Idk if it's just my habit of pushing ppl away after a certain point and nothing actually bad happened but I rly don't wanna be friends w this girl anymore

hard 2 face reality // spencer reid x fem!reader

spencer reid x reader

aaron hotchner x reader

part one - part three

a/n: a lot of people asked for part 2 to “not ur friend.” omg i didn’t expect it to blow up like it did. sorry this isnt the fluff conclusion you guys wanted...but i’m willing to make this a series maybe? idk it’s up to you guys. thank you for your feedback and support. (see notes at end)

also i tagged all the people who commented on part one.

warning(s): language. angst. not proofread. will be mistakes.

word count: 2.9k wow.

request(ed): yes. very requested. thank you @yeah-just-ignore-me-thanks for this idea.

summary: after hearing something she shouldn’t have, she has to deal with explanations and tough decisions.

hard 2 face reality by poo bear ft. justin beiber and jay electronics.

—————————————&————————————

sometimes it’s hard to face reality...even though you might get mad at me.

It’s ironic sometimes.

The twists and turns of life and the paths it puts you down. Sometimes you believed in fate but right now it only felt like a pain in the ass. Whoever was controlling your strings you hoped they would just give you a break, but no. There was always something more.

Last night, you had a dream. There was a memory within the dream. You and Spencer were cuddling on the couch watching a movie and his fingers were combing through your hair. From where you were, it was more like you were witnessing it instead of actually living it. You were just watching yourself fall harder for the man behind you. You were content. Happy even. You forgot all about your issues and problems and conflicts. You forgot about what Spencer said and the things he had done. You just forgot.

You watched as he took his fingers out of your hair and pushed you away. The you that you were watching was confused and so were you. Why would he do that? What was wrong with him? This wasn’t the memory.

Dream Spencer got up, put his shoes on, grabbed his bag, and was halfway out the door. Before he left completely he said, “We’re just friends. You’re not enough for me. You never will be.”

Dream you just sat there and stared blankly.

Your eyes opened and you stared up at your ceiling in sorrow. The tears just kept coming and you tried to keep yourself quiet but it was so hard, and you were so tired. You hated to admit it but you were in love with him. You were in love with a man who didn’t feel the same way. A man who did nothing but play you and pretend you were nothing. A man who lied.

How did this happen?

How did you end up in a position where you were in a cold bed crying about a man who was unphased? Someone who didn’t find anything wrong with their actions? How could you love someone who would never find the way to love you back and treat you right no matter how hard you wished? No matter how hard you hoped?

How could you do this to yourself?

And to think - in a few hours you’d have to wake up and see him again. After everything you realized and have come to terms with you’d have to see the man who was responsible for the ache in your heart.

————————————&———————————

When Spencer woke up the first thing he thought about was work. How he didn’t really want to go but he knows he has to. He thought about how heart wrenching the case he’s been on for the last week has been. He thought about how today he might actually be able to solve it...and then he thought about you.

He’d be seeing you.

Hotch invited you to help with the case. He figured your skill set would be exactly what they needed to solve it.

And yeah, you there definitely was for the better of the case but was it for the better of him?

He had no idea what to do. You were mad at him. You weren’t answering his phone calls or his texts and he figured out that you heard the conversation and he gets that maybe calling you a grandmother was wrong, but really what did he do?

He knew he missed you. He missed being able to rant to you, and you consoling him. He missed the movie days you guys had...but he could watch them on his own...right? He could figure out his own problems...he didn’t need anyone to help him. Especially not you. Not someone getting upset about the smallest of things.

That was so rude of you. Why would you ignore him? Why wouldn’t you reply to his texts are calls?

He thought that that was pretty selfish of you.

And yeah sure, maybe calling you clingy was a lie but was that really something to ignore him over? To throw it all away for?

Should've been adjusted to my life, had the opportunity to stay away for the last time...now you’re standin’ right in front of me. It hurts me to know that I lied. Tryna protect your feelings... you read in between the lines
Hope your heart has started healing

You arrived.

He saw you, bag over your shoulder, going straight towards Hotch’s office and ignoring him.

Not even a hello? Not a good morning? You hadn’t even looked at Emily or Morgan either. What had they done? What had he done?

From what he could tell you had been crying, but you covered it well. If it was anyone but him they wouldn’t have been able to tell but he could. Did you miss him too? Were you hurting?

———————————-&————————————

“Is something going on between you and Reid?”

Hotch was looking at you expecting an answer but you didn’t know what to tell him. According to Reid nothing had ever been going on.

“No. I’m really just trying to focus here.”

Hotch nodded. “Good.”

Truth is, it was very hard to ignore Spencer. He seemed so oblivious that it made you feel sorry for him. But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t feel sorry for him. He wasn’t the one crying his eyes out at night and cussing out rom coms when they came on the television.

And you could tell he didn’t feel the same. He didn’t look how you felt. He looked conflicted, but he didn’t look sorry or hurt. His normalcy pained you. Had you really meant that little? Maybe you were over exaggerating things. No. You deserved an explanation - but you weren’t ready to hear it.

A while ago...

“Okay Y/N cover your eyes!”

You giggled. “No, Spencer why?”

“Just do it! I promise you’ll like it.”

You were sat criss crossed on the couch and Spencer was behind you with something in his hands. Before you could look at it he told you to close your eyes and he hid it behind his back. You smiled and closed your eyes waiting for whatever the surprise was.

You felt his fingers move your hair out of the way and you felt a coolness along your neck.

A necklace.

“Okay open.”

You could feel him grinning. You opened your eyes and looked down at your chest. You nearly gasped. On the end of the necklace was a miniature glass sculpture. When you met at the museum you told him that they were your favorite.

He remembered.

You held it in your hand and turned around to kiss him. He was a bit surprised but held your face in his hands and kissed you back.

“L/N!” You were snapped out of your head. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry.”

The necklace. You can’t believe you were still wearing it. It felt like the only thing holding you together which was strange since glass was so fragile. The metal necklace part felt like it was burning you. The happy memory burned you. You took the necklace from under your sweater and ripped it off your neck. You couldn’t wear it anymore. It hurt you, but you couldn’t hold on.

Reality is kinda hard to face, like actual facts is for flat-earthers. Rains a requirement for flowers to grow, and pains a requirement for power to grow. It’s a miracle how one can change, from one what was just hours ago.

When you got home that day you were happy and running on adrenaline. Yeah, you had to see Spencer...but you helped solve a case. You helped save someone. It was tiring, and gruesome just like what Spencer said but the feeling you get after helping someone? Unexplainable.

After changing out of your work clothes and into some jeans and a shirt, you’d thought you’d treat yourself to dinner. Maybe that would help you forget. Forget and move on. Besides, it was a nice little diner and you used to be a regular. You had wanted to bring Spencer but he never wanted to go. He never wanted to go out.

His loss.

When you got there the familiar scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafted through. You had missed this. When everything was so simple and uncomplicated. When you could be you. Not wondering if today was the day Spencer would decide to come over or not. Or to even call. You could finally breathe. You weren’t in your stuffy apartment. You weren’t in a Spence filled work place. You were where you considered home in a city away from it.

“Y/N, hey!” Em the waitress called you over. You would consider her a friend. You two had always talked when you came through.

“Hey!” She went in for a hug and you hugged her back.

“Where have you been?”

You sighed. “Busy.”

She nodded. She understood. From there she asked you where you wanted to sit. You were just going to request the counter since you were alone, but when a little boy came up to you yelling your name, and wrapped his arms around you...you didn’t have the time to answer. It was little Jack.

“Hey buddy!” You hugged him back.

You looked around for Hotch. What a coincidence. He smiled and waved you over. You and Jack walked over to the booth and Hotch stood and hugged you. “I’m so sorry about Jack.”

“Oh no, it’s fine!”

About two years ago Hotch hired you to babysit Jack every once in a while. You needed the money. You were making enough from the paintings you sold but you needed more to finish college and save up. You weren’t going to some big expensive college or anything but still.

A little while later you met Spencer and it just became and inside joke.

“Would you like to eat with us?” Hotch asked.

“I don’t want to intrude Hotch...”

“Aaron.” He corrected while smiling. “Please, join us.”

And you did. You ate dinner with Aaron and Jack and you were having fun. This past month you had been moping around feeling sorry for yourself but you were actually happy. There was still that pain in your chest, and a part of you that longed to call Spencer and talk to him - but you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

After dinner Em invited you to go clubbing with her on Saturday. At first you were going to turn her down but you thought...why not? You didn’t have to stay up waiting for Spencer to call anymore. You didn’t have to cook or plan to order in in case Spencer decided to stop by. You didn’t have any plans.

“Sure Em, I’ll be there.”

“Great.”

She walked behind the counter and looked from you to Hotch. Like a suggestive look. Like a “ask him too!” look. And you weren’t ready for anything, and wasn’t even sure if you liked Aaron that way, and you still were in a gray area with Spencer...but you thought it’d be rude not to ask.

“Aaron...”

He nodded, urging you to go on.

