling/. I've been on HRT for close to two years now, and modifying my internal physical landscape alongside the work I put in with the ways I've learned sharing benefit so far, like therapy and self-directed exploration of my emotions and the simple but vital practice of being more open with others about how I'm feeling, has uncovered a lot.

It's been overwhelmingly positive in so many ways. I don't have any regrets for starting this set of changes, even with full knowledge of the difficulties I've had rise as a result and that more are on the horizon, and also full awareness in that I will need to continue putting in the *good* work to care for myself and learn how to navigate the parts in my mind I'd kept hidden or obscured for so long. It's not /bad/, I feel so grateful to have this opportunity at all and I feel bounteous joys in this trove of beautiful experiences that, up 'till not too long ago, I never thought I'd be able to experience -- though I absolutely still dreamed of having them so vividly.

I have a lot of good graces in my life re: my transition. In a lot of ways I feel I've been exceedingly lucky. Canada has its fair share of problems without a doubt, but I also know full well there are a lot more places on our planet where it's much more difficult to be openly trans, let alone dangerous or lethal. I don't take that as an opportunity to rest, either, because having cracks forming in the firmament, letting in light to my dream of a world where trans experiences are accepted (and to note most thoroughly, I'm learning more of a lot of cultures in days gone by, /including some aspects of my own heritage/, having extended gender representations ingrained in their societal norms, some as far even to revere the dynamic and unique experience of existing beyond the gender binary in whatever way they saw as such) for **everyone** spurs in me an even deeper and impassioned drive to work in the ways I'm able to foster communication and connection while rebuking hostility so more and more beautiful, valid trans folks can experience respite and respect and safety as well.

I'm not wanting necessarily to change minds and upend the posture of society with this particular post, though, and so I hope you'll forgive me in my expressing my small, localised set of emotions in this moment. At the root of everything I experience I'm starting to get better at reminding myself that I'm a valid *individual person* in addition to being a contributor in the push for good and kindness for all.

It's probably telling that I feel the need to offer ~4 paragraphs as a disclaimer that I spend time learning about the global scale and am effortful in enacting progress there before just getting on with what I'm even feeling sad about. I don't see myself as a holy martyr for being nervous about expressing myself, but it seems more and more common evidently rather than by my hypothesis alone that many trans individuals would get by prior to exploring their gendered identity with burgeoning self-acceptance with a marked self-exclusionary behaviour when it came to opening themselves to emotional experience, regardless of any given instance being gendered or not. Until it becomes unmanageable, it feels easier to lock away senses of joy, sadness, etc. cause you can keep gettin on by in a sort of functional state and you tell yourself thats enough.

This is far from the worst thing I've come across so far, but I am feeling confused and the confusion is unique in its own way to the extent that I'm not even able to pin down how I /feel/ about feeling it. At its heart I can't seem to muster the right formulation of words to explain to others these particular experiences I'm having in my transition. Painting in broad strokes can be such disservice to the nuance for any individual's cluster of experiences, but tumblr if anything *for me* has brought much happiness in finding threads of commonality with others. Stark contrasts to my feelings of loneliness and seclusion from the world around me give me so much hope. I'm writing this partly in hopes that there is another one of those threads people might appreciate seeing. I do more than my fair share of journaling, but this one feels special and worth sharing right now, and so decadently I write these words for a community beyond myself.

To be blunted, perhaps I might phrase it by saying 'i feel sad about being happy.' It's that sort of absurdist perspective that helps me wrap my head around it a little better with how little sense it makes to my normal machinations. I'm not sad that I am having these new and thrilling experiences of adding or or changing parts of myself to live in the way I best see fit for who I am, but I feel sad because I don't know how to.

I get locked up at the slightest things. Someone compliments my nails, and its so hard to communicate efficiently the impossibly depthed importance this literally surficial act has for me. They aren't even painted well, but I painted them /myself/, I felt catharsis in exploring my love of artistic expression in the choice of colours, I rode high on the thrill of watching this new skill form in my own hands. The coat is uneven and I can't quite keep myself from getting knicks in places as they dry yet and I'm still practicing the nail care associated with maintaining healthy and resilient nails, but if I can be so bold to say, god forbid women do anything.

This person obviously wasn't chastising me for partaking in a traditionally "femininely-associated act", let alone that so thoroughly most things people take for gendered in no way innately are, the whole binary supposition is a damned myth. But because of how I was brought up and the mindset I was taught to have before I fought to think for myself instead, this was a joy I'd always admired but felt I was abhorrent for wanting to partake in. Absolutely anyone who feels otherwise can irrevocably go fuck themselves if they aren't willing to examine the falsity of the foundational thoughts they 'think' they have leading them to ever want someone to abstain from such a viscerally unobstructive and innocuous form of self exploration and creativity bexause it's "for girls". This goes for anything. For anyone. Idc who you are or what label you wanna use at any given moment, go explore. Live life. God fuck do we need people to just experience joy in some ways so we aren't so incorrigible and hostile towards eachother.

But you don't stop whoever took 15 seconds out of their say to mention to you they like the colour and wanted you to know to discurse at length upon the structural bastardisation of who people are allowed to be, cause more than any of that I just want to feel happy about it.

I literally stutter out whatever form of thanks my malformed emotionally-communicative faculties can muster in this surprise and try not to start sobbing in the grocery store aisle or whatever. It's so /good/, and it's so frustrating that I don't even know how to just process and appreciate that it is.

I was so much an absentee in my own bodied self that I could not fathom an understanding of what gender euphoria was until it snuck up smashed me in the teeth. I didn't have any basis of understanding for what it was really like to be happy about some part of myself.

Despite my loneliness I have still had the experiences of friendships, people caring about me, and relationships where a partner genuinely appreciated parts of me, physical, mental, emotional, whatever. More now than ever I am having those experiences as I learn to come out of my cloister inside my head. But this time I'm not just numb to everything. Sure, as I'm learning to not just be unilaterally numb until my bastion of self-isolation fails and I break there is abundance of pain, but the pain I honestly prefer. It's more vivid than it's ever been before, but I can benchmark that I'm still alive by its contrast to neutrality. It's familiar, and my mechanisms of clutching my emotions into my soul can still carry me forward as I try to figure things out. But fuck me is it ever hard to have a happy experience and not know how to communicate that it tore my sense of stability in those moments to shreds. To lose the composure that carried me for so many years because someone sought to share something with me they thought I'd appreciate because they care about me feels so counterproductive to just enjoying the absolute gift that experience is.

Abstractly, as I'm wont to do to a remarkably self-apparent fault, I can tell myself that these things take time. Human emotion is so complex, and its panoply of shifting lights glinting as the facets move their positioning relative to the light of being alive is what drives me to do art, and it always has been, contradictory so fully to my desire to lock everything away. I can't circumnavigate multiple decades of trauma and be free and unfettered in my senses in an instant just because I'm aware it's possible. And so I try so fucking hard not to just sit down and cry in that grocery store aisle, cause it hurts so bad to be happy.

How dare I find glints of good in the polluted landscape we live in. But that mindset helps nothing. People striving to live amidst turmoil is what makes life worth living. There will always be strife, but there will always be the possibility for hope alongside it.

Without fail, each night I'll self-soothe myself into a mode of somewhat-restfulness imagining what it would be like to trust myself enough to be imperfect and let someone hold me. It's the only thing I do anymore. It even backfires sometimes and I just waking-dream my way through countless blissful scenarios about what it would be like if that cute girl I've been starting to become friends with mentioned she wanted to hold my hand for hours until the sun comes up and I know I won't have any sleep at all. It's so goddamn worth it. I revel in it, because at least in the theatre of my mind I can find small ways of letting myself feel those joys. They aren't really happening. It's my own hand rubbing a thumb gently along my collarbone in a faux affection. But it's the only way I've found that's not so obstructively blinding in intensity for me to practice what it would be like to be close to others.

I still lose my sense of self so often. I find bruises from where I bumped into things and wholesale didn't notice until the tiredness sets in and I can't autonomously ignore how sore I am. I dive effortlessly into the placid waters of dissociation when someone gives me a hug, despite that being what I have dreamed of for so many years during my self-imposed isolation. Someone tells me they like an art piece I've made and I stopper any sense of pride or appreciation for their kind words despite pouring however much time channeling my slowly uncoiling understanding of reality into every particle of it and wishing that my experiences could convey any amount of any feeling whatsoever to another living being with the entirely selfish act of wanting that I feel like I had a real connection.

I can't get by with chainsmoking and shelf-set pain medications and blind ignorance any more. I can't ignore how badly I want to feel. I am figuring it out instant by instant and it scares me horribly. One day my yearnings for closeness will be actualised because I'll be ready to open when they come. My selfsense-extracted mutterings of the hypothetical joys of being pressed down into sheets and kissed because someone deigned to gift me with attention for they hold appreciation of this newly forming, ill-configured, but ultimately revelatory feminine self I'm becoming will no longer be fiction and prose but the rawness of experience that I, once, and then more, can lose myself into without terror thay I'm inadequate and never truly worth it. Someone will touch my breasts and love me for loving them myself and I'll give in to the annihilating instant where I am no longer a sense of self but just am. This body is not me but my, and I will scrape and fight however I can muster to live vicariously thru it because that is what I am meant to do by being here alive at all. If anything ever again I want to feel what love is like.

I'm not even reading this back to see if it conveys properly let alone makes sense at all. I'm exhausted and in so much pain. If you read this, thanks, and, if you can, go hug someone you love today.

#acceptance #love #kindness #affection #expression #long post #tldr #hope #trans #transgender #trans femme #trans girl #transition #hrt #hormones #mtf #pride #self love

[odinsblog]

Even though Ruby Bridges lived a few blocks from the school, her parents initially had reservations about sending their daughter to an all-White school. After all, no one had ever successfully crossed that line before. Ruby and her mother were escorted by four federal marshals to school every day that year. We can see photos of Ruby walking past crowds of White people "screaming vicious slurs at her." Despite the cruelty, Ruby mentioned that the only thing that really frightened her was "when she saw a woman holding a black baby doll in a coffin." Even though Ruby was only a child, she experienced the full brunt of America's racism. Perhaps, the cruelty shown towards Ruby Bridges is why some White parents would rather hide her story than let students discuss her role in history.

One parent petitioned for the removal of a Ruby Bridges film produced by Disney from Florida classrooms, suggesting it would "teach White children to hate Black children." Even though the film had long been part of the Pinellas Country Black History Month lesson plan, efforts to censor historical events that shed light on the experiences of Black Americans have become common in the state. The irony isn't lost on me that the North Shore Elementary parent suggested the story inappropriate for second graders even though Ruby Bridges, who the story centers around, was only six years old when she enrolled in first grade and experienced racial discrimination.

Courage is not a race-neutral concept in America.

The unwillingness of some to view Ruby Bridges as heroic has a lot to do with two competing worldviews. On the one hand, those who believe racial segregation was appropriate or that exhibiting racial bias should be socially acceptable will view Bridges as a troublesome presence, a reminder of how formal systems of racial discrimination impacted Black children. On the other hand, those who view racial discrimination as abhorrent and are interested in seeing racist systems dismantled may view Bridges as a symbol of courage, a reminder of America's potential to become a multiracial democracy that treats citizens equally. Unfortunately, this disparity in belief systems has contributed to a vast censorship movement and the active suppression of stories that show Black Americans' tenacity and courage.

It took the courage of Ruby Bridges and her family to challenge the Jim Crow system, but sadly, this is the type of courage states like Florida don't want us to speak about. Because telling the Ruby Bridges story would require discussing the formalized system of racial discrimination that persisted throughout much of America's history. Black children endure racism, but somehow, White children are too fragile to hear about their experiences is not a neutral perspective; it's creating a type of plausible deniability so that White Americans, once out of school, can insist, "I didn't know about racism because I wasn't taught," all while perpetuating racism. Furthermore, to say the Ruby Bridges story would encourage White students to be racist assumes the worst by implying they would side with parents and students yelling racial slurs rather than Ruby, a six-year-old child experiencing discrimination. You don’t have to be Black to understand how painful it is to be bullied.

...others know precisely what they're doing by boycotting Black history and literature. It's as if they are ashamed that they don't see Ruby Bridges as courageous, that racism prevents them from rooting for a six-year-old little Black girl, so they rather bury her story.

(continue reading)

#emily conklin #politics #ruby bridges #white fragility #courage #republicans #whitewashing history #erasure #revisionist history #education

[public-trans-it]

Fleurs de Mort

Content warnings for cults, death, suicide ideation, and mental trauma

A lot of people have a fairly common fear of death. I… kinda don’t. I have a pretty uncommon fear of death, I think.

For those not in the know, I used to be in a cult. Cult in several scare quotes. The creators never intended it to become a cult, and it was only meant to be like a study group for the overlap of occultism and the founders spirituality. Specifically around how their view of the afterlife was shaped by the three of them being Jewish people that got into occultism. I should stress that there were no fees or divisions of labor or any of the manipulation tactics that make cults dangerous, which is why I’m hesitant to actually call it one.

It was, however, in ever sense of the word a death cult, but not the kind you hear about in media. It was focused on growth, and suicide was considered the single worst thing a person could do. It was about exploring occult teachings to explore your own life in new ways, and grow to be more and more, because when you died you became something more. Something greater. And you required lived experiences to grow enough to survive in that new state.

The founders of the cult did a lot of work, filtering out people who had a mental state that might not mesh well with it. The first signs of depression or suicidal ideation and they would pull you aside and do their best to help you because they were well aware of how dangerous the subject matter was and none of them wanted blood on their hands.

Unfortunately, I didn’t really… interact much. I wasn’t that active a member. I just kind of observed passively. So there were no red flags, nothing they could have spotted or done to pull me aside and help me. They had no way of knowing what was happening inside my head, and how it changed me, at a fundamental level.

I ended up leaving, explain my mental health was in a bad state and it wouldn’t be safe for me to be around the subject matter much longer. The heads of the cult understood and wished me the best. We still talked for a while after that, played minecraft together a few times. Watched some movies. Just stayed friends for a bit before slowly drifting apart.

But the seed of that flower had already been planted deep in my mind, and had begun growing into something else. Blossoming isn’t the right word for what it did though. It constrained a part of my mind. All those teachings, all my neuroses, it bound them together tight and sealed them away in the back of my mind, repressed thoughts I forgot even existed until about a year ago. That became my first alter, the first hint of my DID as my mind fractured itself to stop the growth of that seed. It now lies dormant, pruning itself, culling away aspects of my personality that are unsatisfactory to it. The rest of us are slaughtered, rarely surviving more than a few months, torn apart and stitched back together as the pieces of us that fall away are used as the fertilizer for its growth.

The only time it awakens is long enough to stop me from pulling the trigger when things get to bad. It won’t ever help me fix my life, help me do the things I need to make the pain stop. Pain and suffering is inconsequential to it. They are just more lived experiences with which it can foster its own growth. As long as I don’t pull the trigger, as long as I don’t take that step off the edge, it doesn’t care what happens to me.

If I manage to fix my life and get it on the right track? Well that’s useful. Those parts make the best fertilizer for what it needs to grow, and so it cuts those parts away and digs its roots into them, hiding them away from me. It’s frustrating, and it makes life incredibly difficult.

The person I am changes so quickly, rebuilding myself out of the scraps it leaves behind. Making an identity or two out of the remains and hoping against hope that this time it’s functional enough to allow me to live without drawing its attention.

And so I’m left here, thinking about life, and about death. Most people fear death as an end. What if nothing exists after it? How horrifying, they think. My fear of death is far more complex. I’ve felt it so many times, felt my identity crumble and be ripped apart. If the death of my body was just that again, I have nothing to fear.

My fear, is that it’s not the end. My fear is this plant finally blooming, and what will happen after that. Will it take us with it? Will it leave us behind? Are we just a means to and end for it? Something to be discarded after this stage of our existence is over with?

I have lived with this thing in my head for nearly a decade now. And my fear is that only in death will I find out if it was the tether holding me together, or the parasite ripping me apart.

#anyway hey LDW if any of you see this… sorry #not trying to trash talk yall #you all did an incredible job #don’t take any of this personally #empty spaces #in case it wasn’t obvious this is nonfiction #a peak behind the curtain if you will

[fyeahiwatarikei]

Rose pink + Kosuke :>

Flower Language Writing Prompts

Pink rose ◦ I finally stopped holding my breath.

You can also read this on AO3!

“Don’t be surprised!”

Kosuke’s questioning sound choked in his throat when he saw Kei’s pyjama top fly across the corridor, but that didn’t stop the latter from removing the pants too, tossing it towards the couch as he entered the living room. After long hours of reflection, he had finally decided to give it a try, the sooner the better.

“May I ask what you’re doing?” Kosuke politely asked, poking his head around the corner to try and see why he was sitting in the middle of the room wearing nothing but his underwear.

Kei crossed his legs, placed hands on knees and… took a deep breath. He hadn’t attempted that in a few centuries, who knew how his body would react after the damage it had suffered from recently. He needed to be serene, in control, attuned to every sign he’d perceive from both flesh and wood, in case any problem arose.

“I’ll retreat within and verify the state my heart is in. I’m asking you to not disturb me, regardless of what happens.”

“And what exactly should happen?”

“Nothing dangerous,” Kei smiled. Supposedly nothing dangerous. “But this exercise requires focus and time, as it will be thorough.”

“Won’t you get cold…?”

Kosuke kneeled in front of him from a respectful distance, understanding the seriousness of the situation. If he knew from experience that Kei would make himself vulnerable both physically and spiritually, he couldn’t guess the reason why wearing clothes wasn’t recommended. Elm Root was not entirely similar to the Black Wings, for better or for worse.

“No matter how long it takes, no matter what happens, you have to trust me fully, Kosuke. However, just in case: if I don’t wake up in 3 days, try keeping me hydrated.”

A nod, where worry clearly showed served as response. It wasn’t supposed to take this long, but this man looked lovely when kept on his toes. It wouldn’t make a bad last vision, in case the examination went horribly wrong.

Eyes shut, another long breath went in, then out, and he let his neck naturally bend forward. The centre of his being dwelled in the chest, as it was common for most artworks with a human appearance, turning it into the area they’d always protect. Elm Root was not as easy to reach: tearing his chest open would not have revealed an ancient item nor turned him to stone, instead, he had to look beyond flesh, blood, bones, deep within the magic that allowed him to function, to perceive his own core.

Consciousness withdrew from the outside world, where skin was uncomfortably hardening into wood, roots growing without the control of intention. Slowly, he’d lose his senses, human abilities swallowed by the cane, turned into a messy statue of sorts. For a second, he thought about the first person who had seen him like this, more than 400 years prior; for another, he thought about the man he loved, who would witness this most secret state.

No shame arose, for the same reason he was attempting this little experiment: Kosuke welcomed him fully and had said he loved him back. With this, however, came the haunting question: Elm Root hadn’t been destroyed, why not?

The key to finding out rested within; under the careful eye of his consciousness, the cane took shape, revealing its edges, its texture, its light. Much to his surprise, as the image of sorts got clearer, the devastated state he had sensed revealed itself to be beyond his worst prognosis. The wood had cracked, separating the piece into numerous fragments that only magic held together. The flow of power itself seemed different, in the slow, careful stream that missed the strength that usually agitated it. Weakened magic was healing, caressing the artwork to bring it back together, solidifying the fractures as it could, with quiet, attentive care.

It soon became clear that more than the structure had been affected: despite this disaster, a crucial element was clearly missing. Focus hardened, embracing the artwork in its entirety, revealing every single familiar detail, pursuing the specific sensation of constraint… in vain.

Shock brought him to his senses faster than he’d have wanted, and the perception of his numb, callous skin joined the emotions that swirled within. When Kosuke had affirmed his love… he hadn’t lied. Or, at least, Kei had lost the evidence that he had lied.

“The curse…” he said in a whisper, stiff flesh still struggling to respond. “It’s gone.”

A concerned Kosuke, who had waited all this time in front of him, rushed to place a hand on his shoulder, and Kei let himself collapse against him despite the roots taking their time to disappear. They painlessly bent; Kosuke didn’t flinch. He didn’t know what he felt. He didn’t know what to think. It was impossible. He had never lived without…

“I thought…” Kosuke started, arms closing around him “I thought that the Black Wings’ energy had passed through you when it became whole again…”

“Can this cure…?” He paused, at loss of words.

“I don’t know, but both Satoshi and Daisuke’s curses were brought to an end this day.”

It was absolutely impossible and made as much sense as the reason why Elm Root had received such a punishment in the first place.

“The cane is shattered,” Kei felt obligated to add, trying to concentrate on the steady support Kosuke’s shoulder provided instead of the confusion that clouded his thoughts.

“Can it be fixed…?”

Silence. Could it? Kei had never allowed damage on his inner structure, thus had never required maintenance before. If anyone, a Hikari could have fixed him… But…

“Perhaps Satoshi…”

“What are you saying?” Contact broke between them, Kei’s gaze now looking for his clothes. He wasn’t used to not wearing glasses for this long… “Requiring Satoshi’s assistance for this would be more than inopportune.”

“He would do it, if you asked…”

Would he? Their paths still hadn’t met since that unfinished discussion in front of the Black Wings and Kosuke was honestly suggesting asking for such a crucial favour? How blind could a man be? Satoshi knew enough to want to destroy him at the first occasion and not enough to keep him alive to satiate his curiosity: even if Kei’s purpose had already been accomplished, he wasn’t as determined to let this Hikari end his life anymore.

The pyjama and his glasses found their places, bringing some warmth and comfort back to a skin still sore from before. He needed tea…

 “You haven’t talked to him…?”

Kei’s sigh disappeared under the sound of the activated kettle. As endearing as Kosuke could be, his incorrigible naivety could become unsettling. In what world could someone like Kei let his centuries-old guard down in front of someone actively resenting him? He would never allow any Hikari near the source of his life again. In the worst-case scenario, Satoshi could even decide to modify him… He didn’t even want to think about it.

“I’ve had an idea. You and me, going somewhere on a trip…”

“I’ve never left Azumano, you know?”

“It could be in Japan, if you prefer.” Prudence permeated Kosuke’s voice. He wasn’t going to suggest that, was he? “Kyoto, or Hokkaido, for a change of scenery. Besides…”

Boiling water drowned the leaves in a cloudy mess, once, then twice. When Kei handed him a cup in a peremptory gesture, the other directed his brown eyes down, obviously invocating inspiration from the swirls of scented steam. The light coming from the window, behind him, already indicated noon…

“Daisuke and Satoshi could appreciate the experience as well.”

“I can guarantee you that Satoshi will refuse. I’m obviously not going to remind you of his introverted side.”

“We can try.”

They stood by the kitchen’s door, cup in hand, unease visible. Was the disappearance of a lifelong burden a worthy reason to abandon everything that grounded his life? Kosuke’s feelings were already so outlandish he had needed to check his own structure to conceptualise them as a reality, could he imagine an alternative to the truth? Was he even allowed to?

“He will refuse.”

“Well, even if that happens… Daisuke could appreciate the idea, right?”

Ugh. Was this even preferable? Why couldn’t they stay here, just the two of them, eating at their favourite places or finding new ones to try out? Kei could probably return to his position as police commissioner and thoroughly eradicate whoever was trying to steal his job at this moment! They wouldn’t have to worry about anything.

On one hand, climbing merciless ladders while avoiding dangerous connections with humans. On the other, leaving town for foreign lands and having a heart-to-heart with his own son. The first one shouldn’t have been the most appealing…

“If you don’t mind,” Kosuke resumed, “Let’s go have lunch for now.”

“Will Satoshi be there, somehow?”

The man let out a brief laugh and retrieved both half-full cup of tea to place them in the sink under Kei’s careful watch. The latter observed the way he moved, slow and steady, the quiet peace of his traits, his eternally messy hair, the long, alluring fingers on porcelain.

“Do you want him to be?”

“Why would I want my son to be present during a romantic date? Are you planning on making him witness all the sweet nothings you’ll whisper in my ear as you’re passing the sauce?”

The very unclear yet irrefutably confused response reached him as he was walking away to get dressed up. He didn’t need Niwa Kosuke to be on his side as existence threw hardships, discord, destruction, death at him – to be completely honest, he had done perfectly fine without him. He didn’t need this uncertain individual, with his broken moral compass, his complete inability to put on a suit properly, this desperate desire to do the right thing, even uncalled for, even ill-advised. Kei had especially never wanted to leave Azumano and find himself trapped into telling the entirety of a family saga to a Satoshi who’d stare at him while sharpening a chisel.

And he would choose Kosuke at every step of the way. Perhaps a new curse had come under the new, pleasant shape of a single man and his boundless hope.

Part 1 ◦ Part 2 ◦ Part 3 ◦ Part 4

#dnangel #mine #ask #fanfiction #2023 valentine #informant #fugitivehugs #The end! #thank you for the very inspiring prompt!

[bowie-byers]

Thread History: Season 2 Rewrite

Jonathan Byers x Steve Harrington @soemotional

Season 2 Rewrite: Thread #1 - "Episode 1: Tina's Halloween Party"

TW: Alcohol

Jonathan Byers:

Jonathan didn't want to come in the first place. Truly, he didn't. Per Nancy's hypothesis - "listening to the talking heads and reading Vonnegut" would be much more entertaining than watching a mob of sweaty bodies get 'sheet-faced' at Tina's house. The party itself was everything you'd expect a grimy house party to be. Corey Hart's synth heavy I Wear Sunglasses at Night blared from the home speaker system as he watched his classmates grind to MTV's Top 100 of '95. Jonathan's brief (and unsuccessful) interaction with Samantha left him standing awkwardly by the kitchen counter. And as much as his costume made sense, showing up as the guy who hates parties had its drawbacks - the first being that he wearing a sweater and denim overcoat. The layers of fabric coupled with the main floor's sticky fog induced beads of sweat to drip between his back and the orange wool of his crewneck. It was an entirely uncomfortable experience. The biggest pitfall to his costume, however, was the fact that he couldn't recoil under a disguise. Although most people around him were drunk, it was hard not to feel like a complete loser standing by the kitchen island with an untouched solo cup. He was honestly on the verge of leaving before the night took a turn for the worst. It all started with commotion coming down the staircase. He saw Steve blow past him first, trekking down towards the back patio door. It wasn't a good sign. Nancy was soon to follow, stumbling down the stairs a few beats later. Jonathan's fate was sealed as soon as she spotted him. Her request came out in a tearful string of syllables. Nancy was okay but she needed him to drive Steve home - and she didn't want to talk about it further right now. It managed to dull his worry ... Slightly. Nancy made sure to emphasize that Steve lived near his place before slurring an apology and taking off for the front door. It was common knowledge - the Harringtons were his neighbours - but it left Jonathan running a unsteady hand through his hair. While the Harrington residence was nearby the Byers residence, there wasn't time for drunk negotiations right now, especially not if he wanted to pick up Will from his trick-or-treating adventures before curfew.

Jonathan thumbed his solo cup, weighing his options before eventually making his way to the back patio door, cheeks flushing as he met cool October night. A silver moon hung in the sky and casted shadows among the throng of teenagers. Jonathan spotted the back of Steve's head near a group by the communal keg. Fucking fantastic. He tunnel visioned on the task at hand and stalked across the grass with both hands firmly rooted in his pockets. "Hey-" He spoke up, pulling on the shoulder of Steve's leather coat. It's probably the closest he'd been to him since their run-in with the Demogorgon last fall. "I'm your ride home." He noticed drunk bystanders oggling him for the interruption. Seeing a shirtless Billy out of the corner of his eyes only pressed his nerves further. Plus, booze radiating from Steve made him suspect that he wouldn't be interested in leaving just yet. It amplified irritation in Jonathan's tone. "I have to pick up Will before 10pm so it's time to go, Tom Cruise." He lowered his voice, shooting a glance behind himself towards the main house. The jab at Steve's costume was all in good fun but there's no denying that it was an incredibly boring choice - not to mention predictable.