“Do you want to go with me Saturday? I mean...I don’t really want to be alone..Em has a girlfriend and it might be fun.”

He laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Yes Y/N I’ll go.”

When you got home and ready for bed you had this weight in your stomach. There was a lump in your throat, and your fingers tensed. You thought about Hotch and it made you feel like you were cheating on Spencer. But you weren’t. You and Spencer weren’t together. There was no need to feel guilty.

He didn’t.

———————————-&————————————

That Saturday came soon enough and you weren’t sure if you were ready. Physically yeah, you showered and got ready...but emotionally? Mentally? Was this a date? Had you asked Aaron out? Were you ready for that? Had you moved on from Spencer? No, of course not. But Aaron wasn’t a distraction either. You could never do that to him no matter how bad you felt. Never.

Your doorbell rang and when you opened it you were surprised to see Hotch...not in a suit. It fit him and you could admit it...he looked...really good.

“You clean up nice.” You said laughing a bit to yourself.

He looked you up and down. “So do you.”

He looked a bit taken aback and you could see he was a bit flushed and that made you a bit happy. You liked giving people that kind of reaction. It gave you just a bit of confidence you needed. Especially tonight, where you’d try not to think about Spencer.

When you got there you were glad it wasn’t too busy. The music wasn’t that loud either and you were glad because then you got to dance without immediately getting a headache. Your first dance was with Hotch but then he saw one of his friends from college (he’s a lawyer now) and then started talking to him. You didn’t mind. You actually kind of liked being alone. It gave you you time to think. But not about Spencer.

No. Not tonight you wouldn’t.

You wasted too many tears on him to be thinking of him while you were supposed to be having fun. He didn’t deserve your thoughts. He didn’t deserve your tears. He didn’t deserve movie nights, or cuddles, or sex, or kisses, or waiting, he didn’t deserve -

Spencer.

Spencer Reid.

You thought you were dreaming, but you weren’t. He was just a little bit away from you with JJ on his arm. “Just coworkers.” You wanted to say it didn’t hurt you, you did, but your heart broke. In a million little pieces. Had he not want to get serious with you because he was in love with her. It makes sense, everything about that makes sense but it didn’t hurt any less. It didn’t make the tears in your eyes stop, it didn’t make the ache in your chest dim but at least it made sense.

Know it hurts to see the truth in your face, circumstances bring you down to your knees. Go on and cry an ocean, but don’t drown in it. Enough to put your heart at ease. Oh don’t lose your self esteem. I apologize for being a man. It’s way harder than what it seems.

You grabbed your bag from Hotch and told him you needed to go outside for a minute. He asked you if you wanted him to go with you but you needed to be alone. You wanted to be by yourself to fight these tears. You couldn’t cry in front of him.

He gave you his coat which was much too big but still appreciated.

Once you were outside you took your phone out to check your face. Your nose was red but the few tears hadn’t ruined anything. You were fine. You were going to be okay. Everything was alright.

Until it wasn’t .

“Y/N?”

Fucking Spencer.

You turned around to see Spencer Reid walking towards you with a confused look on his face.

“Hey.” he said. Hey? Hey?? What the hell were you supposed to say to that? Hey?

He cleared his throat. “Things are weird, right?”

“Weird?” you scoffed.

“Y/N, it’s been a month! I don’t understand what I did! You just stopped talking to me even after I tried to apologize! What more can I do?”

He stopped for a second, “Is that Hotch’s jacket?” He stepped forward to take a look at it but you flinched away. “Don’t tell me that’s Hotch’s -“

“You were hiding me Spencer. You said the equivalent to hanging out with me was of visiting a grandmother. You never wanted to hang out unless it was on your terms and you called me clingy and suffocating when I NEVER asked you for more. I NEVER went out of my way to ask you for anything and you treat me like this? Like I’m replaceable? After everything we’ve been through? After all we’ve talked about and experienced? What’s your excuse for that Spencer? What could you possibly have to say that would explain that?”

He opened his mouth and closed it again.

“If I were to have called you and said ‘Yup, everything is fine Spence we can go back to normal.’ It would have gone back to normal! YOUR normal! A normal where I’m hidden like a side chick but you get to be in public with JJ on your arm! Fucking JJ! And yeah, we never put a label on it but YOU made it clear that we weren’t to fuck other people. That was YOUR decision! She was the girl you said I didn’t have to worry about and here we are.”

Spencer was silent. He looked to the floor, and said nothing. His fingers ran through his disheveled hair and his lip was quivering.

“So this is because of JJ?” he asked.

“Fuck you.”

————————————&———————————

He watched as you walked into the club and back out again with Hotch. Before you went in his car though you walked over to Spencer and put the necklace into his hand. Silently you walked over to Hotch and got in the passenger seat.

Spencer didn’t know what to do.

This was your necklace. He gave it to you. It was yours to keep. Yours to wear, cherish, and hold. Why would you give it back? It was supposed to make you happy and help you remember him. Instead it was in his hands unworn but the girl he had hurt. What was he supposed to do?

JJ found him outside but he said nothing to her the whole ride when he took her home. He was thinking about you. He was thinking about what you said. You were right.

When he got home he looked at the box of things you gave him. There were polaroid pictures of the two of you and he started shaking as he cried. What had he done? How could he have been so selfish?

You were right.

You were right.

Truth was he did like JJ, and he had been hiding you. He had been treating you unfairly. He had been a jerk and he had done every single thing you said he did.

He was all of the names you were calling him in your head.

Every single one.

He held the glass sculpture necklace in his hands and could feel his tears running down his face falling on it.

Even though he fucked up, and had something weird with JJ, he realized...he was in love with you.

Sometimes it's hard to face reality.

—————————————-&————————————-

literally wtf is this. what in the love triangles - anyway. ik you guys wanted fluff so...part 3? idk. should reader have a thing with hotch? should she choose hotch or reid?

feedback always appreciated. it pushed me to write this.

taglist: @hotchsbabygirl @pinkdiamond1016 @thefemalestorywriter @sizzlingclamturtlesludge @samyilf123

comment tag list: @peculiarinsomniac @mgg-theprettiestboy @187-reid @realalpacorn @wooya1224 @minami97 @studywithrosie01 @yeah-just-ignore-me-thanks @meowiemari @thedaughterofhotchniss @reniescarlett @lovelyspencerreid @ashwarren32 @fantastic-fans @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @psych0crybaby @drreidsconverse @castbyfox

( LOVED YOU BETTER. )

You put your love and trust into people not things, you tell him.  

They’ll leave, he says about humanity - about that precarious nature that both beguiles and terrifies him.

But they’ll love you back, you remind him.  

pairing.  kth x f!reader.

genre + rating.   slice of life.  an angst angel food cake with a fluffy, strawberry centre.  general.

tags / warnings.  minor (ish) character death, heartbreak, kim taehyung is bad at feelings, summer romance, abandonment issues, moving on, healing.  idk. 

wc.  4.3k

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ @snackhobi​ @midnighttifa​ 💖 i love y’all!

author note.  this was written for the 'a long hot summer' event hosted by @thebtswritersclub​.  my member was taehyung (obviously!) with the sense being sight.  this is my first project for a net, so i hope you enjoy it!  💖

He spends most of his childhood in Lyon, skirting the rivers in search of inspiration.  It isn’t Paris, his mother tells him, but it’s just as lovely - quieter and more peaceful.  She insists, one day, she’ll take him home, where his maternal grandparents are buried and she’ll show him all the parts of her world.  

The first time he paints - eleven years old, seated at the edge of the Saône with a brush held between his teeth and pigment smearing his hands - his mother is delighted.  He fills the house with his works: pretty watercolours that mimic the blue of the river, the white of boats, the amber of the sky.  She loves them and she loves him and she tells him day in and day out, offering praise as readily as he offers his heart on canvas.  

He’s sixteen when he migrates stateside, to where his father grew up and his mother’s accent stands out.  He hates it there.  It’s boring and bland and it stifles his imagination.  There are no sail boats, no rivers, no pretty girls.  The days turn grey and so does his mother, as if she’d left the best parts of herself back in France.  She still tells him she loves him, promises that they’ll go back someday. 

At twenty-one, he learns love isn’t real.  His father files for divorce and his mother withers away.  When he goes, he packs his bags and doesn’t look back.  It’s a slamming door in an already abandoned home.  Beautiful as it might be, love is nothing but infatuation - fleeting and easily broken and fit only for the books that line the study.  It exists truly, wholly, only in the blood that runs in his veins.  

At twenty-two, he realises absolutely nothing lasts, for his mother leaves too, taking her lilting laughter and rose perfume with her, buried six feet under soil she’d never called home.  Her death is a nail in the door, sealing his childhood shut.  

His father does not attend the funeral.  Hardly anyone does.  

The paintings - lovely portraits of her wide eyes and full lips, of Parisian sunsets and paved streets - are all he has.  They serve as memories, painful reminders of the woman his mother once was, of the life he’d once lived.   They fill the house that’s no longer a home - hasn’t been, for years - tucked away in a room he refuses to enter.    