Steve Harrington:

tina's house party was shaping up to be the best night of the year! steve harrington's senior year was really shaping up to be one of the greatest, he had the girl, he had the popularity, and all of the craziness from last fall had finally seemed to fizzle. he might've been down a tommy h and a carol, but he was up a nancy wheeler, so did it really matter? even that new kid, billy, failed to get under his skin. not tonight, tonight was his. he loved his costume, nance looked great, and neither of them made any effort to pace themselves between the kitchen and the dance floor. it was all great! any thoughts of barb or the discussions nancy and himself had been having about her were long out of mind. that was, until, something happened with nancy's shirt? steve didn't really remember, the room had gotten all spinny about thirty minutes ago. but the next thing he knew, he was in the bathroom, arguing with nancy and struggling to keep up. if there was one thing that cut through his drunken haze though, it was the distinct little like that came before we're in love. steve had to repeat it like it wasn't a karate chop to the gut. before he knew it, nancy was gone, and his feet were carrying him to the backyard. so much for greatest night of the year...now he didn't have nancy, and he didn't have his keg stand record either. well, he could do something about that more immediately. with his hands on his hips, steve did what he did best and tried to raise attention to himself. "listen up party people!" he clapped his hands together and began to walk around in a circle, his one man parade, "i hear my keg king crown has been questioned?" his words slurred, laughing wryly to his audience, "well i say no to that! no! somebody give me a hand!" steve's eyes watched the crowd, wondering who might come forward. a hand yanked at his shoulder and he whipped around, "alright! that's what i'm..." his expression fell, trying to focus on the features of this guys face, "byers?" he murmured. clearly, confused. the pair had a bit of a history, and steve had mostly put it all behind him, until now. maybe it was because he was fresh off getting his heart stomped in the bathroom, but jonathan's very presence felt like a threat. "fuck off man, don't fucking touch me..." he continued with mumbled speech, "don't need a ride home..." steve went to turn around, ready to ignore jonathan until spoke again, more terse this time. steve blew air out of his lips then rolled his eyes as he turned away from the party, "okay, mom." he complained, bumping his shoulder into jonathan's as he walked past him, and through the house. at the foot of the driveway, steve stood with his hands on his hips, "which piece of shit is yours?" man, his vision was getting really blurry.

Jonathan Byers:

Byers. He hated it. He hated the way that Steve said it. Like he was a stranger in his own hometown. Everything about this interaction felt dismissive. The fluster mushroomed down his neck, jaw clenching as Steve knocked him on his escapade back to Tina's house. Maybe he should have left him here. Steve knew how to make a scene, that's for sure.Jonathan swallowed hard, turning on his heel to follow. Was he a fucking toddler? The guy was still a prick regardless of their collective near death experience. Not even shiniest camera replacement on earth could change that. Nancy claimed to love the guy - saw something worthwhile in him, but it wasn’t a secret that love needed to consist of more than spiritless hallway groping. He really couldn't understand why Nancy was drawn to him. Everything about Steve was manufactured – from his clothing down to his personality. Jonathan brushed past Steve at the base of Tina's driveway. “The Ford Galaxie.” He grumbled; gaze narrowing on the rusted hood of his 1971 Ford Galaxie down the block. It remained a mark of his family’s socio-economic status in town. Well-used and disdained. He didn’t check to see if Steve was keeping up as he pattered down the asphalt. He simply sauntered to the driver’s side of his car and unlocked the vehicle. “Careful with the handle.” It was all he said before hopping in the front seat. The latch would probably rip off if the idiot yanked on it hard enough. Most bells and whistles built into the car were on their last leg, anyway. Jonathan’s only confirmation of Steve being in the car was reverb of the opposing door slamming shut.

He didn’t waste time pressing his clutch and brake pedal into the floorboard, accompanied by his key turning into the ignition. “Put your fucking seatbelt on.” He calmly instructed, not bothering to look over at his passenger. Swearing wasn’t characteristic for him. Most of the time he opted to use actual words like an adult. Yet the lingering impatience encouraged it to slip. He occupied himself with the stereo controls on his dash. Jonathan wasn’t even sure if Steve already had his seatbelt on, but he was certain that he didn’t hear the familiar click. The Smith’s tape from earlier picked up where it left off - This Charming Man was a cheerful start for his evening as a taxi driver. Will always requested it for the jangly beat, though the lyrics were sullen. Cryptic and laced with sexual ambiguity characteristic of Morrisey’s storytelling. Perfect to occupy Steve Harrington’s vapid brain for the drive home. Jonathan straightened his wheel and used his mirrors to pull out of the cul-de-sac. He paid particular attention to children bouncing around on the street.

Steve Harrington:

steve harrington knew a thing or two about cars, even inebriated. buddy harrington owned a dealership just outside of town and was a self proclaimed luxury automobile dealer, meaning he skipped town a lot to drive back fancy cars for his fancy customers. long story short, he was instantly able to clock jonathan's car and hummed, "1971" as he got into the front seat, holding the latch. he walked his fingers along the interior as he obnoxiously commented to jonathan, "you know, you could stand to get this hunk of junk detailed." he wasn't trying to be a dick, but he had no idea what else he could even talk about with jonathan byers. the alternative was simple, just don't talk, but he was drunk, and babbling was fairly high up on the agenda. as jonathan told him to put his seatbelt on, steve snickered, "put your fucking seatbelt on." he mocked, clicking the strap into place. "turn this shit off! jeez, you are so predictable, byers." steve whined as some jaunty loner music blasted through the car. everything was still spinning as he turned onto another street. "you're a shitty driver." he complained further, gripping the bottom of his seat. he closed his eyes, trying to shove down his stomach lurching. without any regard for their speed, steve shouted, "pull over!" and began opening his door to take care of his business.

Jonathan Byers:

Jonathan couldn’t initially tell if Steve pointed out the year of his car to be a jerk. The follow-up commentary about the state of his vehicle confirmed that he was, in fact, being an asshole. His only engagement with the trash talk came when Steve pointed out that he should get his car detailed.“No shit.” He responded under his breath – It’s not like he hadn’t thought about it before. Paying for everything was entirely different story. Frankly, the more Steve blabbered and mocked him, the more Jonathan realized that this entire drive was going to feel extremely long. He did his best to ignore – it was better to keep his mouth shut. Last time they got into a fight, it didn’t end terribly for one of them in particular. Jonathan turned down the music slightly to appease his rowdy passenger but kept the same tape going. Nothing in him wanted to fuck around with the stereo right now – he was on a mission. The operation entailed ending this favour to Nancy as fast as possible. So, he continued to brush off Steve’s backseat driving and turned down a few residential streets to get onto the main highway that connected all of Hawkins' polarizing neighborhoods.

Jonathan wasn’t a shit driver. He was actually a really careful driver – and Steve’s sudden demand to pull over kicked his fight or flight response into gear. “Are you serious?” He flung a quick glance over at Steve and then back at the road. Yeah - Steve was obviously drunk, but nothing made him suspect that he was this drunk. It’s not like Jonathan was paying much attention when they were both walking down the driveway earlier. He quickly flicked on his right turning light, checking to see if there was a car behind them before transitioning onto the shoulder of the road. Thankfully it was deserted at this time of night. The only thing around them were stretches of agricultural land and a starlit sky. When he looked back at Steve, he saw that the guy was already trying to open the door. The car hadn’t even come to a full stop yet.“Wait - Steve!” He hissed, coming to a full stop. Steve was already outside by the time Jonathan undid his seatbelt and got out of the car. He bee-lined around the hood to find him spilling his guts into the field. Fuck. Jonathan stood awkwardly on the pavement for a moment. Hearing the dry heaving saw his uneasy expression falter to concern. In any other circumstance Jonathan would be wary of Steve punching his lights out but anxiety sitting in his stomach pushed his feet forward. Jonathan approached the other and crouched down, placing one hand on Steve’s back. His other hand flipped under Steve’s bangs to hold back his hair. “You alright?” He asked, trying to stabilize him.

Steve Harrington:

jonathan byers always bugged steve harrington. his beady little eyes, his worn down clothes, his relationship with nancy. technically they were neighbors, but their families were everything short of friendly. steve recalled going to the grocery store with his mother as a child, he remembered her grabbing his hand and sneering as she passed joyce byers and her boys. it was always more unspoken on his end, until last fall when they physically came to blows, then somehow came together to torch that freaky monster thing. they'd managed to keep their distance, allow things to quiet down over the span of the year. there was a broken camera and a shiny new one between them, and steve was fine drawing the line there. it seemed though, tonight, they wouldn't be able to leave all that behind them. and truth be told? steve didn't want to. his mood had been soured enough by nancy dumping him, that jonathan was unfortunately going to bear the drunken brunt. he'd tried hard over the past year, he really had, to ignore his own urge to scowl, scoff, or tease about jonathan byers. but that was all for nancy. no point in that anymore. then something confusing happened. as he was spewing his stomach into the grass, jonathan followed. steve tried waving the other away considering he couldn't really muster the words to say fuck off. even after his stomach was empty, steve couldn't stop coughing and gagging on his own saliva. the spinning world pleaded for him to get the rest out, but he had nothing left to give. he felt frantic, embarrassed that jonathan was watching him. usually, steve would handle something like this in the privacy of his bathroom, spare the world any hint of weakness or undesirable...ness from steve harrington. that wasn't an option in this case and while his first instinct was to shrug jonathan off of him, he felt oddly comforted by the other. the hand on his back anchored him down and without his bangs obstructing his vision, steve felt like he could breathe. feeling an entirely new type of warm, he eyed jonathan, skeptical. steve swallowed his confusion, then shook his head as he muttered, "i must be like, really fuckin' drunk..." he closed his eyes for a second, then rose to his feet with the help of jonathan. steve still eyed him, cautious and confused. was he supposed to say thank you? instead steve smacked his lips, pretended like he didn't enjoy being held up by jonathan, and asked, "are we like close...?" that's not what he meant to ask, "i mean, do you think we could like, walk...the car is..." he made a vague spinning motion with his hands.

Jonathan Byers:

Jonathan continued to bend down, palm pressing into Steve’s back. I must be like, really fuckin’ drunk. The admission cracked a small smile from him. No shit. “Um – Yeah, I guess a few cups of punch will do that.” Jonathan retracted the hand brushing along Steve’s hairline as he struggled to stand, sweaty bangs flapping back down on his forehead. He supported Steve's frame, locking eyes with him for what was probably the first time since tracking the guy down on Tina’s lawn. He caught something vulnerable in Steve’s gaze – a glint of something entirely human. It differed from the disparaging stare he’d sometimes receive from him in the hallways of Hawkins High – or if he was caught having a friendly chat with Nancy between classes. Jonathan couldn’t put his finger on what it was ... but it was entirely unfiltered for a change. The tenderness didn't last long - it vanished the moment Steve smacked his lips, but he wouldn't forget it. His brows proceeded to furrow, trying to register the comment about being close. Technically, they were close right now. In fact, being this close to Steve Harrington occupied a special place in the landscapes of his nightmares. Shockingly, this moment lacked all the hostility from those imagined scenarios. "Sure ... " He nodded slowly, trying to register how he was supposed to get Steve home without a car. The Harrington residence was about a 15 minute walk away from their current stance on the curb. He'd have to walk back to his car after. "Yeah - I uh, I guess we can walk." He confirmed, squeezing a hand into his back pocket for his car keys. He locked his car and then draped Steve's arm over his shoulders, holding up the duo up by linking his own arm around Steve's waist - hand cupping his torso.

They proceeded to trudge along the shoulder of the road, taking time to ensure that Steve wouldn’t fall over – and stay within the road lines. He figured that Steve was pretty focused on not vomiting. A cool breeze permeated his jacket, and the tips of his ears burned the longer they walked in the brisk cold. Crickets began humming in the fields. Jonathan largely accepted by now that there was no way he’d pick up Will on time. He knew he’d face the consequences later. For now, he walked in silence with Steve – allowing several beats of silence to hang between them until Jonathan finally spoke up. The tickle of worry from his conversation with Nancy bubbled up his chest. Maybe it was the spark of vulnerability from earlier – but he felt daring as he broke silence between them. “Nancy looked pretty upset tonight.” He said softly, tongue poking around his inner cheek, peeking over at Steve. “Is … everything – you know … okay?”

Steve Harrington:

steve was both relieved and surprised that jonathan honored his request to walk the rest of the way. part of him felt compelled to say you're a good guy, byers. but the words died on his lips. partially because he wasn't sure if he believed it, and partially because he was pretty sure jonathan didn't want to hear it. instead he leaned on jonathan, because otherwise, he'd be falling all over the place. his stomach lurched again, but steve ignored it, trying to focus on the october cold stinging his skin. he stumbled along with jonathan, not minding the silence. it was better than byers' weirdo music or nancy's harsh words rattling and pulsing in his skull. steve tended to be someone who preferred to fill his life with sound, block out anything real, but right now he welcome the quietly trilling insects and distant screaming of trick or treaters. the bliss came to an end as byers prodded about nancy. steve audibly winced and dramatically shook his head before providing the curt answer of, "she broke up with me, doesn't love me. whatever. bullshit." then almost immediately, steve lurched over and spilled his guts again. his recovery this time was shorter. in fact, he pulled away from jonathan and pointed a finger at him while the other remained on his hip, "i'm sure you're happy to hear it, but no more fuckin' questions about nancy." if he was alone, steve probably would've been able to cry about it, but instead, he shimmied back up to jonathan's side and finished the journey home in silence.

as always, the harrington household was unoccupied. steve couldn't remember where his parents were this weekend, but he was just glad they were gone. once they got up the steps that lead to steve's door, he peeled himself off of jonathan and tried to steady himself against the door as he shuffled his feet over the mat in the front so the key would appear. expecting jonathan to screw off. steve closed his eyes, grunting in frustration like a child as he turned his back against the door and slid downwards. on the ground, he had easier access to the mat, which he was able to pull the key out from beneath. when his eyes opened, he clocked jonathan nearby and quipped, "what's that saying, take a picture it'll last longer? where's your little camera now, byers?" in his drunken state steve had deduced jonathan was only here for some sick satisfaction. grumbling about it under his breath, steve began his struggle in trying to stand and unlock the door.