His mother had called him her petit choux because he was born with dough-soft cheeks, sweet as pie.  As he grew older, the name stuck - even if the fat hadn’t, slipping off his face with each passing year.  By the time he’s eighteen, he’s uncut edges rather than honey brioche.  At twenty-seven, he’s hardened far more than she would’ve ever expected of her beloved boy.  He is week old bread, stale and hard to the teeth.

But he is still her petit choux and he thinks she’d love him regardless.

So Kim Taehyung promises to go back.  For her - to find all the pieces she’d left behind and fashion them back together.  What he doesn’t expect is to meet you along the way. 

He discovers you on a day that scorches his bones, Parisian sun shimmering pavement and cobblestone.  You are a whirlwind of colour, every shade of the rainbow presented in the glory of your smile.  You treat the Seine like a lover, living at the edges of its shores with bare feet and bare legs and a bare face that begs to be memorised.

You laugh and it’s radiant, pealing bells that ring in his ears long after noon has struck. 

You call him mon chéri like it means something.   

It reminds him of his mother and he wonders whether she ever did these same things, dancing across the grass with an apricot caught between her teeth.  He hopes so. 

“Come, come,”  you coax, with a mouth that threatens to tear his chest wide open.  It presents pretty, in shades of ruby and wine;  it draws him in, sticky sweet, and he’s defenseless to your whims.  He goes where you go, following the flow of your hair, the curtain that draws back and has him seeing in technicolour.  

He laughs when you laugh, smiles when you smile.  You bring him to all the places he’s never been:  the cobbled streets his mother once roamed, the darkened bars filled with champagne, the sunlit warmth of your bedroom where wisteria branches hang low.  He paints you in all of them - sweeping watercolours into the silk of your hair, the curve of your lips, the swell of your hips when his palms grip them tight. 

You’re an ingenue, a muse, everything he’s ever wanted.  But he doesn’t love you - because love doesn’t exist.  Not in the ways they portray on the silver screen, with heartfelt declarations and bundles of overflowing roses.  He can’t give you those things;  he’s grateful you don’t ask.

Sometimes, he thinks you might dare to.  Can see it lurking in the lovely shade of your stare, how you study him when you think he isn’t watching.  Furtive glances, made beneath the thick line of your lashes, behind the brocade of your sun-drenched strands. 

But he’s Kim Taehyung and he’s always watching - always aware.  He hates to miss a single thing.

Don’t ask me to love you, he tells you without words.  

“Should we go to Lyon for the weekend?”  

You’re draped across the bed, drenched in lavender and warm like baked pastry.  Your tongue licks cream from your lips, sweetness touched with honey.  He drinks in your every movement, dedicating them to canvas.  There’s a freckle on your knee and another just below.  One more on your ankle and three along the top of your foot.  A constellation he hasn’t named yet.

“No,”  he answers, devoid of the same delight that frolics behind your teeth.  

“Why not?”  You press, because it’s what you do - forcing each button until you find the one that stirs something to life within him.  A coin-operated boy, rusty and in terrible disrepair.  He thinks you’d be wary of the bright red warning light but you seem almost colourblind, looking through rose-tinted glasses that dress all of his actions in warmth he doesn’t deserve.  

He doesn’t answer, sweeping his brush back and forth.  Lilac filters into water, a lovely shade that grows lighter and lighter with each pass of bristles.  It’s not quite the same as your dress - a silk creation that begs to live on your skin - but it’s close enough.  He’ll settle for it.

It reminds him of the flowers in the garden back home.  Back when his mother was alive and she still breathed life into the greenery, trimming stems and drying petals.  

“I don’t want to.”  A simple enough answer.  

You wait for him to elaborate, pouting and pleading like you might break him down with the sheer force of your beauty.  If he were any lesser man, you might have.  

“Please,”  you purr, too persuasive for your own good.  You’d settle into his lap, twist his honey strands between your fingers, if not for the stare he levels you with.  One that screams be good and stay still because the last thing he wants is you ruining the painting.  He doesn’t want to start all over and the light is already waning, sun lost somewhere behind drooping branches and the gauzy softness of your drapes.

“No.”  

“Please.”

Brush to water, then to colour.  A sweet orange - the flesh of a fresh cantaloupe without seeds.  “No.”

“Mon chéri—” 

He booms out “No!” like a cannon.  It’s akin to being scolded, stilling the playfulness in your hands.  You’re ignorant to all the reasons he refuses to indulge you but you think of it as nothing but selfishness, a cold you can’t weather.  One you refuse to when flowers are in full bloom and the air outside lays a salt-crown  atop your brow.  This is your kingdom, your rightful place - you bow to no one. 

You stiffen, rise from the bed in a motion that disrupts every part of him.  Motions still, knuckles white.  No no no.  You’re ruining it.  You’re ruining—

“Get out.”

Taehyung can’t quite believe his ears - staring at you in such aghast you almost laugh right in his face.  He has the audacity to perform such theatrics after yelling at you?  How dare he!  It enrages you, brings your blue blood to a boil beneath your skin.

“Pardon?”  The sound rolls, trips, and stumbles, dirt on his palms and knees as he stares up at you.

“I said get out, mon chéri.”  You’ve unbuttoned the rumpled shirt - his, with his initials embroidered across the cuff - allowing it to drop from your shoulders and into his lap.  He glares down at it, stained now with the watercolours in his palette.  It’d be pretty if it weren’t so infuriating. 

“I’m not done.”  

You tch, a derisive sound that bites worse than your love, your nails painted in Chanel.  “I don’t care.”

“I’m not done,”  he repeats, perhaps a little lost.  It crawls out between his teeth, a lost man seeking solace.  He needs to finish this.  He hasn’t painted you this way yet, bathed in faded light.  It’s an empty slot in his album of memories.  He can’t let it go.

You’re unrepentant, dismissive.  A table turned.  “I don’t care.” 

He hates you then.  He doesn’t realise how close the emotion is to love.

He doesn’t know when his boyhood waned away, lost itself to the wind and the rivers.  He only knows, suddenly, he was not a boy but a man, a miserable soldier made to walk the plank.  He thinks it might’ve been when she died, taking the last traces of his youth with her.  Gone was the innocence, the gentility, the voraciousness;  all at once, the ease - the glory, the good - had evaporated, leaving in its place a broken boy too angular, too angry. 

He doesn’t know when his boyhood waned away, but he remembers all too well when her death had eclipsed the light, leaving him in perpetual darkness.  

It makes sense then - that his whole life is a charnel house, built on the foundation of someone else’s bones.  It’s only fitting it becomes a memorial to a long-gone mother, a weeping wife, a star burnt out too soon. 

He’s somehow still surprised when his kingdom - formidable, impenetrable, guarded - comes crumbling down, an overgrown old city ruined.  As if he’d expected those skeletons to hold him forever, to carry the weight of his desolation within their hollows.  He begs for absolution when it falls beneath a thousand leagues, lost to saltwater and liquor.  He drowns within it and it seeps, sticks, stirs - catching in his stare and trembling his fingers.  

Nostalgia comes like ghosts - old men lost at sea.

They’re dim, twilight, held behind a heavy fog.  Old memories on a carousel ride, spinning in perpetual motion.  They’re snapshots of his mother, his youth, his home.  They pass too quickly;  he can never catch them.  

Years old misery claws its way up his chest and he chokes on it each night, lying awake listening to the city groan, straining like a dying beast on its last legs.  He misses her, he misses you, he misses the person he used to be.  He aches for it - a nameless thing just out of reach.  

Something Taehyung begs and cries for until he’s blue in the face.

Something you’d given him, in the form of kisses and promises.  Something he’d only shoved you down into the dirt for - right where she was.  Because no one kept promises, and he didn’t want to hate you later.  (For loving, for leaving.)  

Instead, he hates himself, and that is a neater, cleaner way to end the story.  

He is bereft, drifting between days he has neither the desire nor wherewithal to consider. 

He sees women just like you - girls that run barefoot through the grass, fancying themselves dancers, muses, inspirations.  They laugh, they kiss, they cite vague poetry.  They preen when he asks to paint them, throwing exaggerated shapes with the lines of their necks, the flutter of their lashes.

Still, none of them are you - too soft and rounded. 

None possess the same insolence, polite phrases toeing the line of sophisticate and street urchin.  They are all wind-up ballerinas, dancing on rotation, with smiles not right, too tight.  They’re too flat, too freckled, reminiscent of rotting cherries and mint-green Ladurée bags you’d scoff at.  They leave his canvases better off bare, boring and one-dimensional.  Taehyung resents them. 

But he doesn’t love you, and he tells himself that whenever he misses you.

A victim of ennui, he slips into a pattern he abhors.  Supine lounging in the evenings, preceded only by listless wandering during the long hours of the day.  He drifts with the rise and fall of the sun, eyes blind to the beauty around him. 

Nothing feels quite right anymore - not in the way it used to.  There are no memories of his mother, no sweet tales told by a ghost.  It’s empty empty empty, only shit-stained streets and hollow bodies.

He prays for an answer, a sign, anything. 