Jonathan Byers:

It was a mistake. He knew it as soon as Steve winced. Bringing up Nancy would be the downfall of this peaceful evening stroll. Much like everything between the pair – Nancy always managed to influence their tumultuous dynamic. It’s not that Jonathan wanted to poke the bear, he really didn’t - He was genuinely concerned. Part of him even suspected that Steve’s self-inflicted drunken stupor was a product of whatever happened before he witnessed the lovebirds bolt down Tina’s staircase. Therefore, hearing that they broke up wasn’t surprising at all. Anyone in town with a pair of eyes and two brain cells could see that what they had wasn’t love - whatever the fuck that meant. Jonathan was, however, taken aback by Steve’s tone. Nancy was his friend, sure – and he cared for her deeply, but she didn’t choose him after everything that happened last fall. She ran back to King Steve. He'd largely accepted that fact, regardless of any feelings that bubbled up to the surface when they started talking again. It was glaringly clear that Jonathan wasn’t the type of person worthy of dating a Wheeler, anyway. And even if he was – he’d be an afterthought, the second choice. The person chosen in lieu of a shinier toy. The saddest part of this revelation resided in the fact that he’d welcome that title with open arms. Every time. Jonathan was happy to obey Steve's plea to shut up. He gladly kept quiet for the rest of the walk home, pausing to let Steve vomit briefly along the way.

As they approached the Harrington home, he felt Steve pull away from his frame. He let him stumble towards the front door and strayed behind. Jonathan wasn’t entirely interested in entering the home, but figured he’d at least wait to make sure that Steve had the mental capacity to enter on his own. He stood by the porch stairs, watching the weirdo flail around on the ground like a worm. It was almost laughable – until Steve opened his mouth again. The jab about the pictures stung deep in his chest. He’d regret that night for the rest of his life – yet he couldn’t seem to shake it off. It was a constant reminder of his status as Hawkins’ resident creep. And while he didn’t lose his temper often, the hurt bled through his self-control. Jonathan trotted up the steps, nostrils flaring as he got closer. He kept his cool throughout the evening – pursing his lips and nodding off all the garbage that left Steve’s mouth, but the commentary rose above an acceptable threshold. He grabbed the collar of Steve’s leather jacket, dragging him up from where he struggled to stand, knocking him back against the door in the process. “I could have fucking left you there” He spat it out rather coolly, lower jaw jutting as he looked Steve straight in the eye. The dig materialized from a place of hurt, and he couldn’t take it back. He simply took a breath and released the vice-grip on Steve’s jacket, letting him crumple back down. He wasn’t about to beat up a drunk guy. Instead, he grabbed the keys from Steve's hand and worked at unlocking the door.

Steve Harrington:

steve wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it hadn't been to be knocked into his own front door by jonathan byers. jonathan beat his ass last fall, but steve had insisted that was a fluke, didn't let it hurt his pride too much. he got the girl in the end after all, and even if he always wondered about how nancy talked about jonathan, they were a couple at the end of the day. he was the one who got to come up to her and kiss her in the halls. steve loved nancy, plain and simple. he never had any grand plans for his life, but following in his parents footsteps and settling down with nance never seemed so bad. but now that was out of the question. maybe nancy didn't love him, and maybe jonathan winning that fight wasn't a fluke, and maybe steve was just a fucking wuss who couldn't keep a girlfriend, and couldn't beat that stupid fucking new kid that tommy h was drooling over-- billy hargrove. so when jonathan hurled venomous words his way, steve merely rolled his eyes in a drunken stupor and shoved jonathan off of him halfheartedly, "you fuckin-- shoulda..." he slurred, sitting on the ground for a moment, trying not to freak out about nancy. then he abruptly wobbled to his feet, pushed his hair from his eyes and made a declaration, "screw this." steve didn't care that it was october, or that it was cold, or that he really should just get some water and lay down. instead, he left jonathan at work on the door and circled back around to the pool in the backyard. he stood at the edge, swaying like he might fall in, but miraculously he didn't. when jonathan joined him, steve couldn't combat his scoff, "what're you still doin' here, man?"

-THIS THREAD IS CONTINUING OVER TUMBLR REBLOGS-

#Episode1:TinasHalloweenParty #soemotional #season2rewrite

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | The Deer Hunter (Cimino, 1978)

After stepping through Heaven's Gate spending a couple of Desperate Hours over the last weekend, I was still in a Michael Cimino mood so I decided to... become The Deer Hunter... by rewatching The Deer Hunter. Sorry, that was terrible. I promise I won't partake in any more awful attempted wordplay in this review. Anyway, after my qualms with the construction of both of those movies, it was nice to be reminded, after probably fifteen years since my last viewing, how well paced this one is. I think one of the more common complaints about this is the length of the wedding sequence in the first hour, but I think it's a pretty essential part of the movie and the runtime is well used. Over this hour, you get the sense of the community the heroes come from, and the amount of time Cimino devotes to capturing life in this town allows us to grasp its rhythms and contradictions. A lesser movie would paint it in saccharine sentiment or glib generalizations (I think of one particularly on the nose moment from We Were Soldiers where characters mistake racism for strict laundry rules), but Cimino's camera does not shy away from uglier moments, like the depressing normalcy of violence against women. There's a novelistic richness here with the level of detail and specificity, the fact that the community is only a generation or two away from its immigrant roots, the fact that most of the men are employed by the steel mill and that there isn't much else to do around here, each character's virtues and flaws being slowly shaded in. This may not be a perfect town, or even every town, but it's theirs.

The languorous pacing of the first act also sets up the sledgehammer impact of the second act, when we're plunged into the thick of combat and then the notorious Russian Roulette torture scene. This stretch only lasts for around half an hour (and we maybe spend an hour in Vietnam, apologies if I'm off by a few minutes, my watch is low on batteries), but it casts a pall over the rest of the movie. Any semblance of normalcy we had in that first hour has been shattered. The movie has been criticized for its monstrous depiction of the Vietnamese, and I think the points leveled against it are fair. But the movie is upfront about channeling the Vietnam War from the American experience, and from that perspective there's maybe a certain emotional honesty in reveling in such ugliness. If you're going to depict characters struggling with PTSD and try to show the completeness of their experience, it makes sense to depict their time in combat with raw, unmitigated terror. I recognize this puts the movie in morally compromised territory, but on a gut level, I was moved.

Now, when I last watched this as a teenager, I'd found much of the last third, whereupon Robert De Niro returns from Vietnam and takes up with Meryl Streep, to be a little boring. I can offer two such reasons for having held this opinion. One, as all teenage boys can attest, all girls have cooties, and that extends to multiple Oscar Winner Meryl Streep. Two, I was very much hoping that the movie would get (back) to the Russian Roulette factory and found the return to small town Pennsylvania kinda slow. (Before you ask, I was and probably still am very much a film bro, although mostly but not entirely loving The Deer Hunter is hardly the worst opinion a film bro can have. The worst opinion a film bro can have is liking The Boondock Saints, of which I am still guilty as charged. Sorry, Willem Dafoe is so funny in that movie.) Thankfully, I've now atoned for my thoughtcrime, and now recognize that Streep, like practically everybody in this movie, is great, and that the offness of that last hour is integral to the movie's effect.

If we're gonna step back into the Cimino Corner, as far as female performance go, I think I preferred Isabelle Huppert in Heaven's Gate than Streep here, although Huppert's role is emotionally loadbearing while Streep's is auxiliary by definition. And I think the offness allows us to feel on a gut level the difficulty of readjusting to "normal" life when you've been through such a harrowing experience. The depictions of wilderness provide an easy to grasp example. The forest is breathtaking in its beauty in that first hour, but having been through the Vietnamese jungle and its evil aura, it is difficult to feel that same emotion when we go for another hunting trip after having come home. (De Niro finds himself unable to kill a deer upon his return, something Cimino compensated for by killing way more animals for real in his next movie.) We have a few characters whose versions of masculinity are not completely aligned but in close enough proximity before going to war, drift apart in this respect upon their return as they struggle to readjust in different ways. Christopher Walken, whose performance is probably the most showy, goes to one extreme, John Savage the most vulnerable, and De Niro the most withdrawn. I think the other performance of his that this most brings to mind is The Irishman. The characters in question are very different in most respects, but both lack the ability to articulate their experiences, benefit from that particular contemplative quietness De Niro brings.

So yeah, good movie. Check it out, folks.

#film #movie review #the deer hunter #michael cimino #oh deer

[petrichorvoices]

Hello! Thank you so much for your message about Cotard's! That was literally what I needed! /pos /gen

But I think i also need some stuff about OCD and PTSD as well, especially which stereotypes to avoid ^^;

please don't use tone tags for us!! not upset, just a boundary

uhhh hm well. there are lots of types of OCD, not just the cleanliness or order ones that everyone knows about. our OCD mostly manifests as a morality thing, by which i mean that most of our obsessions center around whether or not we're a good person. as a result, the compulsions we get relate to like, environmentalism, activism, and similar. like, we HAVE to make sure that the lights are turned off if we're not using them, because otherwise we're wasting power and that makes us a horrible and irredeemable person, or if we tap our left thigh we also have to tap our right thigh because if we don't then it "proves" that we're a disgusting person who can't be trusted to be fair and unbiased about things, and thus we're not a good person

we've heard that someone's obsessions often center around something that they find absolutely horrible or irredeemable, and that they thus get intrusive thoughts about. like, someone with POCD gets intrusive thoughts about that because it's one of the worst things they can think about and so on. we don't have a source for that atm due to low spoons so don't take it as gospel

it'd be nice to see a character with OCD that has a type that isn't "just right" OCD or cleanliness OCD. while they're very common, they're far from the only ones. we didn't realize we have OCD for years because we didn't realize moral scrupulosity OCD or whatnot is a thing. either way depending on what type of OCD your character has, i'd recommend asking someone with that type specifically about what it's like

and i think most of us with OCD know that our obsessions are unreasonable, but it doesn't stop them from being distressing

i think a common misconception to avoid..... there's this post about someone who had a compulsion where she'd constantly check if the toaster or whatever was turned off, and sometimes she'd leave work to check it. so someone suggested she bring the toaster with her so she could check it was turned off all day, and bam, cured! well, not exactly. the thing is if you manage to "solve" one compulsion, you're just going to get another compulsion. ultimately the compulsions aren't what need to be treated, the obsessions and intrusive thoughts are. so i guess my point here is to focus less on the compulsions and more on the obsessions, the root cause

uhhh PTSD. it's....... tbh we've worked through most of our PTSD. we don't talk about it in therapy anymore and we're rarely triggered by things we used to break down over. that's not to say that our PTSD is cured, but that is to say that our current experience with PTSD is that of someone who's sought and gone through treatment for it

that's a thing people don't seem to acknowledge much. PTSD can get better. it takes years, and what the trauma was, when it happened, who it happened to, etc can all affect that, but PTSD can in fact get better

what else..... someone doesn't react to the same trigger the exact same way every time. someone could have a trigger that they normally don't notice, but one day they come across it when they're in a bad mood and they have a panic attack. PTSD is rarely if ever formulaic. something we noticed when we were in the thick of it was that it tended to be unpredictable. hell, sometimes we'd have a bad day and a trigger wouldn't do much to us, but then on a good day the same trigger would ruin us. it's kinda super fucky that way

a thing you can do in therapy for PTSD is to recontextualize and reclaim triggers. one of our biggest triggers used to be music by Keaton Henson. through therapy and personal work, we've managed to turn it back into comfort music. and this doesn't happen by avoiding it. it's kind of a, like. the only way out of PTSD is through it. you don't desensitize yourself to triggers by ignoring them and pretending they don't exist

i guess for stereotypes like. try to make your character more than just their PTSD. even with PTSD it can sometimes be hard to remember that you're more than your trauma but it's really important that characters with PTSD aren't reduced to solely that

sorry this is rambly & incoherent, we've been having one of those days, plus we're slightly tipsy. feel free to ask for clarification at some other point when we'll hopefully cohere better

#long post #ask #badger stream

[icybreaths]

💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍 (*holds the paste button forever*)

|| Time to talk about ships || @apocalypta-secundus ||

//Mila came in and left NO survivors, so now I'll proceed to not shut up!

Jewel and Kakos

OCxOC ship and both characters are mine. Their story is set in heavy themes of unbalanced power dynamics, PTSD, suicide ideation and attempts, domestic abuse/trauma, toxic love, murder attempts, and learning how to break free from that cycle. She dumped him in a fight where she severed his arm off. I could go for hours about them because they're rooted deep in one another and brought out the best and worst of each other, and those experiences eventually lead to the both of them getting help for their mental states. I don't forgive you but I'm grateful you were there when you were.

Jewel and Tetsuji

OCxOC ship and both characters are mine. Tetsuji was a fresh transfer from another division and he fell for Jewel right away, but she was still raw from her traumas from Kakos so she wasn't having it at first. Theirs was a slower build. They became friends first and through spending more time together and sharing things in common, Jewel softened around him enough to try a date, two, three... They got together but they didn't last. Jewel's power had increased to levels to where she was uncomfortable to touch for long or to have sex with (they're both sexual creatures so it was frustrating). Worst of all, she was repeating some of her abusive trauma related behaviors on Tetsuji and he wasn't having that. He dumped her in an argument. Jewel needed time to look at her actions and realize what she had done wrong, but when she tried to ask for forgiveness he wouldn't hear it. She knew she had lost something good. He was a genuinely good person. It was a reflective time for her. They eventually reconciled as friends. Then best friends. :')

Jewel and Grimmjow

CanonxOC ship and B O Y. I'd kill to have a partner to write this ship with. I have infinite muse for them. So many different ideas for a myriad of verses and AUs. Different dynamics. Plots. Art. Headcanons. My arsenal's overflowing with Them. I understand my open adoration of them may push some people away lmao but I just can't! Contain it! It's in my rules that none of my ideas are meant to force anything on anyone that writes him so I'm content to yell about them. I'd rather blab about them until my heart's content than hold it all in, otherwise here I'd be seven years later with no wall of blurbs on this blog or a ship pardner. At least I have one rn! I will say that I'm looking for key things with someone who portrays Grimm. Unafraid to be violent. Doesn't lean on 'cat traits' I see a lot in fanon (you do you if that fits your interpretation ofc!). Likes ladies lmaoo. And slow burn! They would take a fair bit of development to get to that shippy point (at least I feel that way. She's vibed with some Grimms in the past where they got on p quickly! So I don't rule that out.) Need a communicative partner (that doesn't mind plotting when needed.) I've yelled about them 23432t57823431 times but basically I'm super into them bonding as kindred souls that understand each other on an instinctual level, where they can 100% be themselves and not have to hold anything back. They're ride or dies while also not tying the other down. They're drawn to one another because the other's soul feels like home, maybe something else who knows. No one's eager to talk about it. Also I feel like even though they're both chaotic they bring out healthy traits in one another, even some subtle ones and that's juicy to me. I went ham on blurbing them here. Blurbs that link to more blurbs because my brain never shuts up about them. My brain's like: 'GrimmJe tho' and I'm like 'wow you're so right' single tear with feeling.

Jewel and Bazz-B

CanonxOC ship, with your Bazz ;D This one was all your fault, Mila!! Ofc after you brought it up to me it didn't take me long to see it. Fire and ice ship got me fucked up so they got their own verse. Here we are. Made me break my own shipping rules LOL. Glad I did because I adore them. Jewel finds him annoying but also endearing in some ways. He's a lil shit but not so bad that she'd toss him into a frozen lake probably. Given her past experiences (OC ships) she's unsure, but Bazz doesn't seem bad, minus them quarreling during the war ahem- but that was a different time. He's able to handle her coldness and zanpakuto, which is a huge thing to her. Skilled fighter. Difficult to defeat. A bit of a tease. Has nice hair? hello?? Gives her space but also enjoys her company. He has her interest. They're a ship that's a wip, but as of now they seem to have no problem hitting on each other. Jewel especially acts brazen at times. sorry if she comes off Strong at times tybw jewel loses fucks to give and it stays that way onward hwfweioifw There's a hesitation in Jewel here though. She wonders how he would perceive her in her most feral state, the worst rotting frostbite on her, just all the 'ugliness' of her out in the open. She has a better hold on her reiatsu and blade, but that old battle worn state of being can still resurface and make her look like a walking corpse skeleton. She's like, 'hmm that'd suck if that ran him off but this is fun for now, maybe he won't be bothered when he sees it. it is what it is.'

#apocalypta-secundus #[ asks ] #kakoje.txt #tetsuje.txt #grimmje.txt #bazzje.txt #geez this is long SORRY ABOUT IT--- #i love her ships so much //weeps #longpost cw

[thelittlepalmtree]

It's really annoying to see all the jokes about like "why would some 500 year old fairy man fall in love with an illiterate 19 year old??" Because like 1) just say ACOTAR like this isn't a common trope. 2) Did it ever occur to you to analyze WHY women fantasize about men who are centuries old? Because that part is not specific to ACOTAR.

The truth is that in fantasy romance the majority of the story is FANTASY including the romance tropes. And what makes fantasy great is that you don't have to experience it. Enemies to lovers is an incredibly popular trope but like 90% of people probably don't fall in love with people they initially disliked. And personally, that is my worst nightmare, that someone I intensely dislike is secretly harboring feelings for me. Romance is not about real love which is a fulfilling and difficult process that requires a lot of discomfort.

Romance is rooted in the true heroine's journey in my opinion. In MOST MAJOR (I didn't say all so don't tell me that some 200 person tribe in Australia is the exception) cultures the majority of women were relegated to the domestic sphere. Most of our women ancestors relied entirely on their father and then their husband for their social and economic status and had little means of choosing their partner or leaving him. So while men experienced the hero's journey and fantasized about war and monsters (things most men would not want to experience in real life), women fantasized about a husband who could maintain a high social and economic status but was also totally devoted to her and their children. They fantasized about difficulties that could test such a partner and prove he would prioritize them and fight for them. And of course, because women are and were the oppressed class these stories were seen as silly or frivolous while the heroes were seen as intellectual and universal.

So what does this have to do with the 500 year old vampire, fairy lord, wizard, etc? Well the fantasy here is that you would have a partner who waited his entire centuries long life for you. He has infinite stories to tell and yet he finds you fascinating. He may have been with other women but they all fall away when compared to his one true love. He's also usually rich and powerful because, again, women historically relied on their husbands for riches and power. The added element in modern romance is that he elevates the heroine to his level without her having to take centuries to work at it. She benefits from his experience.

You might be thinking "but it's so unrealistic that he would fall in love with a nobody like that." Well it's unrealistic that Odysseus was the only man who could string his bow, it's unrealistic that Theseus defeated a minotaur with string, or that Batman can outwit superheros, or that Luke Skywalker defeated emperor Palpatine. In "real life" all of those characters would likely have died in the first leg of their journey. But we, as a whole, don't find those stories to be offensive because a relatable character completes a remarkable task, in fact that's literally the reason people like those stories.

Wait, wait, I know the next complaint, "Well it encouraged girls to be attracted to old men." Somehow I don't see you complaining that marvel encourages little boys to put on costumes and fight crime, or that Percy Jackson teaches little boys to wrestle aligators. We're all very concerned about little girls looking for five hundred year old magical men to fuck. Maybe that's because you don't think girls are as smart as boys. Maybe it's because we don't teach girls or boys how to be safe in relationships. Either way, the issue isn't the romance, it's how we raise our children and the many other ways we educate young people. Is it possible that some stories in the genre are problematic? Of course! But that's a features of stories not of a particular genre.

You can say you care about women, but at the end of the day this is just another way to tear down femininity. You're doing the same thing the patriarchy has always done, discrediting something that women experience together because if it belongs to us it must be destroyed. How silly and ridiculous and even dangerous for any woman to think that she could be loved by a powerful man. How petty and frivolous for women to have dreams of their own. It's only a literary tradition as old and varied as language itself.

If you don't like the trope, that's fine, but don't act like it's any more ridiculous than the dumb shit men havr obsessed over for centuries.

#acotar

[nationalcandidacenter]

National Candida Center Announces Natural Leaky Gut Treatment Programme Florida/October-November 2022:

Digestive disorders are as common in the United States as headaches, but they are frequently misdiagnosed, mistreated, or even ignored. The root causes of Leaky Gut Syndrome remain a mystery to modern medicine, making it one of the most perplexing disorders.

Today, we'd like to introduce you to National Candida Center, Inc. developed by DR. BRUCE VINIKAS (Dr. B, DOM, AP).  It is one of the first holistic all-natural medicine clinics for all areas of digestive challenges like dysbiosis, IBS, IBD, UC, candida and leaky gut.

"I believe we are here to enjoy life in all its abundance and diversity, not cower in fear and limitation. It is easier to wear a pair of slippers than to carpet the world. My passion is to assist others who want to turn their life around and LIVE fully.  Life or death begins along the shores of the alimentary canal. When the Fire in the Belly is re-ignited, the whole body transforms into vitality and radiant health,"says Dr. B. 

Although many people may have had Leaky Gut Syndrome for a long time, the term may still be unfamiliar to them. Bloating, cramps and gas, aches and pains, and food sensitivities are just some of the symptoms of Leaky Gut Syndrome. The worst part is that many doctors aren't fully aware or sure what it is.

Since the many symptoms could be indicative of anything from depression to schizophrenia it takes a particularly perceptive, experienced and well-versed clinician to make an accurate diagnosis.  

In short, Leaky Gut Syndrome is a condition that is hard to understand. Doctors know for sure that it is real, but they don't know much about what causes it or how to treat it. Symptoms of a leaky gut are typically treated with anti-inflammatory and antioxidant medication, as well as dietary changes like eliminating gluten and casein and replacing them with antifungal and low-sugar options. It's also recommended that you take prebiotics and probiotics.

However, many people go undiagnosed and untreated because not enough doctors are willing to put in the time and effort required to arrive at an accurate diagnosis. More and more people will try alternative medicine because they are unhappy with the results of the treatment their doctor has given them.

Dr. B says that having Leaky Gut Syndrome indicates serious digestive system dysfunction. Detoxification is important to heal the gut because it produces so many substances crucial to health and well-being. Your gut is responsible for digesting and absorbing nutrients, which provide your body with the energy necessary for movement, growth, and repair. It is essentially the groundskeeper of the immune system.

Instead of spending a lot of money on tests that may or may not give you clear results, you can learn about your gut health with four different self-tests developed by the National Candida Center. The tests are just the beginning; they also provide the most comprehensive and methodical approach to treating your digestive issues. 

The Health Trinity Treatment Strategy and the Five-phase Protocol are made to improve your internal health so that you can live a more vibrant life. The Five Phase Protocol can be done independently. It's a program you complete on your own time and at your own pace, but you have access to experts whenever you have questions. Support is available from the National Candida Center. Some of these are free and some are for a fee. For more information, please visit Nationalcandidacenter.com, call 407-321-1377, or email [email protected]. 

About National Candida Center:

The National Candida Center, founded in 1994, is one of the earliest holistic clinics specializing in all aspects of digestive support, including dysbiosis, candida, leaky gut, IBS, and related conditions. This indicates that we have years of experience in this field and have successfully treated thousands of clients with our holistic all-natural approach. We offer alternatives to drugs and surgery that are natural and effective. We provide care based on fundamental principles that are not yet widely understood by the pharmaceutically-driven medical industry.

Media Contact

National Candida Center

101 South Crystal View 

Sanford, FL 32773

407-321-1377

[email protected] 

http://www.nationalcandidacenter.com/ 

Like: https://www.facebook.com/National-Candida-Center-540062476022611/ 

Tweet: https://twitter.com/Nationalcandida 

Pin: https://in.pinterest.com/Nationalcandidacenter/_saved/

#Natural Leaky Gut Treatment Programme

[thornfield13713]

protagonist of the last book you read?

The last book I read was a romance novel, so there are two of them...but I'll answer for both. This is Gil Lawless and Vikram Pandey from KJ Charles' Unfit to Print.

Gil Lawless

general opinion: fall in a hole and die | don’t like them | eh | they’re fine I guess | like them! | love them | actual love of my life 

hotness level: get away from me | meh | neutral | theoretically hot but not my type | pretty hot | gorgeous! | 10/10 would bang

hogwarts house: gryffindor | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuff

best quality: I love how absolutely unapologetic Gil is about his life and his trade. In a world that has tried to shame him for everything about himself, both those things that he was able to choose...within the restrictions placed upon him by circumstance...and the things he was born to, Gil refuses to be ashamed. There's something wonderful about his defiance of the world, and it's one of the qualities that endeared him to me from the moment I opened the book. Gil is never going to edit himself for the convenience of anyone else, and that authenticity and refusal to bend is a delight to read.

worst quality:  It's true that people's best qualities and their worst are often exactly the same quality at different times, and Gil is a prime example. Gil's sod-you attitude to a world that has trampled him underfoot can sometimes lead to him pushing away those who care about him because his traumatic early life and absolute rat-bastard of an older brother have devastated his ability to trust. It's absolutely understandable, and far from the worst quality someone could have, but it does leave him very isolated, at least until Vikram comes back into his life.

ship them with:  Vikram. I mean, okay, yes, that's his love interest already, but- Look, these two hit a lot of buttons for me. The uptight one and the out-there one, a rogue and an upright man of the law, childhood friends with a tragic past, someone who has never been protected in their entire adult life and someone willing to protect them...they just hit so many of my buttons, and I was rooting for them so hard all the way through.

brotp them with:  I think Gil would get along famously with Justin Lazarus. Both hard-headed, somewhat selfish people who have had to close off their empathy in a world which was eager to trample them both underfoot, but who, once they're in a situation where they can afford to be empathetic, turn out to be a lot more decent than they give themselves credit for. There are obvious differences - Gil has the advantage of an excellent formal education up to the age of sixteen, but the disadvantage of being biracial in Victorian England, where Justin is white but was born in the gutter - but they have enough common experiences that I suspect they would get along very well.

needs to stay away from: His entire rotten family and anyone with an interest in sending him to prison.

misc. thoughts: I have loved Gil from my very first exposure to him, in a sample chapter of the original version of the first Sins of the Cities book. And, while I loved Clem Talleyfer, the protagonist of the book we ended up with, I always slightly regretted not getting this harder-edged, snarky survivor. I was so glad when he got his own novella a few years later, and Gil lived up to all my hopes and then some. Also, I really, truly love that he has a cat named Satan whom he spends most of the book insisting is not his cat.

Vikram Pandey

general opinion: fall in a hole and die | don’t like them | eh | they’re fine I guess | like them! | love them | actual love of my life 

hotness level: get away from me | meh | neutral | theoretically hot but not my type | pretty hot | gorgeous! | 10/10 would bang

hogwarts house: gryffindor | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuff

best quality: Vikram is literally always down to fight injustice. Yes, he's absolutely exhausted by it and increasingly worn-down by the emotional toll of his activist work, but he still never stops. He's one of those people who really, absolutely means it when people say they live their beliefs, and I adore him for it.

worst quality: He does have a certain amount of unacknowledged bias. This is most obvious when he deals with Gil, largely because a big part of that bias has to do with sex work. While he doesn't condemn the participants as immoral, he does take a general view of this as a line of work that is inherently degrading and the people in it as needing to be 'saved'. He isn't entirely wrong - sex work of any sort in Victorian London comes with basically no protections and a very high death toll, as Gil, himself a former sex worker who was in that position due to financial desperation and who has seen the horrifically high death toll, acknowledges. However, that element of condescension is still there, and gets in the way of his ability to interact with and help people, despite an earnest desire to do good.

ship them with:  Gil. See the above statement as for why, but also? I just feel like they're good for one another. A big part of Vikram's drive to protect people has to do with Gil's disappearance from his life and presumed death when they were schoolboys, and it is very clear that he has wanted to protect Gil specifically since then - something that Gil has never received from anyone else. And, on Vikram's side...it's clear that his work consumes his life, to the point of being very close to burnout, and having a partner who takes things a little less seriously while still understanding his drive might help a bit with him not managing to burn himself out trying to keep everyone else warm.

brotp them with:  Hm. This is a complicated one, because my first instinct is to say he might get on with Nathaniel Roy, but...would he, though? I mean, it is clear they both draw from the same archetype, but I do get the feeling that in person they might grate off each other appallingly even if they were both earnestly trying to meet in good faith. He might get on quite well with Mark Braglewicz, though - Mark is a take-people-as-they-come sort of person, hates the British Empire almost as much as Vikram does, and might balance him out in a similar way to Gil.

needs to stay away from: ...can't really think of anyone, honestly. And I really, really want to see him cut loose on the extended Lawes family.

misc. thoughts: Vikram is very much My Type in fiction - serious men with responsibilities and a strong sense of justice and duty who are nonetheless deeply caring and opposed to the vicious structures that laws uphold. I think, though, that the moment I really latched onto him as an absolute favourite was when he and Gil have to go through an entire stack of pornographic photographs in order to solve a murder, and he's so bored by the acts themselves that he ends up paying more attention to the backdrops, which ends up leading to a massive break in the case. Which- that coupled with Gil being apparently his only love or sexual partner has led me to interpret him as demisexual, for which I make no apologies.