It comes in the form of you - nearly three weeks later, beneath a stream of sunlight that casts you in chiaroscuro.  For the first time, he itches to paint.  The need thrums in his fingers, a million little nerve endings firing off.  He itches to touch you too, but he ignores that, shoves it into the deepest, darkest recess of his thoughts as he can.  He needs to focus on one thing and one thing only:  doing what he came here to do.

“Bonjour.”  It comes bare, undressed and vulnerable.  By the look on your face, it isn’t what you want.

You twist away, entire body angling uncomfortably in your effort to ignore him.  “What do you want?”  You’re cruel, capricious - a god looking upon a lowly farmhand with no offering.  It stings in a way it shouldn’t, pulls his expression into a frown before he can mask it. 

That’s better, you think.  He can practically read the smug emotion dancing in those pretty irises.

“You haven’t called.”  

“Neither have you.”  

“You told me to leave.”

“And you left.”

For every excuse, you have a rebuttal.  It’s a game of chess he’s bound to lose.  It’s as frustrating as it is enticing, stirring something warm and heavy in the cavity behind his ribs.  A little hummingbird come to life, wings beating relentlessly and kicking up all the dust of his childhood trauma.

“I’m sorry.”  It’s hardly an apology, too greedy to come the way it should.  Taehyung does this for himself, for his promise, for memories he refuses to let go. 

You see right through him.  “Are you?”  

“I am.”  

“You’re not.”

“I am.”  

“Tell me what you’re sorry for.”

The words I am are poised on his tongue and reduced to ash with your question.  He’s never had to try so hard a day in his life.  It feels wrong, messy, awful.  Every part of him compels him to rebel - to wax poetic about the things he’s done right, how what you’re asking is too much.  I cannot love you, he thinks.  

“I thought so.”  There’s nothing but disdain in your stare, turning it sharp like a knife that threatens to glide through his armour.  “You’re selfish, Kim Taehyung.  All you want is to take and take and take.  You refuse to give.”  

You’re not wrong.  He wears his sadness like a solid steel plate;  it curls around his vertebrae, writhing in his belly until he’s full, aching, complete.  He doesn’t know how to exist without it, apart from it.  It keeps him safe, satisfied, out of harm’s way.  It’s both a blessing and a curse.  

As you leave, he wonders whether it’s worth it.

Six long days pass.  Six too many, drawn out and miserable.  He aches to create, to sketch, to paint.  He calls you in a moment of weakness;  you come, nonetheless.

“What do you want?”  You repeat, mouthful of thorns and scar tissue.  

This time Taehyung has an answer.  He’s ready, confident in his recital.  It spills forth loosely, with abstract brazenness.  “I want you.”  There’s no room for uncertainty, zero leeway to be found in between the syllables.  It’s the most sincere he’s been all season, made true by the summer sun and your focused, unyielding stare.

“You want moi?”  It’s a dance with the devil - question poised like a hand.  “Do you even know what wanting someone means?”  You’re steady, unwavering, just as he is. 

He hesitates then, just barely, with a tick of his jaw, fingers curling around nothing.  You take that as weakness, delicate mouth curling into a sneer.  He sees it - all the I told you so’s poised on the tip of your tongue, ready to silence him.  He beats you to it, crashing his mouth against yours with a recklessness that thrums in his veins, sending his heart on a wild chase for that something.

He’s spent his whole life in pursuit of a feeling, a spectre, a bittersweet memory.  He thinks he might’ve lost himself along the way.

“I want you.  I want you - and us.”  

What he means to say is he wants all the things that come with it:  the bratty rebuttals, the early morning eagerness, the taste of you every night.  He wants the eyelashes on his pillow case, the lipstick stains, the scent of your perfume - citrus and nectarine blossom, cocoa butter, fresh cream.  He wants the trips to the countryside, the new memories, the paintings full of you.  He wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything.  He needs it like he needs air, light, art.

He needs you - his muse.  

He tells you, shamelessly, around a lump that forms in his throat and makes it hard to breathe.  “We’ll go to Lyon.  If you want to go, we’ll go.”  

The place where he grew up is different, wrapped in ivy and devoid of light.  Windows are drawn and everything leans grey, weeds sprouting beneath his expensive leather loafers.  They curl around his ankles, creep up the back of his knees;  they threaten to crush him beneath their weight.  He imagines his insides look the same - neglected and vacant.  

He wishes he hadn’t come.  This isn’t his home, his kingdom, his heart.  Not anymore.

“Come, mon chéri,”  you hum, stirring him from his reverie, pulling his thoughts through the seven circles of Hell until he’s back in the present, stiff at your side with your fingers interlaced.  You offer an affectionate smack of your lips - wine-stained and pretty - to his cheek.  He does not soften. 

“Let’s go.”  It comes despite himself, before he can help it, in a voice that isn’t his.  It’s too soft, too unsure - fifteen years younger and vulnerable.

You regard him closely, with a careful narrow of your stare.  He can read the pity there, the frustration that swims in the depths - circling sharks seeking out the scent of his blood.  It’s inescapable.  He wishes you’d stop.  He doesn’t need you to lecture him.  

Misery rises, licks up his throat like bile, and he worries it might spill out, red as the crimson sea.  Part of him wants it to - a defense mechanism he can’t control;  the other part of him knows he should swallow it down.  He has no reason to fight you.

“Come,”  you repeat, and he’s defenseless, lost to your siren song.  He steps back in time, white-knuckled and terrified. 

There are no longer peonies in the kitchen, nor roses in the front hall.  Dust settles over every surface, dry soil kicked up beneath his feet.  

Taehyung tries to recall the way his mother would busy herself in the garden, bent over her flowers like an altar.  How her knees were perpetually scarred, dirt caught beneath her nails, dark hair a braided wreath worn like a crown.  It was the only time she was anything but composed - full of light and laughter and a love for the alive.  He’d eat breakfast with her in the front yard, a shadow that would follow her every move.  Back and forth, he’d go - on his feet, with his brush, in his thoughts. 

Every painting was of her - of tulips and daisies, bare ankles and sun-kissed skin.  The shape of her mouth, the freckle on her nose.  Her delight when his father would come home. 

He swears he smells her perfume now, standing in the place he’d grown up.  He’s reminded of hot coffee and fresh bread, her fluttering laughter and brass watering can.  He’ll dream about it for days, memories rolling like a Super 8 film through his mind.

He cries I’m fine when he isn’t.  You hold him until he is. 

You sleep together on a Sunday afternoon.  

When you wake, the sun is low on the horizon and you’re the prettiest Taehyung’s ever seen you, features thrown in stark relief.  You’re salt-sweet and striking, dressed in linen whites and the shape of his mouth.  

He paints the pale soles of your feet, drawn against your leg, and the shade of your nails, a pretty colour he attributes to springtime and sonnets.  He indulges in the sound of your voice, soft and hazy in his ear.  You kiss him like he isn’t broken and you taste like memories - ones he hasn’t made yet, but desperately wants to.  He is both sinking and floating, as if you’ve taken his heart from his chest and hold it, beating, somewhere high above his head. 

He carries your perfume for weeks after, heavy on his skin.  Lingering, like you’ve become a part of him, like he’s fallen in love. 

Kim Taehyung had once surrounded himself with beautiful things - paintings and drawings and girls.  He’d thought if he fenced himself in with all things good, there would be no cracks for the outside world - the real world, full of misery and deceit - to seep through.  He’d kept his hands occupied by brushes, by thorns, by a million little material things.

He hadn’t realised all he needed was yours, warm in his. 

You put your love and trust into people not things, you tell him.  

They’ll leave, he says about humanity - about that precarious nature that both beguiles and terrifies him.

But they’ll love you back, you remind him.  

The confession comes at the end of summer, edges past the cage of his teeth into the quiet of the evening.  It comes and comes, so softly he thinks you might laugh, corners of your eyes wrinkling like the sheets in which you’re bare.

Maybe it’s the way your hair falls over your shoulders, a curtain he aches to part, to feel beneath his hands.  Maybe it’s the way you look at him with hungry eyes and wet lips and teeth that could crumble all of his walls as if they were made of papier-mache.  

Maybe it’s just you, skin like silk and eyes like the night sky.  

“I think I love you,”  Taehyung states, careful, with his entire heart in his hands. 

“You think?  

He nods, although he mustn’t.  He can’t, he reminds himself.

And yet he does, because there is no denying how well you fit each other’s curves, the truth that you are two pieces of the same puzzle.  He wakes up early each day with the taste of you still on his tongue, the memory of you seared into his palms.  Your body has become his home and it is real, flesh and blood, not broken bones buried six feet under.  

You fill his silence with your laughter;  it sounds like redemption and feels like hope.

Before he knows it, seasons change.

Autumn becomes a waiting room, a time between the unyielding heat of summer and the unbearable cold of winter.  Taehyung loves the quiet of it, the progression as steady as the chill that creeps beneath his clothes, within his bed - everywhere but in his head.  

He remembers his mother, his home, all the things he’s lost.  He pays homage to the woman who had raised him right but left too soon.  He finds the places she’d told him about and folds secrets into their corners.  He creates new memories, introducing his present to his past.  You call her mamman and tell her not to worry, promising that you’ll take care of him.  

He lives beneath the fading leaves that serve as a benchmark for which to measure the growth he’s undergone.  He imagines his life in film, in rolling scenes laid out in sepia tones.  He imagines weeks passing by and versions of himself doing the things he loves most.

Laid out under the copper sky, your head in his lap and a brush in his hands.  He doesn’t need to look at you - can fit you among the pages purely from memory.  The turn of your smile, the twinkle in your stare, the little freckle just beneath your lip.  He sees you in his dreams and he commits them to paper, filling his sketchbook as you fill his thoughts.

Wandering the streets, hand in hand, guided by your laughter and the smell of warm pastry.  Bare legs, echoing footsteps, the sight of your smile when he’s said something particularly funny.  You cry Mon chéri! and force a cherry between his lips, savouring the tart taste under the afternoon sun.

Upon your balcony, skin searing beneath high noon and the feel of your mouth.  He lets you paint him - sits terribly still as you show him who he really is - stripping his pretenses with each pass of your brush.  He is bare but not broken, a beautiful boy painted in earth tones and paired with intense eyes.  

Taehyung tells you your painting is beautiful and that he loves it - that he loves you.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @snackhobi​

warnings: extremely negative feelings towards a sibling, distressing / intrusive thoughts. placed under a break due to the content of the message. remember, I'm not a mental health professional.

updated with additional viewpoints from readers at the bottom!

I'm sorry in advance.

I really hate my older sister. She never respects my boundaries, insults me frequently, and is just annoying and hypocritical in general.

I've always had these issues with her, but she lived at her own apartment away from me and the rest of my family, so I've been able to control my hatred of her. But last year in March she moved back in and sold her apartment. She has no plans of leaving anytime soon, and I can't stand her.

We shared a bedroom for about a year because we were also taking care of my cousin who also moved in with us last year. My cousin has since moved out, but my sister is unfortunately here to stay for a couple of years. But with extra space, I was able to move into the spare bedroom and thought that would be the end of my problems.

It wasn't. In fact, she has become even more unbearable. The hardest part of this relationship is that she has a weird obsession with being with me. I'm not sure if this is because she loves me, or she's just weird. I think she's weird because my parents never act like she does.

Our bedrooms are right next to each other. There's really no reason for her to miss me. But every single fucking minute she's coming into my room to bother me. I would have more empathy for her if she acknowledged my limits, but she doesn't.

She's constantly cuddling me after I've said for MONTHS that I don't enjoy it and it makes me uncomfortable. She constantly belittles me by saying I couldn't live without her, and that I would be a mess if it wasn't for her (mind you, I've lived without her at the house for YEARS and I was perfectly fine). She's constantly in my business, interrogating me about every little thing. She once locked the door and wouldn't let me leave the room without answering her questions for 20 minutes; she asked me about a $30 Amazon order containing manga I ordered with MY OWN MONEY. And I had permission for my parents to order it! It wasn't her business whatsoever.

I've tried to keep her out numerous times; I've gotten in trouble for it. My parents say I'm being mean and that this is her way of loving me. What I feel like they ignore is that I'M UNCOMFORTABLE. Her way of "loving me" HURTS.

I've tried communication. I've had multiple meetings with my family about my boundaries and they say they'll change, but they never do.

Another factor that worsens this is that I have borderline personality disorder. I'm currently being denied therapy or intervention of any kind. I get told my mental illness is a result of me having an attitude and hating my family.

I writing this to you because I've been having very alarming thoughts recently. I'm been somewhat suicidal as long as I can remember, but this is different. I've been having nightmares about killing my family/my family killing me. I don't want to kill my family. As much as they have abused me, I know they truly love me deep down. But when I'm in a mental breakdown, I don't think for the most part. I'm afraid I'm going to do something to hurt them if they continue to push me. I'm too scared to turn myself into the police and I don't want to be taken away from my home. I truly need therapy, but it's expensive and I'm not allowed to get it.

Are there any options left for me? I love my family and I want to get better, but I can't stand them. It'll be a while before I can live on my own, and I don't think I'll make it that long.

I'm so sorry.

I appreciate that you came to me, however, please remember I am not a mental health professional.

I do not have the best relationship with my family. I've come to accept that they just exist and I moved away from them. I keep a strict level of familiarity with them for my own sanity and well-being. There are people in my immediate family I don't talk to anymore or only speak to in certain situations, with other people around to buffer my emotions. No one in my family understands or respects my mental health issues and I have ceased talking about it with them.

I will admit, I had to ask for help. I'm going to share the answer of someone I trust, because they are much more level-headed when it comes to something like this.

Use different words with your sister. Instead of "I'm mad or annoyed", use words that bring out more empathy - "You're making me sad and uncomfortable. You're hurting me." Anger is usually perceived as something within you, something you must control. But sadness is usually not perceived in the same light. People usually see sadness as something that has a cause and perhaps letting her know that she is the cause will have an effect on her. Using different words when speaking to her may slowly change her perspective.

When it comes to your parents, well, parents do not usually understand sibling dynamics. They're fucking useless most of the time when it comes to problems specifically between siblings. It might be better if you say something like, "Her constant intrusions are affecting my school work. My grades are going to drop." Usually, parents respond more urgently if you say you education is affected - and it doesn't matter if it's true or not, we're just trying to get them to help in some way.

I had to remind them it's summertime lol

Oh shit, you're right. Er. Well, In any case, it seems you've tried having reasonable discussions with your parents and it doesn't seem helpful to continue discussing this particular topic with them. Maybe get into fitness since it's summertime. Go outside, do something active. She can't cuddle you if you're running, right? Then you can also be stronger and feeling better physically improves mental health. Put some music on, go hiking or running, take yourself out of the situation.

I don't know if this is possible, but perhaps if you're experiencing a mental breakdown and you're afraid of hurting your family, run out of the house? It might be better to be physically away from them at that time to avoid saying or doing anything you regret. It may help clear your head and help your family realize that this is something that is truly debilitating to you.

I don't know your age, so I don't know if the school thing is relevant. It's only a suggestion.

You said it will be a while before you can live on your own. When I knew the cons of living with my family outweighed the pros, I did everything in my power to prepare myself for leaving because I needed a goal in order to survive. I needed distractions, reading, writing, gaming, music, anything else to occupy my mind and help control my thoughts. There was a time when I needed music to fall asleep (headphones in on low volume).

Also... uh.

I'm not saying you should do this. I'm only saying I did.

My siblings and I have physically fought before. One has scars from fighting me. The scarred one is the one closest to me currently.

Not saying you should do it.

But I did.

If anyone feels comfortable enough to share how they dealt with it in their own situation, please do. Maybe more perspectives can help this person.

--

some other experiences sent to me:

anon #1

I don't think I had a situation that extreme but my brother was a little like that. I honestly had to become kinda rude and indifferent. Like he'd always use my laptop and stuff and I put passwords on everything and just don't tell him. And then when he tried to hug or cuddle id say I don't liek it and just push him away physically now this soudns fucking obvious when I say it this way but like I don't think I read that u tried it ? Idk I discovered I have a loud annoying scream that neighbours will hear, and fucking strokg legs I used to kick him away but like I was tiny so I don't really endorse violence but I didnt like being close to a 'boy' essentially at taht age so yea... Idk man siblings are weird and I have had intrusive thoughts so I think I didn't handle it well but for a few years I became an asshole to him and then now I'm good with talking sometimes and I keep it short and sweet and I've mentioned that I'm sorry for being mean in the past bcuz like I am ? Bcuz I'm not an asshole ? ( But like I did what I had to do ) I hope u get the help and support u need

anon #2

I read the message from the previous anon and I have to say I relate to what they say. I wouldn’t say i’ve completely dealt with the situation when it comes to my parents.

I have 4 siblings and i’m the oldest, my sister that’s 2 years younger than me always gets in my way and is a tyrant. Because she’s much taller than me she overpowers me and i also have scars from when we’ve fought. My parents don’t intervene because they say we’ll make up soon and I honestly can’t stay mad at people for long. I also live with my parents and am not able to move out anytime soon until I get my degree.

A few weeks ago my mother was complaining to my father that I don’t help around the house and all that bullshit but it’s obviously not true. Anyway. My father came into my room and threw all my clothes from my cupboards on the floor and said my sister and I must get out of his house. He was literally pulling us and we were crying because where the hell would we go. My smaller siblings were begging for him not to chase us out of the house but he was ballistic. He was constantly throwing insults at me, calling me selfish and disrespectful. I was having a mental breakdown and I said i hope that God takes my life away because i’m too weak to do it myself. I kept saying that and when my parents heard me. They called me crazy and were laughing at me and said i should take it back because instead of me another one of my family members would go.

My parents don’t care about mental health and therapy. It’s all unnecessary to them. But after that night I tried to find my own way of getting rid of the negative thoughts, I choose to ignore what everyone tells me. I agree with everything that you said about trying to get away from their family when they have those thoughts. I try meditation and praying. I’m not sure if that person follows any religion but that’s what helped me. And writing can be cathartic. Also remember that you’re not alone, there are so many people out there who share your sorrows and can relate to your situation. I think about my little siblings who i’m close to and what it would be like if i wasn’t there.