#k j charles #unfit to print

[sleepynegress]

Dave Chappelle is the exact kind of man that abused me. He's the man that "slaps the queer out of you" and laughs and laughs, except a grown man just hit a kid. He's someone who'll scream homophobic abuse in your face, but if you try and ask to be treated right, suddenly you "can't take a joke". He's the man who threatens your mother because "boys don't need soft shit." I think a lot of people are very familiar with men like him.

Okay. This may be a long response...But I have been thinking a lot about the dichotomy of a black man, who can be considered a thinker, who literally ran away to Africa because he felt so much discomfort at the idea of his white audiences laughing *at* him and black people, vs. him...SAYING and believing, and worst -proliferating and enabling others to feel normal inflicting violence upon queer people. So. Here are the conclusions I've come to about this entire thing (bulleted because ADHD and I'd be here all day w/o it)

● Chappelle is an old "Unc-ish" black man who thinks he's still being edgy by reciting his old black man fears and insecurites to an audience who (he thinks) is shocked by it in a way that makes him "brave" for "telling the truth of what many feel" vs. being one of many very common and typical people, who age w/o growth w/ the social changes in society... i.e. those you see fold their arms and complain about "new words" like agender, them/they, et al, instead of just learning how to use new words.

● You see... Here's a secret of aging that no one tells you. Everything you knew "back in the day" even if you were empathetic and loving enough, strong enough to see and combat regressive hatred back then/go against the grain.... Will shift for new generations. And lately, so much for the good of marginalized people... i.e. undoing the normalized harassment, dismissal and hatred of marginalized queer folks back in specifically Dave Chappelle's day. The simple truth of it is this: Many people age and lament the loss of normalized cruelty. And many (thankfully, these are the elders you see w/o 'the old man yells at cloud' vibes...) simply change w/ the evolving norms.

● Dave. Refuses to grow. Point blank. His fame and privilege and his personal sense of thinking he's being "old school black and honest" helps w/ that.

● There are also many toxic specifically 'black' masculine traits that he has swallowed hook-line-and-sinker; rooted in ancestral trauma/memory. Specifically in black men, hat has caused many to adopt many of the thought processes of yt masculinity, i.e. misogynoir, and homophobia, while pretending it's some kind of super-black man b.s.

tl:dr Many black men flex extra hard in toxic ways to compensate for all the racial humilations they've dealt w/ in history and day-to-day. I've seen many an angry black male elder who went through Jim Crow, pass that ish; that righteous anger in sadly toxic ways, to their male children. And I've seen many elder black woman spoil their black sons (i.e. not teach them to respect queer people because the bible) to "make-up" for the hardships black men would experience in life.

● I guarantee Dave grew-up w/ that. A specific black male youth experience, in his day of listening to homophobic and misogynistic music and chatter from friend-groups trying to "date" i.e. mistreat as many black girls as possible to puff up a deflated sense of masculine self in dealing w/ cops pulling him over for nothing but melanin. ...A certain kind of black male "cool" that acts as a shield for those normalized racial traumas.

● Dave still traffics in and peddles the old style of "cool" that has evolved past him (shout-out to Lil' Nas, the entire cast of POSE, etc.), to the point where all that remains are dull, baggy eyes and a voice ruffened by all the weed smoke over the years. He is an old man standing still, in the singular "black" good old days...that doesn't know or want to know shit about the black queer community that also had to carve out an existence in those days.

● That is where his stubborn transmisogyny comes from. And why he can seperate the fact that he literally ran from people laughing past the joke because he realized it was at black people's expense...from throwing trans woman (many of whom are also black...intersection what??) under the bus of all the violence inflicted upon them, with that TERF head-ass bullshit.

● And one more thing... because I am also on twitter and it disgusted me to witness... So many transphobic black people on that platfrom were wiping their brows in relief at being able to parlay that into a misdirect at "anger" at yt trans woman co-showrunner of Dear YT White People for it's lacking show quality and *successfully* squashed the transmisogyny at the heart of the discussion around Dave. ...That shit irked me to no end. So, queer community. I hear you, I see you all. I love you. ....Especially my trans black brothers and sisters. I'm a demi elder black woman who feels incredibily fortunate to have had the life experiences and perspectives necessary to still *see* people and grow in that seeing every year I exist on this earth. That is *not* an experience everyone gets or WANTS to get, sadly. There is a certain kind of stubborn safety in aging and staying in what is already known to you, while crossing your arms and scoffing at all the "changes". My message of wisdom, is DO EVERYTHING YOU CAN to NOT do/be that.

#this was long #but I hope it was clear #ask #dave chappelle #he grew up in the same place d.c. and time that i did #so I KNOW the culture that begat him #LGBTQ+ #shit I admit I had trouble learning the new words and I STILL forget #that is normal and human #but the worst of us scoff and stop trying until it does become easy and normal for them

[naynay5155]

C!Tommy’s Storyline With C!Dream Is A Very Concerning Depiction Of Abuse

Wild Title 

Okay, I’m sure that this probably isn’t too new information for anyone paying attention to the overall story of the DreamSMP, especially C!Tommy’s storyline, but I figured I’d give my two cents for this anyways. 

C!Tommy is an Abuse Victim who has gone through horrific stuff at the hands of C!Dream. This is not an arguable fact. regardless of if C!Dream had reasons for doing what he did, if C!Dream also later gets abused, or if ultimately the abuse portrayal could be considered in some ways flawed or unrealistic, that stuff doesn’t ultimately matter. Because we’ve seen what happened to C!Tommy during Exile, have seen the physical, emotional, and mental abuse he was put through. Just because they won’t call it Abuse doesn’t mean it isn’t Abuse.

Now, C!Tommy being an abuse victim is an interesting idea from a storytelling perspective. It has a lot of potential to lead to genuine character development, or to affect relationships and story beats in interesting ways. And it could be an interesting way to really say something about abuse and coping with it. 

And to an extent, an argument could be made that it has, though I’d argue the exact way those are handled in canon, but not the point. The point is, abuse is not just something that you get to gloss over. If you want to include themes of abuse in the story, a story you are making available to the public for millions to see, then there needs to be a clear and obvious message being portrayed with including abuse in the story. Preferably, that abuse is bad, and can have majorly negative effects on anyone, especially children. We don’t always get that lucky, but whatever. 

But, from my months of watching the story of the DreamSMP, and trust me I’ve been here a long while, I haven’t seen C!Tommy’s abuse being handled very... well. I could, of course, be wrong in some aspects, and maybe be misremembering stuff since this dumpster fire has been happening for a year now, and feel free to correct me or bring up more points if you know something I don’t. But, I still think that overall, I have a point of view that should be considered. 

So basically, C!Tommy is an abuse victim, right? this is easy to see, very obvious in the way he acts and behaves. Or... is it? 

Abuse is a complex topic and one that, in real life, presents itself in all sorts of forms. Many abuse victims were raised in unloving homes and ended up becoming more vulnerable to abuse later on in life as a result of that. Others never properly learned how to express emotions or turn people down and got taken advantage of. Others were abused from the start, and develop various ways of coping and dealing with that, even ways that they might not be fully conscious of themselves. Abuse is not a one-way street, it could hardly be considered a street at all given how diverse and differing the people who experience it end up developing into are. 

So I’m not saying that, if C!Tommy were a real person, that he isn’t “Being traumatized enough” or that “Why isn’t he more like what I expect him to be like?”. That is not what I’m saying at all.

What I am saying, is that C!Tommy is a fictional character who exists within a narrative, a story. And in a good story, consistency is half the battle. I, as the audience consuming the story, need to be able to look at C!Tommy and pick up on and understand the effects abuse has had on him. And these effects need to be consistent, otherwise, as an audience member, I’m going to get confused and start having questions about why he acts one way here but doesn’t somewhere else.

I also need to be able to clearly see and understand, by being given narrative stepping stones, if something is changing for his character.

As the saying goes, “Show don’t tell”. C!Tommy can’t just say he “Goes to Puffy for Therapy” offhandedly one time, as a means of handwaving away why he doesn’t really consistently act as traumatized as he used to even though it’s literally only been a few weeks, or months at most. To explain how he can jump back between being really sad and depressed about something, to joking about Women and Twitter. It seems weird if he’s able to just so seamlessly, so effortlessly, go back and forth. Almost as if he’s bouncing between OOC and IC, but that’s a whole other discussion. 

Sure, C!Tommy is representing real mental health issues, but he is, ultimately a Fictional Character existing in a story. I need to be given signs, proof, foreshadowing, to explain when he has certain reactions and behaviours in order to understand his character. And these need to be consistent, otherwise we get plotholes and general confusion.

I criticize the inconsistency and the offscreen handwaving because it’s generally not very good writing. It’s the same reason I disliked Eret’s basically off-screen-sort-of-redemption-arc. It’s the same reason people dislike it when Villains of previous seasons suddenly come back as fully reformed good guys for seemingly no reason. There is no arc, no development, no progress is shown to us. 

Because when you’re telling a story about a character having some major change or developing in some way, or having an important character trait, if I don’t see it on screen, then it didn’t happen. How am I supposed to root for C!Tommy’s progress, or understand what he’s doing to progress, if a never see his coping mechanisms? His therapy appointments? 

You can’t just say something, or inconsistently portray something, and expect me to jump through hoops to connect these nearly transparent dots that keep getting thrown around. 

Show don’t tell. Show me Tommy getting better, because otherwise you’re just telling me he made character development, and showing me this completely different character as proof. No, last I remembered C!Tommy was having panic attacks and yelling when C!Dream was even mentioned. You can’t tell me that a day later he can interact normally after days of being in the prison and a month of being dead.

Or, if you are gonna have him flip flop back and forth, don’t have it be so sudden and jarring, give an explanation. Is he faking being fine? Does he have memory issues? C!Tommy doesn’t read to me as the type who’s good at suppressing his emotions, he wears his heart on his sleeve. So you’re going to have to explain, clearly, in a way that isn’t ambiguous, what’s happening with C!Tommy here.

You’re not really saying anything about the abuse C!Tommy goes through, if all of that trauma is automatically wiped from the story when the writers get too lazy or too scared to keep it in. At best, you are showing abuse and trauma for the sole purpose of showing it, with no intention of properly dealing with and addressing it in the story. At worst, you are basically just doing torture porn. 

Pain, Hurt, Trauma for the sake of it. Not with any goal in mind. Just for the drama of it, or to hurt the audience. 

And then your audience is just supposed to take that content in uncritically, and they gain no true understanding of how abuse victims survive and cope after their traumatic treatment.

Exile Arc sure did a good job at making C!Tommy suffer. But as soon as that arc ended, a lot of the stuff that happened in it went completely glossed over and unaddressed for a long while. That might have been fine in the lead-up to Doomsday, since a lot of plot stuff had been going on and stopping to handle C!Tommy’s issues might (Might is heavily doubted cause it certainly isn’t impossible) mess with the pacing a bit. But then after Doomsday, there isn’t really any excuse to put it off. Because nothing was really happening for a good while, and nobody had anything to do plotwise. 

And this became even more true with C!Dream being locked in Prison. Nothing was really happening, so what was stopping the story from taking the time to properly discuss and deal with this stuff?

Well, nothing really. So, the Hotel Arc happened. And oh boy, was it a mess. 

So, C!Tommy being angry at C!Dream for the abuse and trauma he has suffered at Dream’s hand isn’t an issue. It’s an incredibly common thing for victims to feel angry at their abusers, and to even go so far as to wish for vengeance against them in some way. And that’s a totally valid and fine feeling. 

You’re hurting, you’re scared, you’re in pain. I get that. When we’re hurting, we don’t always act rationally or healthily.

But, ultimately, that rage, and hurt, and want for vengeance is not a healthy thing to hold onto. In many circumstances with an abuse victim wanting to inflict pain back on their abuser, we run into various problems. 

For one, getting vengeance on your abuser is quite frequently going to give you more emotional pain than it will fulfilment. Especially if you are young, or are letting this want for vengeance take over your entire livelihood. It does you no good ultimately, to attempt to bring pain to the person who hurt you, because not only will you often be unsuccessful, you frequently won’t find emotional healing and stability in that. 

(The only exception to this rule being if ignoring them or moving on from them isn’t an option for you right now.)

Actions have consequences, and if you invest more time in that person who hurt you, then you have no time to work on yourself or the relationships around you. You have no time to heal, and this can become self-destructive.

Spending time around an abuser, as a victim, is in all likelihood just going to upset you more. You’re retraumatizing yourself by spending time around them, and as you make attempts to give them their comeuppance, you could possibly end up internalizing the methods they used on you, and just end up perpetuating the cycle of abuse again. 

And even if you have no problem with doing that to this particular person, consider how fully internalizing these abusive behaviours could affect your friends or family. Frequently, even when they don’t mean to, abuse victims can internalize the things that they went through and then use those same behaviours against people in their life later on. Being shitty to your support system because of what you went through isn’t a good move, for you or them.

Basically just, an Abuse Victim has more to gain from working on themselves while finding ways to heal and overcome their trauma and abuse, than they do spending their time and energy on the abuser. Its frequently unhealthy, distressing, and self-destructive to indulge in that too much.

(Of course, I don’t speak for everyone, but from what iIve looked into and seen, this is the healthiest method of actually healing from your abuse. That doesn’t mean you just... leave your abuser alone and never address or talk about what they did, you don’t let them get away with it, of course not. It just means you don’t waste your mental well being and time obsessing over someone, especially someone who has hurt you so much.

You deserve better than that. You deserve to heal.)

Now, let’s get back to C!Tommy. 

C!Tommy, instead of finding a proper means of coping with his issues (proper therapy, diagnosis for his issues, forming and maintaining healthy support systems, focusing on things he loves, etc) is shown to repeatedly focus back on C!Dream. When he was making Big Innit Hotel, it did seem like he was to an extent finding ways to cope with his shit. He was still kinda shitty and his hotel was not exactly made and run by the most morally great standards, though I suppose I can’t expect too much when he is a very traumatized teen and doesn’t really know what he’s doing. 

But, ultimately, this all fell apart when he got locked in Pandora’s Vault with C!Dream. Arguably, it was already falling apart the moment he decided to keep pursuing C!Dream even when he was locked up.

See, the thing is, C!Tommy can never just… have trauma. Having trauma that he can healthily and methodically work through is something that for him as a Character, is basically impossible. His character is an angry one, one built on spite and childishness, and who holds the mantle, unfortunately, of “Spunky Male Protagonist In A YA Novel”. So, his mental health issues can never just be a struggle he has to cope with, especially not when the DreamSMP can never seem to have anything between “A lot is happening right now omg” or “Literally nothing is happening and nobody is playing on the server at all omg”.

Instead, his issues have to be seen as a battle, and they fuel the narrative of the story. Him having been abused by C!Dream cannot just exist as a thing that he as a person has to work through slowly with the help of others around him. It has to be seen as this Epic Triumph Against Evil, another battle of Tommyinnit VS Dream on the DreamSMP, a classic Villain versus Hero fight.

This, of course, isn’t too great. By C!Tommy’s abuse plotline being framed in this manner, it makes it so that C!Tommy is constantly obsessing over his abuser and recklessly throwing himself into dangerous and triggering situations is some attempt at an “Epic Battle With Evil”, rather than this being treated like the self-harm it actually is. And yes, it is self-harm, a form of it. 

C!Tommy uses his trauma and issues as fuel for the story, making it so that its impossible for him to truly progress and a character, and the moment he does start growing, he has to get retraumatized again so he goes right back to where he was.

C!Tommy does not become a better person when he’s around C!Dream, nor does he find any form of fulfilment in being around him. He gets shaky and panicky at just the sight of him. He regularly has violent and explosive outbursts at just the mention of him. When C!Dream talks to him, he gets nervous and basically can’t help but listen due to conditioning he still listens to. 

When C!Tommy went to go visit C!Dream the first time in Pandora’s Vault, he brought with him stacks of TnT. He did it because he wanted to mimic what C!Dream had done to him in Exile, where he would take all of C!Tommy’s newly gained items and blow them up underground for dramatic effect. 

C!Dream did this for control over C!Tommy, to manipulate him, for his suffering.

And C!Tommy wanted to do this to C!Dream, because he was feeling vindictive. 

When C!Tommy got into the prison, he mocked C!Dream, hit him repeatedly, and tried to boss him around. He made him write ridiculous books and verbally berated the man. He did this in a feeble attempt to gain some feeling of control over C!Dream. This, evidently, did not work. At best his success was momentary. And this sense of achievement he gained was gained through projecting his abuse trauma onto someone else.

He repeated the cycle. 

After he got brought back from the dead and let out of the prison, he was much much worse. C!Tommy was now paranoid, anxious, constantly thinking about C!Dream, and had his mindset solely on getting revenge on him, by killing him. 

It got so bad, he ended up doing lacklustre “Exposure Therapy” to help himself not panic when he went into Pandora’s Vault to kill C!Dream. It got so bad he dragged C!Tubbo and C!Ranboo into this, putting them in danger and putting more pressure on another two teenagers’ shoulders. 

It got so bad, that Ghostbur died, C!Sam closed off even more, and C!Wilbur came back. 

Objectively, C!Tommy leaving C!Dream alone would be the better thing for everyone. And yet he keeps repeating the cycle. Because C!Tommy is not meant to grow, learn and heal. He is made to suffer. 

The problem is not so much showing an unhealthy depiction of a mentally ill or traumatized person. Because trauma and mental illness and the effects of abuse are not always pretty, and they shouldn’t always have to be portrayed and pretty or sympathetic to be accurate. 

It becomes a problem when you get this depiction of C!Tommy’s coping being presented uncritically to an audience of a lot of underaged and young people. 

Nobody in canon, whether they be adults or fellow teens, has ever tried to question C!Tommy’s methods for coping. C!Ranboo and C!Tubbo just limply went along with his plans for Exposure Therapy with no consideration of if this was a good idea. No adults really offer to genuinely step in and help C!Tommy deal with his shit, and the ones that do leave him or get corrupted in some way, often leaving him with more trauma as they do. 

C!Puffy’s therapy methods are dubious at best, and the most we ever see of her actually helping C!Tommy is her humouring his toxic behaviours, and C!Tommy making offhanded mentions to vague therapists appointments we never see. 

C!Technoblade stopped giving a shit as soon as C!Tommy walked off the screen. C!Wilbur was dead, and now that he isn’t he certainly isn’t helping C!Tommy. C!Phil isn’t C!Tommy’s dad and has no obligation to do anything for him as a result. C!Ranboo has the backbone of a chocolate eclair. C!Tubbo is too busy repressing his own trauma to help C!Tommy with his. C!Sam is being ruled by the prison and C!Quackity. C!Quackity has become an Ancap. 

Nobody in this story is a reliable or trusted person to C!Tommy, who could properly tell him his methods are unhealthy and give him better alternatives. And as a result, nobody is able to tell the audience that C!Tommy is wrong 

Unreliable Narrators are only effective when the narrative in some way has their unreliableness pointed out or proven to the audience. If you go into a story with the assumption that everybody watching will be able to see past C!Tommy’s POV and not take him at face value, then you are naive. Especially when this fandom is made up of many teens and children. 

I only know C!Tommy’s methods are unhealthy because I care way too much and do my research. A vast majority of the world doesn’t have the same understanding and education on these topics, especially not children and teenagers. A good chunk of people, especially neurodivergent and mentally ill people, could very well take the story at face value and automatically assume that what Tommy’s doing is actually a good coping mechanism because they don’t know any better.

There is no clarification or safety net for preventing misinterpretation. And being of the opinion that “Well, they should know better than to trust a bunch of Minecraft Youtubers for this stuff” or “We can’t expect them to be psychologists! You expect too much” is just… not helping. 

Because I shouldn’t have to explain why children and teenagers, especially those that are using these people to cope, are not always going to make level-headed and common-sense decisions. They will be influenced by these Content Creators, whether we think it’s “Stupid” or not. 

And I can say with certainty that, while yes, this might be a bit much to expect from a bunch of British/American white guys who play Minecraft to handle, may I also point out that nobody fucking made them put this stuff in the story. There are ways to write a story without stepping outside of your realm of true understanding. Nobody begged these MCYTs to go and make torture porn for a 16 year old, nobody asked them to touch on topics they have no fucking clue about. 

They put that in themselves. And we have the right to point out the problems and flaws in it, and criticize them for not handling this stuff better. 

You don’t start applying for a job you don’t meet the requirements for. You don’t start an expensive project you can’t finish. 

You don’t include elements in a story you aren’t willing to fully go through with and address in a proper and sensitive way. 

#hope this makes sense #dreamsmp roleplay #dream smp critical #dreamsmp #dream smp #character analysis #c!tommy #c!dream #tw abuse discussion #tw abuse #negativity #dsmp critical #critical dsmp

[2-cute-4-school]

𝓠𝓾𝓲𝓭𝓭𝓲𝓽𝓬𝓱 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓬𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮

Group : NCT

Pairing : Griffyndor! Mark Lee x gn! Reader 

Genre : hp au, rivals to lovers, light angst to absolute fluff

Word count : 4.4K words   |    M.list

Warnings : injury, swearing

Summary :  ‘He had nightmares of you slipping right past his fingers and him failing to catch you. He relives that moment.’

a/n: thank you for 1000 followers you absolute cuties!! sending lots of smooches and snuggles your way!!

“Aren’t you going to ask how the coolest champion is feeling about tomorrow’s match?”

You watched Donghyuck, your fellow housemate and best friend since you first stepped onto the Hogwarts train, expectantly. He spared you a quick glance as he plopped down beside you on the couch in your shared common room, too busy to munch on his chocolate frog to give you any further attention. 

“I’ve already asked Mark.”

You would like to be able to say you were surprised at his answer, but his teasing character has become an usual by now

It still baffled you how you managed to even tolerate each other, much less get to share a bond as deep as the one you developed along the years. You two had next to nothing in common other than your cunning wit. While Donghyuck delved deep into his love for astronomy, which you despised with a burning fervor, you dedicated your time to Quidditch entirely. 

You loved the sport dearly, it offered you that adrenaline rush you were born to chase, that quickened heartbeat as you rushed to catch the Golden Snitch. You spent every spare moment you could find in your hectic schedule on the pitch with the wind threading through strands of your hair and your hands clenched so tightly onto your broomstick your knuckles turn white. And you adored every second of that. But what you definitely didn’t adore was Mark Lee.

“And worst best friend award goes to surprise surprise Lee Donghyuck!”

He shrugged unimpressed by your weak attack and focuses back on his damned frog.

Mark Lee. Unfortunately for your sanity, you had to see him almost as often as you decided to practice on your own. If there was one thing you shared with him and you respected him for was his own commitment to Quidditch. More often that not, you’d have to share the pitch with him in your spare time, taunting each other for the entire period of time you spent practicing. He was the beloved Seeker of Gryffindor, their pride and joy and your rival ever since you were both accepted in your respective teams.

“So what’s your score against him?”

“It’s a draw.”

Yes, you were that petty. You and Mark kept the score on how many times you defeated each other in matches. It didn’t actually matter which team actually won, the only thing that mattered for your childish competition was who managed to catch the Golden Snitch.

“That’s why you’re so tense?”

“Bingo, smartpants.”

“What even is the big deal about your little game? It’s not like either of you actually gets something out of this.”

“I gain the right to stick my win in his face and vice versa.”

Teasing between you and Mark often stretched your patience to its maximum and ended up in one of you snapping like a chord under pressure. Donghyuck shivered as he remembered the final match of your fourth year when your house lost against Gryffindor due to Mark catching the Snitch before you. He could vividly remember the blood rushing through his veins in fear at the sight of you battling Mark shoulder to shoulder at a dangerous speed, arm stretched out so far he believed you’d topple over at any moment.

He doesn’t want a repeat of the miserable image of you he saw at the time, a defeated you, slumped on the bench in your changing room, head lowered in ultimate shame and disappointment as bitter tears rolled off your face, splashing against the floor as Donghyuck watched worriedly through the half opened door. Mark had really done a number on you that day.

“You have to win, Y/N.”

“Why the sudden change of heart, wasn’t our competition meaningless for your highness?”

“I don’t give a frog’s toe about your competition, but I want to spend time time with you this summer. And not just to watch you practice until you drop.”

You scoffed. You knew that he was referring to the summer after your horrifying defeat against Mark. Donghyuck could barely get a hold of you since you spent all day on your broom, tiring yourself out to your limit.

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on losing.”

~

“Already wetting your pants, Y/L/N?”

You didn’t have to turn around to put a face to the taunting voice behind you.

“I don’t know, Lee, should I? You must know since you have more experience than me.”

Mark’s face scrunched up at the reminder of his first year when he lost control of his broom and he quite literally saw his life flash before his eyes. Not very Gryffindor from his part.

“Whatever, we both know how this is about to end. Save your cheap defense until after this final. My team will win this year’s tournament and I’ll beat you individually too.”

The reminder of the stakes of this match weren’t soothing your nerves at all, especially mere hours before you were facing Mark on the pitch. You curled your fists and kept a straight face, not daring to show him any weakness from your side.

“Shove that pointless confidence up your ass until you prove you’re worthy of it, Lee.”

“Oh so fourth year isn’t enough proof?”

The corner of your lips twitched and your eyes narrowed. zeroing on his tense featured in a chilling glare.

“You said matches don’t count, didn’t you? You were the one insisting that you didn’t consider anything a victory other than catching the Snitch before me. And in that aspect, last I verified, we’re equals.”

His lips moved soundlessly, trying to come up with a retort, but you didn’t spare him enough time to come up with anything, turning on your heels and marching away to meet Donghyuck.

“You’ll see, Y/L/N, you’ll never be my equal.”

His voice followed you tauntingly through the busy corridors, your rushed footsteps taking you anywhere but close to the only person who could make your blood boil.

~

It took three pep talks and four ‘friendly’ attacks of your personal space from Donghyuck to make you gather your spirits and stop the tremors shaking up your entire body. He walked you to the changing room’s door, patting you roughly on the back one last time

“Give your best, I’ll be watching from the stands. I trust that you won’t let me get bored. Also, remember that if you lose you’re sleeping on the mat in front of the entrance in our common room.”

And with that he skipped away, hurried to find a good spot in the stands that were already starting to fill up with students. You sigh, used to his weird way of encouraging you and stepped inside the room, greeting Jungwoo, your captain and your fellow teammates, starting to change into your Quidditch uniform.

As soon as you set foot on the familiar pitch, your eyes met Mark’s who stood straight and proud side by side with his own captain sporting his Gryffindor red cape and holding his broom, the newest Nimbus model.

You Keeper was talking your ear off about the ‘amazingly efficient’ polish he found, but you couldn’t seem to rip your gaze away from Mark who in turn seemed to burn through you with his gaze. He threw you a smirk as if provoking you to lose your cool. But you decided you wouldn’t allow him the satisfaction.

The stands were already roaring to life. Any match between you and Mark was very sought after by everyone in your school due to the intensity it held each time. Despite the already loudness surrounding the pitch, one high pitched screech couldn’t help but catch your attention.

“KICK SOME ASS, Y/N! Or the mat is waiting for you!”

Count on Donghyuck to be the embarrassing mom rooting for you at her child’s every sport event. You shoot him a warning look to which he only responded with an over dramatic wink and an even louder ’whoop’. You could only sigh, appreciating his support despite your lack of reaction to it.

“I’ll kick your ass, Lee Donghyuck.”

You muttered, trying to stop the smile forming on your lips. A snort came from the side, making your head snap in its direction.

“Try your best, Y/LN, too bad you’ll still disappoint lover boy over there.”

“Jealous, Lee?”

“You wish.”

Madam Hooch interrupted your banter with a shrill whistle, stepping in between the two teams while holding the Quaffle.

“Alright, boys and girls, mount your brooms.”

Within seconds all players were high in the air, adrenaline pumping through your veins, your heated gaze locked with Mark’s. It became kind of a tradition between the two of you, intense stare downs before the official start of the game. Madam Hooch’s voice which carried the same words every time sounded far away as she bent down, ready to throw the Quaffle.

“Alright, I want a clean and fair game, hear me? Good luck and may the best win.”

The long deafening whistle signified the start of the match and Chasers whizzed past you, speeding towards the Quaffle. You and Mark broke eye contact, each of you getting immersed in the game, your sole focus being on catching sight of the Golden Snitch.