Maybe if they could get a pet? I know having a pet can make you feel less alone and you feel a sense of responsibility towards them. As for their sister, she needs to see their point of view and tell her that she makes her feel overwhelmed with the things she does. She can spend time with her and try to make her understand that they need their space too.

anon #3

I also have sum advice 4 the sibling anon frm a fellow bpd buddy:

Does ur view of ur sister change from "i hate her" to "she's alright" sometimes? Viewing sum1 as all bad or all good is common in bpd ppl and usually changes alot. I rec writing down the moments where she shows she loves u. This could be thru buying smth for u or doing smth 4 u. I had a similar relationship w a friend and this exercise helped me remember that she might not have intentions to hurt me and might b trying 2 bond. Repairing the relationship might take a while. Talk alot if u can, it seems like ur family is at least willing to hear u out, even if there behavior doesn't change much. Keep sum distance if needed. Working out and finding fun hobbies is good.

If u feel like ur breaking down, try breathing exercises n identify 5 things u notice thru ur senses. What do u feel? What do u smell? What do u taste? What do u see? What do u hear? I personally like taking myself down rabbit holes. For example: I see a yellow jacket > this shade of yellow is a cool tone > what makes a color "cool" or "warm" > why do we associate red with warmth > what if the sun was blue > what if ocean water looked orange > is water wet

I usually end up forgetting what was making me upset. If it was a big deal I would still remember, but at least I would b less emotional and a bit more rational.

Search up cognitive behavior therapy and dialectical behavior therapy and try 2 practice sumthing similar 2 exercises u would perform w a therapist. Squeeze stress balls. Masturbate (this blog is perfect 4 that lol). Maybe watch some videos done by therapists on youtube. I watched a couple of videos abt therapists reacting 2 fighting in movies and I learned alot (this video was very fun to watch)!

Anyway that's what helps me! Good luck 2 u!!!

🤷🏆(i want a rant about you know what/who for either of these) 😎 🎵

🎵 - What do you listen to while you read?

Generally can’t listen to anything with lyrics as it just distracts me. If I have it turned down low so it’s more like background noise it’s okay, but I prefer putting on a score (MoS is my go-to) or sometimes just nothing at all.

😎 Who is your BroTP?

Stepping away from DC for a moment, but Harry and Ron. I love them. I love them so much. They’re the best Best Friends ever.

🤷 What thing that your fandom loves do you just not “get”?

Prepare yourselves for some long ass thoughts on Barbara and why I don’t like her and why I don’t get why other people do.

I don’t get the Gotham fandom’s love for Barbara. And this is on two levels. Firstly, she’s a bad person, that somehow, to me at least, stands out in a sea of bad people. Because there are others on the show who are murderous and cruel and selfish and petty, but Barbara has always felt worse to me, I think because so much of her behaviour is toxic and abusive in a very real way, a way that I recognise. Barbara treats the people around her badly, consistently, and is straight up abusive to every one of her romantic partners. She treats Tabitha like shit again and again, abusive in both physical and emotional ways, and she’s manipulative with Renee, employing classic abuser tactics to turn Renee’s desire to stay healthy into an attack on her to create guilt, deflecting blame off her for that and other parts of their relationship. It’s the worst with Jim though. Throughout their relationship in S1 she abused his trust, ignored his boundaries, was manipulative, controlling and jealous, tried to gaslight him on more than one occasion and then either A. cheated on him, or B. left him to immediately hook up with an ex who was as knee deep in the stuff Barbara said she was afraid of as Jim, and then got mad that Jim wasn’t sitting around waiting for her when she finally came back months later, having run out of other options (and either way, she left Jim via letter, which is just a crappy thing to do). And then following her breakdown her behaviour escalates to murder attempts, physical assaults, repeated sexual harassment, and on at least two occasions, outright sexual assault.

And she is never, ever held to account for any of it, by the narrative, by the fandom, or by the other characters. When anyone tries she turns it back on them, or the one questioning her is made out to be the bad guy, and she doesn’t ever apologise or make amends or work for any kind of redemption, which would be fine if she stayed a villain, unrepentant to the end, but that’s not what happened. Which is why I will never be happy with her being the mother of Barbara Gordon. Aside from the fact that I wouldn’t want her anywhere near a child, nor do I think the character we saw for 5 seasons would want to raise a child, or be able to (remember how she told a 12 year old she should start using her looks as a weapon to manipulate people? And that time she actually did take her 10 year old daughter out of the house/away from whoever was taking care of her to drag her across town to an empty club in the middle of the night while there were criminals loose to get a gun?), she was Jim’s abuser, for years, so for her to be the mother of his child, the mother of Barbara Fucking Gordon, leaves a very bad taste in my mouth. Even when she was pregnant she spent half the time using it to punish Jim for not wanting her back. Everything about it was so spiteful and I hate it and it was a bad choice all around and they shouldn’t have done it.

And I have my suspicions as to why she gets away with all of it, why the fandom, and even the writers I think, don’t see her behaviour as anything particularly bad. There’s almost a wider issue of letting the female characters off easy for particular kinds of behaviour that male characters would, do, and rightly should get called on, stemming really from the idea that it’s fine if it happens to men. Lee can slap her partner and ignore his explicitly stated personal boundaries, he’s a man, that’s fine. Selina can lie and deliberately hurt her partner again and again, that’s fine. Female characters can beat and abuse and assault male characters, romantic partners even, and it’s no big. Barbara can spend years sexually harassing someone and there’s nothing wrong with that, because it’s happening to men, it’s fine, gurl power, etc etc.

It’s a general “problem”, I guess, that’s beyond Barbara, but for me her treatment by the fandom is the worst. I just don’t really understand why she’s so beloved, because most of the fandom seems intent on pretending she doesn’t do 99% of the terrible stuff she does, which is insane to me - love a villain for the things they do, love them because they’re villainous. It’s fiction, it doesn’t mean you approve or whatever, but the bad things they do are a part of them. If you can’t handle that, if you have to change everything about them, then you’re not really loving the character at all, you’re making up a whole new one. I mean this even extends to her relationship with Tabitha - Barbara treats her horribly, and Tabitha spends half her time seeing someone else, but the fandom holds them up as their perfect, healthy, appropriate representation lesbian queens (also erasing their bisexuality in the process). Again, if you have to erase or ignore almost everything about the characters and their relationship and their history and their personalities in order to ship or stan them, then you’re basically just making up new ones. More than anything, I just don’t understand that.

Which brings me to my other point, because the second reason I can’t stand her is the writing. Erin is a great actress, does the best with what she’s given, but Barbara is just so badly written. So, so bad. And it’s not that the writers can’t write well, even with stumbles and bad choices, the majority of the show’s characters, male or female, are written well, particularly the villains, but for whatever reason they just didn’t with Barbara. She has no consistent personality or goals. She’s twenty different kinds of crazy, which one which time just depends on the episode. Her personality and mental state and wants change multiple times each season. Who is she? 

And it’s frustrating and infuriating watching a character be so inconsistent and aimless, especially when it interferes with other story arcs, which is what happened time and time again with Barbara. It’s pretty obvious that the writers had no idea what to do with her after season 1. There was a decent enough arc following her breakdown, where you could track what she was after - Jim, her love and hate and obsession twisted up so that she wants to hurt and kill him as much as she still wants him, but after the coma, she just loses focus, and it never really comes back. She floats between the other villains with very little point, like the writers couldn’t come up with a story for her, so they just stuck her in scenes. Her personality jumps all over the place too. Like, is she crazy, is she faking, is she a little crazy and faking the rest? Who is she with? Who is she working for? What does she actually want? Who is she?

And when they do manage to write something more substantial for her, it rarely makes much sense. Barbara suddenly wants to be head of the underworld? Okay then, came a little out of nowhere, but okay I guess. Then she’s an arms dealer???? Then she’s Sofia’s lackey????? Then she’s the god damn head of the League of Assassins??????????. This last one being the worst for me. Barbara’s involvement in the League arc was 100% unnecessary and in fact made the whole thing more confusing and nonsensical and is the most egregious example of the writers just sticking her in somewhere because they didn’t know what to do with her. Ra’s was only interested in Bruce to begin with, so why bring her back at all? Why give her the power when he and others explicitly name Bruce as his heir? Why would the League follow her, a criminal, and not Ra’s’ actual heir, or idk, one of his daughters who are already involved? Why would they keep following her once it became clear she had no intention of fulfilling the League’s mission? Why did she look like that chick in the painting? Why was Ra’s into her, given that literally everything about her is antithetical to everything he stands for? Why any of it?

And then there was her incredible writing in season 5. The whole pregnancy thing was badly done and pretty much the worst way to bring Barbara Gordon in, but besides that, the writers once again had no idea how to write her so they pretty much spent the first half of the season turning her into Oswald.

So yeah, that’s why I don’t like Barbara as a character, and why I don’t understand why so many people love her now.

And that’s today’s Unpopular Opinion

ask dump! Separated loosely by topic 

Questions and Comments

1. is this a homestuck thing. this is a homestuck thing isnt it  2. lol i love doing both!!! i love world building but i also like trying my hand at redesigning the mess that is canon fashion. @theoretical-artist​ 3. thank you!!! oritel and marion are in this post! 4. ayyyyy inginio hit me up (thank you lol) 5. Thank you! 6. maybe? i’ll see if i get around to it, i still have a few characters to get to so the school fairies and the last two selkies might show up with them 7. probably not.... it would be super fun but unless it was a commission i don’t feel like i have time haha 8. I’ve seen their blog around!! i can’t remember if i follow or not but i know who ur talking about and they cool @winxy-writing @winxys-written-world

Character and Worlbuilding

1. My brilliant nerd daughter!!! She sometimes gets so into coding or a video game she forgets to eat or drink so the girls watch out for her. She’s prone to dissociating, especially if the situation is emotional. Her hair is really soft. she actually loves sappy romantic things but has trouble accepting them or vocalizing that she wants them because they’re impractical/illogical. she discovered romcoms when she got to alfea and they are her ultimate guilty pleasure(only flora knows abt this and is always slipping recs to her) 2. They’re weirdly one of my fav couples??? like maybe its because i relate to and have projected onto both of them lmao. but any ways. Daphne and Thoren actually met when they were kids, but didn’t spend much time together because it was at a formal event. Daphne is technically 20 years older than Thoren(only a few years older than Sky), but they’re the same physical age because Daphne spent so long as a spirit. They probably wouldn’t get married as quickly in my version, especially with Daphne’s trauma. Daphne will have nightmares sometimes and Thoren has a whole routine for comforting her and helping her feel safe and grounded. Thoren gets anxious easily, and Daphne will use her magic to subtly change the environment so he feels more comfortable. they like to watch reality tv together and yell at dramatic people. 3. omg yes. this was the most frustrating thing i was watching through winx with my dad like a month ago and every time bloom called her adoptive parents by their first names i yelled at her lol. she would call Vanessa mama and Mike daddy(if you make a kink joke i will eat your liver). She would call Marion and Oritel mom and dad.  4. Yeah kind of! part of her exhaustion in Dowlland was the fact that she had been in fairy mode for so long, hiking underground, and tossed around in a river like??? anybody would need a pick me up after that. She (and all solarians) do have to live where there’s a lot of natural light as they require a high amount of vitamin d(or the equivalent of it for solarians). short trips usually aren’t a problem, Stella is just hella unlucky in the second season lmao. @moonpeachblossom 5. the short answer as to why she’s a blond (scottish??? in one of the dubs???) in an asian inspired culture/planet is because racism (or not so short bcus its a lot to unpack honestly). the answer in my version however is a pretty simple fix. She bleaches her hair. she’s paler than musa but she aint white.  6. I haven’t really yet!! Helia is struggling with his two fairly opposed cultural influences, trying to figure what he wants and whats right for him. He was raised on Lynphea but had frequent trips to Vaonaa. Lynphea is very grounded, they’re slow and steady and stubborn. Vaonaa is much more flexible, they’re flighty and spontaneous and easily adaptable. Helia’s dads love eachother and helia very much but they are VERY different people and both want different things from Helia(they try not to pressure too much but the expectations are still there). Helia’s Vaonaaj dad wants him to pursue magic, specifically wind or air magic. Helia’s Lynphean dad wants him to become a warrior. Helia feels like he’s kind of a misfit in both Vaonaaj and Lynphean culture. It took a while, but he did finally confide his feelings in Flora and she encouraged him to talk with his dads about finding his niche.  7. oooooooh fun fun relationshipsssss Bloom and Sky: so bloom and sky aren’t the most stable couple, and in my version it would take bloom a little longer to be ok with dating a prince. Bloom is fairly insecure in her relationships because of self worth issues, and tend to run away from problems instead of dealing with them. Sky on the other hand is confident but doesn’t really know how to handle people’s feelings and tends to push confrontation. I do believe that with better writing Sky and bloom could be a dope couple but as is in canon they’re VERY problematic.  Stella and Brandon: babies. they love each other so much its the best omg. Stella finds her worth in her appearance but she always seems to take brandon’s complements in a less.... arrogant way? if that makes sense? like she truly appreciates them and wants his support. i wish we knew more about Brandon but he’s legit such a good boyfriend. I think they fight mostly when Stella is being a little selfish, or when Brandon is too busy to meet her emotional needs. Flora and Helia: MORE BABIES. so Helia is more of a drama queen in the comics but we’ll ignore that for right now lol. Flora and Helia are probably the least problematic couple in the entire show. They met. Flirted a little. Confessed. and started dating with out any major problems. if i can remember correctly they don’t even really fight??? unless icy has frozen helia’s heart or something lol. I think both Helia and Flora’s love language is quality time so they’re fairly low key and just like to be in the same space and each other.   Musa and Riven: boy oh boy. Ok so, ignoring the several times Riven was LITERALLY MIND CONTROLLED his character is still difficult to deal with. I think Musa and Riven are both very intense people, and while that can be super fun and develop into a good relationship, it can also lead to LOTS of problems. I think my major problem with how they broke up was that Musa didn’t support Riven’s training? like i understand being upset you can’t see ur person often, or if they’re really busy, but Riven supported Musa’s music several times in the previous seasons it just seemed weird Musa was so unfairly demanding of him? Tecna and Timmy: nerd babies. They’re super cute honestly. I think Timmy was probably the one to instigate the relationship and bonded with Tecna over technology since she wasn’t super emotionally available at first. They have issues when Tecna is unable to voice her emotions and timmy needs to know what she’s feeling mostly, but after the first few times they’ve both learned to give the other space to figure their stuff out. Aisha and Nabu: ugh perfect couple. minus the kind of sketchy beginning lol. Aisha and Nabu generally don’t fight once they get used to each other. Nabu is a focal point that aisha is kind of bungee corded to if that makes sense? like obvi not in a restricting way. its just Aisha is hella active and needs her own space to explore and grow, but Nabu is her solid ground that she relies on.  Aisha and Nex: i actually don’t hate nex as much as the rest of the fandom lol. so like i said Aisha is an active, independent woman, and if Nabu was a separate, stationary, focal point for her, I think Nex is related, moving, counter point. So like Nex can actually keep up with Aisha, and push her and challenge her. Which isn’t a bad thing in relationships so long as a mutual respect is there.   8. well. canon is a little..... messy. My version of the girls definitely retain their individualism. for other differences... they’re just a little more fleshed out? i guess? like Bloom’s moody behavior in the show i think is because of her insecurity issues, so that plays a part in how i draw her and think of her.  9. ok wow this is gonna be tough well here we go Sky: I think sky is an ESTJ he’s not super emotional(inf Fe) but can lean toward controlling(dom Te). he seems to like tradition and think social promises are important(Si). Brandon: ESFJ. Brandon is the mom friend of the boys ok. He goes along with sky’s crazy plans, tries to subtly set Riven up with musa(season 1 i think?), some how managed to land a social butterfly like Stella and seems to just navigate social situations REALLY easily(dom Fe). he also seems to hate being disrespected or taken for granted(Si) stella does this occasionally.  Timmy: ISFJ???? thats the vibe i get hear me out ok so in season 2 Timmy gets tecna the exact computer part she needs because 1. He knows they both like things to be practical(Si) 2. He knows and remembered the part she was talking about and filed it away in his brain(Ti) and 3. He and Tecna bonded over tech (Fe) Riven: honestly he’s a tough one.... Maybe a really stunted and angry ISFJ? (speaking from personal experience i am an ISFJ) i don’t have a real reason why but riven’s behavior is really confusing in the show so it makes typing tough..... possibly INTJ as well....... Helia: ISFP. Lmao I might be basing this entirely off of stereotypes but helia has a strong pacifist belief and can be moody(Fi, and more in the comics lol) is attuned to his surroundings(Se) seems pretty focused??(Ni) and i can’t think of his Te showing up be it is an inferior  Nabu: ISTJ weirdly a good fit with Aisha(ESTP) tho?? even though he’s an Si dom, he doesn’t go along with the arranged marriage because its not what he believes(Fi) and he’s stubborn about it(Te). Roy: ENFJ honestly just a cutie. He’s personable(Fe), focused for the most part(Ni), and is comfortable in his environment(Se).  Nex: ENTP? maybe?? He’s pretty impulsive and has that “work around” mentality I associate with ENTPs.... idk this one doesn’t seem to fit super well...  Thoren: Maybe INFJ?? i mean thoren honestly doesn’t have a lot of screen time but he’s attentive(Ni), and tries to take care of people(Fe). most of the infj’s i know are fun but weird lol, but i think thoren has anxiety so that could play into him being less “out there” in his behavior.  if any of yall have input on this feel free to let me know. 10. ooooooh good question. So I’m basing these on their parent’s name and the names of people from their planet. Bloom: Hestia or Enya, i also think she got sent to earth with an article of clothing or a blanket that had her name on it, which is why her name is the same lmao Stella: Stella is actually named pretty appropriately considering the other names we have are Luna, Radius, Nova, Chimera, and Casandra, all of those are fairly latin/roman based names.  but she could also be called Clara, Aura, Venus etc. Musa: Her mom and dad have very asian sounding names but the princess of melody is named Galatea, so honestly anything is on the table. Aulos, Hee-Young, Jia Li, Kaida, etc. Tecna: lol everybody on Zenith has ridiculous names so im just loosely basing them off of sciencey stuff. Nobelia, Xenon, Titania. Aisha: I actually really like Aisha’s name! Ayize, Sizani, Mehrbano would work tho. Flora: what even is the naming system of Lynphea i don’t understand it. Im gonna make them vaguely naturey and European-ish?? Calla, Terra, Rowan, Willow, I could go on and on there are so many plant names. 11. Hmmm yeah, so basically in my world a person with TOO MUCH magic gets overwhelmed and kinda goes a little crazy(the ancestral witches) the same thing happens with tritannus when he gets the emperor's throne power. He’s loyal to icy and she to him until he looses his ability to think clearly and turns on icy, icy gets freaked out and leaves with her sisters when they swoop in to rescue her. they don’t so much “break up” as they are “broken up” by the circumstances. In general Tritannus does really like Icy, hes attracted to her ambition and powerful personality. Icy started out just manipulating Tritannus but caught feelings oops 12. Yeah so, humans in general can withstand a lot of wild magic as their body “metabolizes” it quickly. Kalshara(the cat lady you don’t know the name of) used extremely concentrated samples, combined with other spells to keep the wild magic in her body permanently. If a human with out a properly developed magic biome (a lot of earthians only have a low functioning one) get exposed to a wild magic source they would probably gain some aspects of fairy animals, probably not like, fur, or anything but eye and hair color changes, maybe some patterns on the skin. but there’s also the chance that they would just.... die..... cus that happens with animals too lmao sry. @weirdghostly

Ex manipulated me heavily at the end. I feel triggered, anxious, and exhausted. via /r/BPD

Ex manipulated me heavily at the end. I feel triggered, anxious, and exhausted.

This post is likely going to be very, very long. I may add a TLDR later but right now my brain is too zapped too figure out a shortened way to say all of this. I’m also using a throwaway account.

My ex and I (both female) were together for almost two years when I ultimately ended things just under a week ago. In the beginning she seemed wonderful and great, and like she was motivated and driven and only wanted the best for me. But slowly some red flags started popping up that I should have paid more attention to. And some things I am - just recently - discovering were lies and/or manipulation tactics she used that didn’t even come across as red flags to begin with.

Let me say this - she picked the wrong girl. I do not bend for people easily. I have worked intensely on my BPD and my mental state and becoming a better person/version of myself in spite of it, but I am not weak and controllable.

The days leading up to the breakup, the red flags became far more apparent than they ever had. She said that she has no one else aside from me, and if we ever broke up, she would end her life. She isolated herself by becoming angry and hostile with everyone. I’d try to help her make friends but it was fruitless so the only friends she ever saw were my friends, which drove me crazy because it - at times - impeded on my ability to hang out with people I may not get to see often.

This aspect is a longer instance so bare with me. We had an unfortunate issue happen when isolation occurred and had to move from our apartment quickly. She knew I was in a bad mental state and agreed that it would be better if I left for my uncles house to be safe and avoid inpatient. My best friend H was more than happy to take my place in the packing situation so that my ex wouldn’t be alone and it would move at the same pace. I asked my ex repeatedly if she was okay with my going and my friend staying and she kept saying it was fine, she promised it was fine, not to worry. Well all of that was a lie and she used it against me in a fight saying that I was selfish and left her. When I said she could have told me no she tried to make it my fault that she cannot say no, despite me not having a track record of getting upset when someone says no to something (I’m actually almost comically chill about crap). She also insinuated that H did not pack enough to her standards and she couldn’t figure out why H even showed up if she wasn’t going to help. A different friend - A - told me he felt my ex was being insanely ungrateful. Then H, a person I trust and has no reason to lie to me for any reason, told me (unprompted) that she felt really annoyed packing with my ex because she wouldn’t do anything and was on her phone almost the whole time or just handed her things to pack. She was angry that my ex accused her of being like that, especially since my ex started trying to put stipulations on my friendship with H that were already pissing us both off (for a very petty reason, she did not want H in the house or in the car, and didn’t want to be at my birthday party coming up if H was invited - H has taken me to inpatient more than anyone, visited and called me in inpatient every time, and has always been a shoulder I could count on, so not inviting her was out of the question). There are tons of examples I can give of just how unreasonable she could truly be.

Anyway, aside from just that, ex and I had loads of problems. I know her “biggest” problem with me was that I’m not affectionate enough. I told her we should write a list of relationship expectations down and put a month timeframe on it, so we did. At the end of that month, if it still didn’t feel right, we’d break up.

The next two days I just didn’t feel right about the whole situation. I knew I cared for her but I wasn’t in love with her and I just felt trapped and suffocated. I just wanted out. She knew I was acting off so I finally told her that I just couldn’t see us being happy going forward and that I needed to be done. She became immediately hostile and accused me of leading her on - the exact thing I was trying not to do - and said I lied about so many things. Like “how could you pretend to care about me and even say we are going to be friends?!” stuff. I tried to stay calm and composed and only say what I felt was needed so as not to push her any further. She decided to go for a drive which I didn’t think much of because she does like to drive when upset.

I called my friend A to let him know what happened and amidst the call my ex texts me a picture of a knife that she has in her car. She won’t tell me where she is and won’t promise me she won’t hurt herself so I had no choice but to call the cops which I knew would make her mad but that’s all I could do. A gets off the phone with me and calls her and is actually able to keep her talking and calm her down enough to convince her to come home. She sends me some heated texts and then comes back into the house. She stays up until about 3-4 am watching tv so I finally feel calm and okay enough to go to bed.

The next day, things are calm but I realize she didn’t put the knife back and it isn’t in her car. I go ask her to give it to me. She yells a bit but finally relents and gives it to me and indicates that “something else is in progress” but won’t tell me what. Again, I have no choice but to call the cops. I do feel manipulated but I don’t take those threats with a grain of salt - ever. The cops and medics show up but they can’t do much so they just say to call if anything else happens. I’m too scared to leave the house at this point so a family friend brings me cat food and pizza so I don’t have to run any errands. For most of the day, she spends that day isolated in her room. Later that night, though, she sends me TikToks on how people with my mental illnesses are able to work with people with her mental illnesses. It annoys me but I mostly ignore it because telling her “we are never ever ever getting back together” isn’t a good idea at the time. I also reach out to her mom and sister (who she has cut off) because I cannot handle the situation alone anymore and they are rightfully worried as crap.

The next day I’m in my room watching a show and I keep hearing a banging noise. The washing machine is backed up against the room she is in so I think maybe it’s loud and she doesn’t realize what it is and is trying to sleep. I ask her about it and her fist is clenched against the wall and she won’t tell me why she is doing it. Fun fact: I get triggered when people are angry and slamming things and taking their hostility out physically. She knows this, but decides to spend most of the day punching the walls. I end up listening to a podcast with headphones on and playing animal crossing to drown it out for a bit. A short while after taking them off, I head her sharpening a knife in the kitchen and go down and take it from her as she’s about to go back into the room. I ask her what her plan was, no answer.. so I have to call the cops again.

I spend a long time talking to her mom and sister that night. They advise me that she tends to try to make people hurt when she is hurting and inform me of some of the lies she may have told. They also apologize to me for her manipulating me. I tell them I’m considering spending the night elsewhere because I can’t keep going and they actually back me on it, saying I need time for myself too.

H comes to get me. The very second I get to her house, ex texts me the pills she is going to take and a will. I hardly respond before her sister tries to call me, I tell them I have to go and call the cops, and they get a call from ex. I told them not to let ex know I am talking to the cops and just try to convince her to open the door for them when they get there so they don’t have to go through the garage.

They end up getting her to the hospital, and I believe she is in inpatient now. She keeps telling her mom and sister I don’t care about her, and her sister even told her I’m just trying to give her space and won’t be calling her but she can call me. Hell, I even dropped clothes off at the ER for her last night because I know how much inpatient donated clothes can suck.

I should be able to finally breathe today but I just feel so exhausted and drained and triggered. My anxiety has peaked, causing issues with my OCD as well. I am lucky I have tremendous friends.. I don’t want my ex to suffer but she needs to realize that she needs helps and needs to accept it because I’m not the first relationship she has tried too hard to gain a semblance of control over, leading to a demise. I’m not sure what I want by posting this, but maybe encouragement? I luckily do not feel suicidal, just lost.

We will not be getting back together - so no worries there. Honestly idk if I can ever be her friend again after this

Submitted September 18, 2020 at 09:03AM by highprincess_diehigh via reddit https://ift.tt/3c8WHBp