The weather worsened as the game progressed, the unpredictable May weather acting up. The clouds darkened, completely shutting out any ray of sunshine trying to sneak past them, a thickening fog suffocating the school grounds. Slowly but surely, what started as a few scattered rain drops soon turned into a full blown storm, a cold shower falling atop of you, the harsh wind whipping your capes back and forth. The stands were barely visible, the cheers from below inaudible over the wind and the players’ yells.

If it wasn’t hard enough already to spot the small, golden ball, now it seemed close to impossible. You could make out Mark’s silhouette flying around, but you didn’t linger any longer on him, focused on catching sight of the Snitch. Bludgers were flying everywhere, the Beaters’ efficiency decreasing because of the lack of visibility, another worry to add to the list.

Gryffindor was in the lead with 20 points, the score remaining tight as the match dragged on and on. You had already been playing for a while, your uniforms were already soaked and your skin paling from the biting cold of the unforgiving rain, but the conditions only spurred you further. You had to catch the Snitch.

Just as your patience was running thin, you caught sight of a fast-moving golden spot, hovering on the sidelines. Without a second thought, you sped towards it, your surroundings blurring as your eyes focused solely on the already moving Snitch. Mark noticed your forceful actions immediately, whizzing past the others players and nearing you.

“And Y/L/N seems to have finally spotted the Golden Snitch! Both Seekers are bolting after it, I can barely keep track of them!”

The crowd exploded, cheering louder than ever, but you couldn’t hear anything, pushing yourself to the limit as Mark caught up to you and you battled side by side once again. The Snitch seemed to be angrier than ever, jerking furiously at every corner, but you didn’t let yourself be caught by surprise, keeping up with it.

Until it started speeding in a straight line, stopping its irregular twists and turns and you knew that was your chance. You flew at top speed, stretching your hand in front of you so much that your muscles almost protested and Mark followed suit. You were shoulder to shoulder with him, subtly knocking into each other in an attempt to make the other lose their balance.

“Move! It’s mine!”

His hoarse voice yelled right by your year, only making you grit your teeth harder.

“Fuck off, Lee!”

Your fingertips were a breath away from the Snitch, Mark’s arm pressing into yours, the cold wind biting at your cheeks. Desperately, you shifted your weight from your bottom to the hand clutching your broomstick, leaning forward on your arm and before Mark could react, you lurched forward slightly, encasing the running object in the palm of your hand, clutching it so tightly it left marks into the skin, but you didn’t care. 

You did it. You caught the Golden Snitch.

“Y/N!”

Before you could regain your stance, a Bludger knocked into your broom forcefully. With your already unsteady grip on the broomstick, you toppled over in an instant, the broom slipping from under you, but you didn’t dare unclench the fingers trapping the Snitch in your hand.

Mark’s desperate yell seemed to be the only sound echoing in your ears as you plummeted. The last thing you saw before you knocked loudly into the ground with a sickening crack were Mark’s distressed features, a hand stretched to its full extent in front of him as he rushed to get a hold of you, your own outstretched fingers slipping right past his.

~

Surprisingly, as soon as you managed to crack your eyes open you weren’t hit with a blinding light. It still seemed to take a great effort to keep them open for longer than a second, your hand twitching in an attempt to bring it to cover your sensitive eyes, but being stopped by a weight forcing it down. 

“Y/N?”

You groaned, scrunching up your face as soreness hit your body full force at your attempt to move.

“Merlin, Y/N, can you open your eyes?”

You could recognize Donghyuck’s voice anywhere, but the almost desperate tone he used was quite foreign to you.

“Come on, babe, open your eyes. Madam Pomfrey! ”

You realized the weight on your hand were actually his fingers which now squeezed yours encouragingly as his other hand came up to smooth strands of your hair away from your face. You clenched your teeth, forcing an eye open.

“Stop fucking yelling, punk.”

At your annoyed retort, he let out a relieved sigh, wrapping his arms gently around you while trying not to jostle you too much.

“Thank Merlin, you’re back.”

After Madam Pomfrey checked on you and updated you on your injuries which were a bit more serious than you expected, she left you with Donghyuck once again. He leaned back in his chair, a lot more relaxed than in the past days he’s had to spend by your bedside. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“The match. We won the match right?”

Donghyuck snorted as your first question was about Quidditch instead of your own health, but it didn’t even surprise him anymore.

“Yes, you crazy hag, you won.”

“Yes! We did it! We won!”

You’ve never felt more relieved in your entire life. You finally proved to yourself that all the time and work you’ve put into Quidditch wasn’t for nothing. And if this was the elevation you’d feel after winning cups, you were ready to spend the rest of your youth chasing the Snitch.

“You should eat some chocolate, gain your energy back.”

Now that he mentioned it, you finally focused on your nightstand that overflowed with sweets. You grabbed the closest one, a chocolate frog, not hesitating to stuff it all in your mouth and collect the card inside. Another Nicolas Flamel, you already had two of those. 

“Those are a lot.”

“Tell me about it. Don’t worry, I’ll help you finish them.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“Hyuck, tell me, did Jungwoo cry?”

“Should’ve seen him, like a baby. I’m pretty sure he filled half of that cup with snot-”

“Ewww, I didn’t need all the gross details. Ah, I’m sorry for missing that. And Lee’s face, I bet I’d sleep like a baby for the next 10 years if I had the chance to see that.“

Donghyuck’s lips were suddenly pulled into a smirk, eyes glinting with a dangerous mischief.

“You should see one of your beaters, damn nice nose Mark delivered.”

Your munching slowed down, gulping down the sweetness loudly.

“What do you mean? Did that petty git start a fight?”

“Wouldn’t say it was out of pettiness actually.”

Mark was the first to land beside your crumpled figure, dismounting his broom faster than ever and crouching hurriedly before you. His hand ghosted over your cold cheek, too scared to touch you in case he did more harm than good. His shaking pupils fixated on you, running a hundred miles per hour over your face, hoping, praying that you’d open your eyes and celebrate in his face.

“Hey, wake up, don’t play games on the pitch, you already won! Y/L/N!”

Mark knew deep inside that you had no games left to play after a fall like that, but it was his first time seeing you so small, so hurt, so defeated despite the shining Golden Snitch still clutched loosely in your limp hand. It scared him.

“Bloody hell, wake up! Madam Hooch! Help! Anyone, help!”

His head snapped around trying to catch sight of anyone coming to your aid, eyes scanning through the fog crazily. The rain seemed to fall faster and faster, the chill settling deep into your bones. Exhausted, Mark lowered his head in defeat, his forehead gently leaning on yours, his nose nudging against yours. One of his hands still touched your cheek, lightly caressing it, thumb running over the apple of your cheek as his other hand curled into a fist against the ground.

Jungwoo landed next, almost tripping over his broom as he rushed over to you and knelt next to you, opting to ignore the position Mark was in and focus on your well being. Mark’s head didn’t even turn as he spoke lowly.

“Do something for Merlin’s sake. Get Madam Hooch, or Pomfrey! Anyone dammit, just to something!”

Mark raised himself at the lack of response from Jungwoo who seemed rotten to his spot, freezing at the sight of you.

“Are you deaf?! Fucking help!”

That seemed to snap Jungwoo out of his frozen state as he jumped to his feet, sprinting towards the stand where teachers usually stayed during matches. One by one, your teams landed and gathered near you as Mark’s yells of help guided them to you.

“Merlin, that doesn’t look good.”

Mark’s burning gaze settled on your beater who stood a few meters away, leaning on his broom.

“It would have looked better if you did your part right.”

The beater rolled his eyes at Mark’s harsh remark.

“Relax, man, I just wasn’t playing attention for a moment.”

“And you think that’s a proper excuse?!”

Mark was fired up by now, lifting himself to his feet as one of your Chasers, a year younger than you crouched by your side, gripping your hand. He sauntered over, coming face to face with the beater who didn’t seem that interested.

“I’m just saying it’s not my fault their own incompetence landed themselves in the hospital wing, I’m not pulling anyone’s wight al-”

He didn’t get to finish his mocking words as Mark’s fist met his nose with a loud crunch, Mark’s powerful swing sending him to the ground as blood started dripping from his nose steadily.

“Don’t you ever talk about Y/N like that. Not ever again. If I hear one bad word about them coming out of your worthless mouth, I’ll hex you into next year. You’ll never be half of the player Y/N already is, remember your place, asshole.”

Madam Hooch was already tending to you by the time Mark turned back to you, deeming it safe enough for you to be moved to the hospital wing. Donghyuck, who sprinted out of the stand as soon as he heard your name coming out of Jungwoo’s mouth, held your head in his lap, smoothed down your hair, pushing away wet strands that covered your eyes.

Mark strode over to you, taking off his cap and laying it over your body as he slotted an arm under your legs, his other coming around your back. He lifted your body, cradling you against his chest as Donghyuck also stood up to fix your position in Mark’s arms into a more comfortable one.

“Off to the hospital wing,now. Quick, quick, quick!”

Mark didn’t waste another moment before he hurried inside the castle with you in his hold and Donghyuck quick on his heels.

“Mark Lee stood up for me? The same Mark Lee who hates my guts since we first got in our Quidditch teams?”

“Do you know another Mark Lee? Maybe he didn’t hate you that much after all, or…not at all. After all, all these chocolate frogs are from him, said something about seeing you exchange some cards with his Griffyndor friend in class or something.”

“He visited?”

“We wouldn’t be able to get rid of him sometimes. He opened up to me once when we met outside the door trying to sneak in one night.”

“Why were you even sneaking in?”

“I was bored, okay? I had no one to tire me out during the day.”

“Hey!”

“Anyway, he said he had nightmares of you slipping right past his fingers and him failing to catch you. He relives that moment.”

“Did it really affect him that much? Accidents happen all the time.”

“Not to you, Y/N.”

“Maybe, but I’m just another player from the opposite team., right? …Do you think he…?”

Donghyuck brought a hand up to his head, massaging his temples as he sighed with annoyance.

“You’re too dense.”

“How could I have known? ”

“Look, just talk to him as soon as you can. That boy needs to finally sleep properly, even my grandma’s bag has a lighter color than his eye bags.”

You just nodded, a bit skeptic.

You were discharged on that same day. Jungwoo almost cried again when you met in the common room, hugging you tightly, praising and scolding you at the same time with a brotherly smile.

You first saw Mark Lee in the halfway, after your Potions class. He was sitting on the ledge of a large window, staring seemingly into space. Donghyuck’s words echo in your mind as you decide to approach him and hop onto the space beside him, settling comfortable against the window behind you.

“Woah, Lee, Donghyuck was right, you could really use some concealer.”

Mark jostled as if he only noticed you now. His wide doe eyes racked over your smiling face and he seemed to panic internally.

“Whe-When did you get here? Why are you out of bed?”

“Because I was discharged?”

“What? Since when?”

“Earlier today.”

“Oh…”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, eyes running wild everywhere but in your direction. You chuckled.

“It’s okay, I already know how much the almighty Mark Lee worried over poor little me.”

Mark scoffed, his embarrassed behavior vanishing. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I see that hit to your head didn’t help with your sharp tongue, disappointingly.”

He swiftly moved away, starting to walk away from you until your hand clasped around his wrist, stopping him mid step.

“Wait, I just… I wanted to thank you.”

Mark seemed confused now, turning back to you with furrowed eyebrows.

“Thank me? What for?”

“Standing up for me and uh, you know, taking care of me.”

Mark’s face darkened at the memory of your beater.

“That git was just asking for it and I barely did anything.”

“Then at least let me repay you for the chocolate frogs you brought me.”

Now he seemed to choke on a confused ‘huh?’ with a bewildered expression that just melted your otherwise cocky demeanor.

“W-what? How-”

Mark’s words died in his throat as you slotted your lips against his in a teasing kiss, your hand holding the nape of his next affectionately and pulling him closer you. Mark took a few moments to realize it was actually happening in reality, not just an illusion from the lack of sleep. His hands came up to your waist, wrapping you in his embrace and pulling you against him impossibly closer. Years of pushed down passion and longing were exchanged in that moment, dizzying both of you.

As you pulled away from each other for air, Mark could taste the faint sweetness of chocolate on his lips. He smiled and his whole rival image turned into a lovesick teenage boy with a smile brighter than the sun. He laughed quietly, thumbs caressing your sides gently.

“I see you enjoyed your chocolate.”

You leaned more into him, pulling his face so close to yours that your noses brushed against each other’s, your ravished breath fanning across his lips as you whispered.

“I did. I’m glad I’m so interesting to you that you observe me in class enough to know that I collect chocolate frogs cards.”

You expected a blush to paint his cheeks red, an elbow in your side or at least an annoyed huff but you got none of that. Instead, one of Mark’s hands came up to cradle your cheek as he stared deep into your eyes with an unreadable look.

“Excuse me but it’s hard not to look when I have the prettiest person I’ve ever seen who also happens to be my crush since 3rd year.”

Your eyes widened, searching his for any hint that he may be just lying or teasing you. But all you could find was pure, unadulterated fondness, a withheld fire burning low in his eyes. He leaned down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear and sending goosebumps across the expanse of your skin.

“It’s been so hard not to just pull you aside and snog you senseless, especially in your Quidditch uniform.”

You decided to play along. You brought your fingers to his heated neck, running them faintly over his skin and you smirked seeing him shiver at your touch.

“Having a kink for uniforms, Lee?”

Mark screeched lowly, pulling away from you as if burned. He smoothed down his robes, fixating you with a glare that made you laugh.

“Y/N, I’m serious, though. I like you, I really really lo-….like you.”

You noticed his stutter, but it only made your smile widen as you stretched out a hand to intertwine his fingers with yours and pull him along down the corridor.

“Hm, I’ll need some more proof of that.”

Mark squeezed your hand in response, chuckling at you sweetly. He leaned over, pressing a feather like kiss to your temple.

“Don’t worry, you’re nowhere done with your payment back to me. And I only accept it in the form of kisses and cuddles.”

You smiled at each other, your hearts finally settling satisfied in your chests after years of internal turmoil that finally burned out.

“That can be arranged easily.”

#cznnet #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct mark #nct fluff #nct angst #nct fic #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct hp au #nct hogwarts au #mark lee scenarios #mark lee fluff #mark lee imagines #mark lee angst #mark lee au #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream fics #mark lee fic #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 angst #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines