#too many people are getting hurt
Note
Ghostlight!
"You came?" "You called."
Danny in trouble, Duke to the rescue! (Or it can be reversed!) Maybe they've been online friends or met in person once and bonded over both having all these unexpected powers. Slightly angst.
There was never a point when Danny thought he would need the panic button Duke gave him.
It was a sweet gesture, a way for Duke to show that he cared for Danny and wanted him to be safe. Never mind that Danny can take care of himself, heals quickly from most wounds, and has been the protector, not the protected, ever since the Accident. If it makes Duke feel better, than Danny was more than happy to keep it on him as a token of affection.
The cultists, however, caught him off guard.
Danny would be embarrassed about being nabbed off the streets so easily if the people who took him weren’t cultists lead by the daughter of a GIW agent, one who disapproved of the scientific approach the GIW took towards ectoplasmic entities and had turned to mystic arts as a way to defy her father. Which, usually, Danny would be all for striking out against the strict expectations of parents and their unwillingness to listen to their kids in any serious manner, but not this time. Not when it ends with him slowly waking up after they chloroformed him, curled up in some magic circle, surrounded by black candles and blue flame, and something in the air that smells of blood blossoms.
There are voices speaking, but he can’t make out what they’re saying over the pounding in his head, his heartbeat stuttering in his chest with each gasping breath he takes.
Whatever they’re doing, whatever’s got him bound in the circle, makes his blood feel like its been lit aflame, agony coursing through his veins. He tries to grit his teeth and bare it, but it doesn’t become any more manageable.
No, it gets worse the longer he’s awake.
Danny tries to move, tries to get to his feet, but all he can do is curl up tighter, a sob forcing its way out of his throat.
“I know you’ve got some connection to Phantom,” he hears someone say, both by his ear and so far away he can barely make out the words. Danny whines, trying to insist that they’re wrong, he’s got nothing to do with phantom, but the voice continues. “Come on, cooperate with us and this will end sooner for you. You can’t lie about this; you wouldn’t be feeling anything if there was no connection.”
A hand brushes against his forehead, burning hot, and Danny turns his face towards the ground trying to move away from it.
“I knew ghosts had to have some tie to the living world. And a living anchor would make the ghost stronger… If only dad would listen to me.” The voice sighs, and the words help him put the pieces together and realize this is the daughter of the GIW agent that came closest to finding him when he first ran to Gotham.
It’s been close to a year since then. He thought they’d stopped looking.
Really, he should have known better.
The hand leaves his forehead and he hears the leader bark out an order. Voices surround him, chanting, as they rise out of the dark.
A red glow begins to fall on everything, enough that Danny can see it through his barely open eyes. A shudder runs through him, and he feels his transformation try to begin.
NO, he thinks desperately. He tries to force it down but it fights against him. It’s agony, pain on a molecular level, the feeling of dying over and over and over again.
NO, he thinks, STOP I DON’T WANT TO DIE SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME.
And then, unbidden, a single word rising in his mind. Duke.
Duke will help him if he knows Danny needs help. Duke has been kind and welcoming and helped Danny find his footing in Gotham, never judging and always quietly offering a hand in support. He’s the person Danny’s closest to in Gotham, someone dear to him, a light in the dark.
He gave Danny a panic button.
Contrary to popular thought, Danny isn’t an idiot. He knows Duke is the Signal. A few too many incidents where Duke had disappeared and the Signal appeared to save him tipped him off. It didn’t help that Duke acted the same in and out of costume, and he always, always grabbed Danny first at the elbow, then slid his hand down to his wrist.
Besides, who else gives panic buttons to their friends? Danny would have done the same to Sam and Tucker if they weren’t always attached at the hip. He’s a (former) teenage vigilante too, he knows how being involved in this kind of thing invites trouble into the rest of his life.
Duke can help him. He’s a hero. He’s saved Danny before.
He’s his friend. Danny trusts (wants to trust, so badly) that Duke will help him even when he’s not fully human, fully alive.
With trembling hands, he reaches into his jacket, to the panic button. It’s a simple necklace with an unassuming metal rectangle dangling off of it. It’s flat and thin, but the top gives way to a button that Danny clicks three times in quick succession.
He waits a moment, trying to breathe through the pain, and clicks it three times again.
Please hurry, Duke, he thinks, hand falling limply to the ground.
“Let’s try this, instead,” the leader says, and the chanting falls to a quiet murmur to give way to her voice as she begins reciting something.
It starts at his feet. They cramp up suddenly, then pain crackles up his bones like lightning, digging deep into him. It feels as if a thousand knives dig into his abdomen, cutting in deep and twisting.
Danny chokes on his breath, then screams, trying futilely to scramble away. All it does is make him writhe on the ground, back arching enough that he can feel the strain of it on his spine, but it doesn’t matter because he’s forcing down his transformation again, smothering Phantom as much as he can.
His breath mists out before him. His fingers go numb, frost spreading across the floor.
Tears slip down his face as Danny pants for breath.
It hurts. It hurts like nothing has ever hurt before, but he refuses to give in. If they find out he’s Phantom, they’ll only do worse.
Please, he thinks again, deliriously.
As if hearing him, a window shatters above him and the cultists break off in screams.
Forcing his eyes open, Danny squints through he tears and watches as the shadows around them rise up, roiling, and crash against the cultists. The force of it knocks them down, leaving them to claw desperately at their faces as the shadows cover their nose and mouths, cutting off their air. The leader is yelling, rage clear in her voice, shooting out magic spells at the Signal.
The Signal is usually a friendly figure. He’s safe, something whose meer presence makes people feel safe. His smile means everything’s alright and when it’s directed to Danny, he feels like nothing bad can ever happen to him again.
The Signal isn’t smiling now.
He’s furious, expressionless and stone cold, bashing away the spells with shadows or light, advancing on the leader like an avenging angel come to deliver justice.
He takes her out with hard hits, striking methodically. It’s not quick. She doesn’t get the kindness of being knocked out; no, he snaps a wrist, breaks her nose, slams her down on the ground and cuts off her air with a knee until her struggles die off and she’s left limp on the floor.
When he rises, surrounded by shadows still moving restlessly, illuminated only by the flicker blue flames of the candles, he should look terrifying.
All Danny feels is relief so sharp it worries him that his chest was cleaved in half without him noticing until now. He shivers against the floor, too weak to reach out to the Signal.
It’s a good thing he doesn’t have to.
The Signal picks him up with careful hands, checking him over for injuries.
“Duke,” Danny murmurs, slurring a bit. The torture is definitely at fault for it, but the sudden absence of all that pain doesn’t help him sound any more coherent. “You came.”
“You called,” Duke says, “Of course I came. I’ve been looking for you for hours. You never showed up for our study date and I know you always try to reach out if you can’t make it. I’m just sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”
“S’okay, ‘m not mad. Was scared, but you made it better. The panic button…”
“It’s how I found you. I’m so glad you were wearing it today.”
Danny tries to smile, but the most he can manage is a twitch of his lips before his head tips forward to rest against Duke’s armored shoulder. “I always wear it.”
Duke’s grip on him tightens for a moment, then he begins walking, taking Danny away from the magic circles and the prone bodies of the cultists who had watched him be tortured and decided to keep going. Danny shudders again, his entire body aching. His transformation is still fighting to come out, but it’s not as strong anymore.
“Let’s get out of here,” Duke says into his ear. “I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“No! No hospitals, please. I can’t let them know… they’ll find me…”
Duke shushes him soothingly, tucking him more securely against his chest. “Alright, Danny. No hospitals. But I am going to call Batman for a pick up to get you to one of the people we trust for medical care.”
“But Batman doesn’t work in the day.” Danny’s too exhausted to sound confused, but it must go through anyways. Duke laughs lowly, and the sound helps unwind the last of his nerves coiled up tight in fear.
“Danny, it’s well into the night. You were gone for hours. Longest hours of my life.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles,
“Don’t be, it’s not your fault. Hang on, Batman’s nearly here.”
In any other circumstance, Danny would be excited to meet another hero. Especially Batman, one of the original heroes of the modern age. But all he wants is to go somewhere safe so he can curl up and cry, then sleep for three days before he pretends to be a normal human again. Ideally, he’d stay with Duke until he felt safe again, but he doesn’t want to take Duke away from the city that needs him.
His ears perk up a bit when he hears the smooth rumble of an engine stop in front of them. A door opens with a click without Duke needing to grab the handle, and then Danny is carefully being deposited in the back seat.
“Wait,” he says, trying to grab for Duke’s arm only to have his fingers fumble and grab nothing. Duke doesn’t move away, though, and instead grabs Danny’s seeking hand. “Stay? Please? I just—” his voice shudders, cracks, fractures apart. “I just want to feel safe.”
There’s a pause, a stillness in the air, before Duke says, “Okay. I’ll stay.” And then he’s sliding into the backseat, pulling Danny in to lean against him, curl into his embrace.
“Signal,” Batman’s low, gravelly voice says. There’s something in his tone that makes Danny tense up, prepared to take off, and his transformation pushes at his skin, ready to come out.
“He knows who I am, B,” Duke replies. “He’s trustworthy. Besides, just because he knows me doesn’t mean he knows you.”
“We will be discussing this later,” Batman says, dark promise in his voice. It’s just how he talks, Danny’s sure, too used to years of making himself the scariest thing in the dark. That doesn’t change the fact that Batman can be terrifying, and Danny can’t imagine he’ll take kindly to the fact that Danny knows Duke’s identity.
Fear slithers up his spine, and he can’t stop the transformation this time. The rings of white light flash over his body in a second, leaving Phantom in his place.
Danny lets go of his legs first, glad to be free from their aching weight, and without a body made of flesh and bone, the hurt begins to fade away until it’s just an unpleasant memory.
“What—” Duke starts to say just as Batman says, “Signal—”
They must have some sort of silent exchange. There’s only a heavy tension in the car and the barely audible rumble of the engine as they drive towards their destination, whatever it may be. Danny sinks into Duke some more, sighing in relief as a hand comes up to card through his wispy white hair.
“Danny,” Duke says, “What’s this?”
“It’s why they hurt me,” he mumbles against Duke’s chest. “It’s why they keep hunting me down. I want them to leave me alone. I’m tired.”
Embarrassingly, his voice cracks on the last word and more tears fall down his cheeks. He hears Duke move, and then hands, bare and gloveless, wipe his tears away with a gentleness that makes his heart ache.
“They won’t be able to hurt you again. You’ll be safe from now on, Danny, I swear it.”
“S’okay if I get hurt,” he says, “It always happens. Promise to save me if this happens again?”
“I’ll do whatever I can to make sure it doesn’t happen again. But if it does, then I promise to always save you. I gave you that panic button, didn’t I? As long as you keep it, I’ll always find you.”
“You’re a good person, Duke,” Danny says, voice falling quieter as his exhaustion catches up to him. “I’m glad I met you.”
He thinks he feels a soft touch to the top of his head. A kiss, maybe, though it’s not likely. But he wants comfort, and he’s endured a lot a pain so he allows himself to hope and be delusional. With the warm that spreads through him from Duke’s soft kiss to his head, Danny gives in to the siren call of slumber.
“Get some sleep, Danny,” Duke says, voice hushed. “I’ll stay with you as long as you need.”
I know, he doesn’t say, too tired to open his mouth again, You’re always here. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
He falls asleep easily after that. There’s nothing in the world that can hurt him while he’s in Duke’s arms. He’s never been safer.
#ghostlights#dc x dp#dp x dc#dcxdp#dpxdc#dp x dc fanfic#dc x dp fic#prompt fill#my writing#didnt quite get into it but duke and danny bond after always being in the library together!! they decide to study together and grow close#danny def has a crush but hes stressing out abt too much to think much on it.duke is crushing HARD and flirts with him as both duke & signa#anyways danny has mentioned that he's running away from people who want to hurt him and is safe in gotham for now#hes absolutely going to have to answer a lot of questions after he wakes up in the batcave with duke asleep on a chair next to him#batman in that car ride worried abt the identity breach and then mentally practicing his shovel talk bc he knows duke and danny are gonna#end up together. they're just acting soooo close and enamoured and kinda like him and (literally so many options. all of them ig)#danny is going to wake up. freak out. be interrogated. be given protection. and get a date all before alfred manages to get him to eat#good for him :)#thanks for the prompt!!
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putting my hands on your shoulders looking directly into your eyes why are you so insistent that Dazai is faking every emotion every second of every day except when he's acting mean or evil why do you think his dark side is more true than his happier or sillier sides
do you not also have multiple facets you show different people? are we not all beautiful multifaceted individuals? are your actions and reactions not influenced by your emotions and state of mind?
can't he laugh at his own jokes? can't he fondly think of the Agency? can't he be dramatic because he wants to? can't he be surprised by something suddenly happening, even if he knew it would happen? do you not jump when the jack in the box gets out even if you were the one working the mechanism?
why would the mean persona be more real? why would any and all joy be faked? why are you only allowing him misery?
#sorry i saw one too many posts talking about dazai's ''masks'' and how he hides his true self from the ada#and what of it if he still has the potential to hurt others? what of it if he's good at hurting? every day he chooses not to lean into it#not too far at the very least.#isn't kyouk.a skilled at killing? did she not choose not to do it?#i'm not saying dazai's never acting (because it does happen) i'm saying too many people are too quick to brush off-#every non-serious non-mean emotion as ''playing an act''#why would the mean persona not be a fake?? you thought about that??? what biases are you holding here#he makes jokes. he acts silly. he's a drama queen. he loves it.#you know what IS tiring? having to look evil and untouchable and impassive in front of a whole organization every day as a teenager#as soon as he gets to lupin with od.a and ang.o he goes silly mode. heck- when he *met* ang.o it was because he went silly mode.#as soon as chuuy.a is in proximity he starts yelling children's insults and starts stupid competitions#his silly mode is just as integrated into his personality as the capacity to be the scariest most evil person you've seen#they are not mutually exclusive and having the capacity for either does not mean acting on them#as asagiri said in an interview: bsd isn't about change it's about adaptation. kyouk.a has the talent to kill. she just chooses not to.#dazai has the skills to be evil. he just chooses good.#that got long in the tags sorry#apparently i talk sometimes
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Tooth and Nail pt2
Part 2 of this mini-series. I guess I'm writing like 4 mini-series right now. This story is about Eddie being the one to question his sexuality after Steve comes out first. Read the first part to get the full details.
This part is pretty darn sad with a lot of introspection. I put up a mini-poll asking people what they wanted to read the most and Eddie being introspective was winning when I started writing this. I'm likely to write all the options on that poll still, so don't fret. I want to say clearly too that I do not agree with Eddie's thoughts. Sharing your emotions is never selfish and I think the fact that he feels like a burden is something he needs to work through. He is unwell. I'll admit I made myself cry writing this so if you're emotionally fragile like I am (lol) read at your own risk.
TW: Internalized homophobia (he's working through it), self-hatred, brief thoughts on death, mention of war (Vietnam and Korea).
PT1 PT2 PT3
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"I kissed Steve."
"What?" Gareth said, startled as he stared at Eddie.
Eddie was sitting on a beaten-up old armchair in Jeff’s garage; it was night and they’d opened the garage door to let in the summer air. The whole block was having a party and despite the time of night, the street was still alight with lamps and Christmas lights as people mingled in the street. Eddie had taken refuge in the garage (slightly paranoid that someone was going to touch the band equipment) after the first hour of forcing himself to be social. He had a beer in hand, even though he was underage, but it didn’t seem like any of the adults cared as long as they behaved. Hell, Eddie didn’t even live on this block but he was here enough that the neighbours didn’t seem to mind.
“A week and a half ago,” Eddie answered. He was slouching badly with one leg up on the seat, looking as if he was trying to lounge on a satee instead of a corduroy, La-Z-Boy from the 60s.
“Wait–sorry, what?” Gareth asked again, holding his own beer between his knees as he stared at Eddie. He had come to join him a few moments ago since Eddie had been moping by himself, and then they had proceeded to sit in silence until now.
Eddie flicked his gaze over to the younger boy before taking a long sip of his beer as if to say, yeah, you heard right without the willingness to repeat himself. He was quietly pissed, actually, but was chomping at the bit to talk to someone about it.
“So, are you like…” Gareth started, waving one of his hands as if that would fill in the blank.
“I’m fucking straight,” Eddie muttered, looking away and taking another long drink from his beer.
“Then why–” Gareth wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise and anyone who came to talk to Eddie when he was in a mood like this knew that coming in.
“I don’t fucking know!” Eddie grumbled, crossing his other arm over his chest and slouching all the way down in his seat so only his neck was being supported by the back of the chair.
Gareth frowned at him and looked away, no doubt wondering what he should say to all of that. It gave Eddie a moment to calm down and he eventually sat back up.
“I just…” he muttered, speaking into his drink, “I don’t know; it’d be easy if he was a girl. I just wish he was a girl.”
“Eddie…” Gareth mumbled a bit incredulously as he pinched his brows in. His expression was pitying and Eddie hated that it looked like he felt sorry for him. That was annoying and he scowled before looking away.
Eddie’s logic was sound, it didn’t make sense why Gareth would be questioning it. Things would be easier if Steve was just a girl, that way if he had kissed him it wouldn’t be a big deal. Just an oops, sorry, that was uncool, well, anyways, and then they’d move on. He wouldn’t have to be dealing with this crisis of conscience and saying that he was just joking around wouldn’t have blown up in his face–maybe, he wasn’t sure. If Steve was a girl saying that he was joking actually might have blown up in his face more now that he was thinking about it… probably wasn’t cool to yank a girl’s chain like that.
“We were high and I don’t know, I wanted to talk to him about it being fine that he’s gay or whatever and I wasn’t thinking at all and I just…” Eddie sighed heavily and chugged the remainder of his beer. He twisted the pull-tab off and flicked it across the room, aiming for the bin and missing.
“You always want to kiss people when you’re high?” Gareth asked an edge of humour to his voice. He was teasing lightly, but Eddie didn’t have the patience for that kind of crap right now.
“Fuck no,” Eddie grouched, crossing his arms and resuming his earlier position where one of his legs was up and he was slouched into the corner of the seat. “I wouldn’t kiss your ugly mug for money.”
Gareth snorted lightly and took a swig of his beer, letting the moment simmer.
“So…” he continued, glancing at Eddie before looking away sharply, “he get mad or something?”
Eddie groaned as he covered his eyes with the side of his hand, cupping his forehead as he tipped his head back. Why had he brought this up? He didn’t want to talk about this. It had been eating his insides alive, but he didn’t actually want to talk about it. What was Gareth going to do? Tell him the magic words to make Steve like him again?
“I told him I was joking,” Eddie mumbled, “and that I didn’t mean it–I even apologized, and I don’t fucking apologize to anyone.”
“Tell me about it,” Gareth muttered under his breath and Eddie hucked his empty beer can at his head, forcing Gareth to duck.
“Jesus–” he half laughed, the can knocking against him harmlessly and clattering to the ground, “just saying.”
Eddie flicked him off and motioned to get up. He didn’t need to be here for this, he didn’t want to be around people. This sucked. He could tell that Gareth was trying to be helpful–trying to be a friend–but he didn’t have the patience for it and he didn’t want to have another fight with another friend over something stupid.
Eddie stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled over to Gareth before picking up the empty can and chucking it into the garbage. He wasn’t about to leave trash in Jeff’s garage, his parents let them practice there and store their gear most of the time and Eddie wasn’t going to burn this location.
“Say bye to Jeff for me,” Eddie muttered, grouching out of the garage, “and thanks for the food.”
“You going home?” Gareth asked, leaning over the side of his chair to watch Eddie.
“No, this is an illusion,” Eddie mocked, turning and waving his hand in front of his face and giving a manic smile, “the Eddie you know died a long time ago.”
Gareth half laughed, but his brows pinched in at the same time. Eddie didn’t stick around to see if that meant he wanted to say something. He just continued to walk away, turning and hunching his shoulders as he walked past energetic little kids chasing one another and people starting to pack up their dishware. He didn’t feel like unpacking what he had told Gareth or why stating that he had died twisted his guts up into knots. He also didn’t like that he could tell that his upset wasn’t due to the fact that he was lying, but rather that it felt too close to the truth.
Eddie lit a cigarette and started the long walk home. He lost the last of the dusk light halfway through his walk, already two cigarettes down as he got closer to Cherry Street. He wanted to say he ended up there by accident, but that would have been a lie. He walked this way often, actually, and it had been convenient once upon a time. Steve lived on Cherry Street… and Cherry Street backed up onto the forest that connected to the trailer park. A funny coincidence, he had said once to Steve, makes it easier to bother you. That was all too true now though. He was more than a bother.
Eddie stood looming at the end of the street as he stared off towards Steve’s house, the large, stark white structure easy to spot even in the dark. The lawn was lit up by small pot lights and the street lamp across the road shone brightly down onto the sidewalk. Eddie was out of view of any of the windows from his vantage, but he could see the side of the garage and the front of Steve’s house still.
He grumbled miserably and flicked the butt of his cigarette, not bothering to stamp it out before rerouting and taking the long way home. He didn’t want to walk past Steve’s place and risk seeing him, he didn’t know what he’d say if he saw him… he still didn’t really know what had happened. The whole thing felt jumbled in his mind and then crystal clear all at once. He could remember everything so vividly, but it was as if they had been speaking a foreign language to each other: none of it made sense.
Why did he kiss Steve?
Why had that led to Steve getting so angry he nearly got hit?
Why was he such a jackass that seemed to ruin any good thing that happened to him?
It was pitch black by the time Eddie made it home, but he knew the route well enough. The trailer park didn’t have any lights other than the rinky-dink porch lights that some of the homesteads had. It wasn’t that late, but things got dark this far away from town. He came home late like this all the time though, so it wasn’t a surprise when the flyscreen slapped open and Wayne was lounging on the couch. Wayne wasn’t working right now, which was a problem, but they had a small nest egg from the government to live off of for at least a few more weeks. It was amazing how far you could stretch a dollar when you’d been doing it for 20 years.
“That you, Eddie?” Wayne asked, sparing a glance towards the door as a commercial popped onto the screen.
“Yeah…” Eddie mumbled, standing by the front door with his hands in his pockets still. He was looking at the ground, and Eddie wasn’t sure why he felt paralyzed. He didn’t want to move, but he didn’t want to be standing there either… stuck in some kind of limbo.
“You’re home early,” Wayne commented, his tone sounding cautious as if he wasn’t sure if a conversation was going to come out of this, “everything alright?”
“Yeah,” Eddie answered, again, not really sure what he was expecting.
Silence drew out between them as Eddie shifted from foot to foot, just wanting to… be around someone. He wasn’t sure if that was right, but he wanted to be invited in or something. He selfishly wanted to be comforted even though he was the problem.
“What’re you watching?” He mumbled, still not looking at Wayne.
“Mash,” Wayne answered easily, “reruns.”
Eddie nodded and sniffed, feeling like a stranger in his own home. Though he supposed that wasn’t right, this was Wayne’s home, he was a guest. He was a guest that had worn out his invitation by years and years. The deal had been until he graduated, but he still hadn’t done that and it was starting to feel like an impossibility. He didn’t want to be a burden though and he knew that getting a job was the next best thing… but he hadn’t been able to force himself to do that yet either.
Slowly, Eddie shuffled over to the couch and sat down a cushion width away from his uncle, looking up at the TV. The commercials were ending and Eddie felt his throat tighten as he tried to push himself into small talk.
“Is it a good episode?” He asked, having seen most of MASH living here with Wayne. He liked the show, and Eddie could understand why. All the characters questioned why they were at war and the ethics of it all. Made sense for someone like Wayne to get some kind of catharsis from the show after coming home from ‘Nam all those years ago.
“It’s the one where Hawkeye tries to get ribs sent from Chicago to Korea,” Wayne explained, sipping the drink he had in his hand and looking back at the TV.
Eddie snorted slightly, remembering the episode. He toed his shoes off and tucked up onto the couch so he could rest his chin on his knees, the room falling into silence except for the murmur of the TV and the tell-tale M*A*S*H song in the background. It was easy to watch and Eddie stared at the grainy images on the screen as Wayne and him shared the living room. He always liked that he could be quiet with Wayne, but it felt a bit forced on his part tonight.
A commercial broke up the episode and Eddie sighed, not looking at Wayne as he tipped his head to the side before chewing his lip and finally speaking.
“You ever… had a fight with a friend?” Eddie asked quietly, not liking the sound of his own voice right now. It was quiet for a beat before Wayne responded, his tone calm.
“Sure,” he said easily, obviously waiting for Eddie to continue, “you… have a fight with the band?”
“Steve,” Eddie mumbled, shaking his head no to Wayne’s assumption as he picked off the black polish on his nails.
“What did you do… to fix it?” Eddie asked, still not looking up.
“Apologized… talked, bought them a beer,” Wayne offered loosely, “depends on what the fight was about.”
Eddie nodded solemnly, not liking that there wasn’t some magic answer to his query. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he didn’t feel like elaborating his problem either. So he just nodded and picked at his nails, waffling for a long time before more words tumbled out of him.
“Do you think… people just… dislike me?” Eddie asked, his lip quivering a bit before he got control of it, swallowing hard to hide his emotions. Wayne didn’t say anything right away which forced a bitter laugh from Eddie’s lungs.
“Like, I’m difficult, I know it, people don’t like difficult but sometimes…” Eddie smiled sadly as he held back his emotions, hiding his face between his knees again, “something even when I’m around people that are… like me, I’m just… different.”
Eddie didn’t like the words that were slipping out of him, why he felt like this was related to what had happened with Steve, or why he was saying it to begin with. He didn’t want to talk about this and he didn’t want to put this on Wayne to think about, that wasn’t fair. Wayne dealt with enough of his bullshit, more than any Uncle should have to, but sometimes Eddie couldn’t help that his uncle felt like the only safe person to talk to.
“It feels like it’s just so easy for me to–” he laughed quietly again, having a harder time holding back the wavering tone of his voice, “--to just–fuck things up with people.”
His body betrayed him and Eddie felt tears slipping down his face and he rushed to push them away so they wouldn’t be seen, still shielded by his knees as he hunched like a gargoyle.
“Eddie–” Wayne started, too much sympathy in his voice.
“Sorry,” Eddie muttered, trying to put levity into his tone, “I know you don’t like it when I drop the f-bomb.”
That was partly true, but Eddie also knew that Wayne didn’t care that much. They swore all the time, he just didn’t like being sworn at.
Wayne went quiet for a moment and Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get rid of any lingering tears that might be holed up in there.
“What’s going on, boy?” Wayne asked, his voice incredibly gentle.
Eddie felt his bottom lip bunch up, hating that any time Wayne sounded like that Eddie was doomed to start breaking down. It was like a superpower or something–he didn’t know, but Wayne had made him cry dozens of times when he felt on the verge of tears. He always felt selfish seeking out comfort from his uncle when he had already saddled him with so many problems.
“I hate people–” Eddie blubbered, not sure if that was what he really wanted to say but that felt like the strongest phrasing he could find to describe how he felt. He felt so small and so selfish, reverting back to some kind of scared kid who didn’t know how to deal with his own emotions.
Eddie finally looked up, his face wet and his chest tight, and he crawled across the seat cushioned and collapsed onto his side, pressing his face into Wayne’s thigh. He was so pathetic… he was twenty years old and he was crying into his uncle's lap? Eddie the demon, the freak, the devil, metal head, satanic worshipper – yeah right.
“Sometimes it feels like–people just–I’m just–-I’m made to be hated,” he blubbered, hiding his face and gasping through his words. He felt miserable and like he wasn’t really saying what he meant, but he didn’t know what he wanted to say or even why he was doing this right now. It was like hundreds of emotions were trying to fight their way out of his chest and he couldn’t do anything about it. He hated it.
Wayne touched the top of his head and Eddie felt himself choke.
Wayne’s touch was gentle and Eddie couldn’t help but sob as he started to stroke the back of his head. It was a subdued affection, but one that Eddie knew was genuine. Wayne wasn’t a man of many words, so sometimes a touch was the best he was going to get. There was a reason why Wayne sometimes felt like the only safe person–even if Eddie still felt like he was a burden to his uncle.
“Everything about me just—” Eddie sobbed, gritting his teeth as he just let his thoughts and feelings freefall from him. “Why am–I—I–why do I like everything people can–can just hate–about me? I don’t like anything normal—I’m just–nothing about me is normal.”
Usually, Eddie was the first one to proclaim that he was different and scream it loudly for people to hear. He’d shout and point and own it and draw all the other weirdos towards him. He was the king of all the freaks, but it felt like he was still an island amongst them. He was always somehow different. Like there was this wall he bumped up against far too easily that would crop up out of nowhere. How he’d say or do something and just fuck everything up in one fell swoop.
Why did he keep giving people new reasons to call him a freak?
“I hate being like this–I hate–I hate that I can’t just–be normal for—for five minutes,” he gasped, feeling that swell of self-hatred rising in his chest, “it’s always my fault–it’s–I’m always… so… difficult. I just—I can’t—...I don’t know why–I don’t—I hate it, I hate it so much.”
He was feeling sorry for himself again and that felt unfair. It didn’t feel like this was something he got to be upset about or something that Wayne or anyone else cared about. It felt unfair to complain to a man who had probably watched dozens of friends die right in front of him during the war; to complain to a man who had taken him in when no one else would and had to bear this kind of responsibility when he hadn’t asked for it. To have a snot-nosed-brat sobbing in his lap because people didn’t like him. But Eddie was nothing if not selfish.
“I’m so tired of being different–I don’t… I don’t want it anymore–why does it matter so much to people? I just–I don’t want it anymore–It’s–like—I know, I know people hate me—everyone in this goddamn town–people–pe—everyone hates me. Wayne–” he was heaving now as he rambled, everything just spilling out of him in these waves of emotions as each ugly sound crashed into the next. “It’s not fair—I don’t—I don’t want to be the freak–I don’t what—I don’t want to be a loser–to be a drop out–I don’t want—I don’t want to like men–”
The last of his confessions slipped out and Eddie felt his body tighten; his throat felt like it was being ripped apart and his lungs couldn’t pull in enough breath to satiate him. It hurt so badly. It hurt and he hated it and he didn’t know why he said it.
Eddie felt Wayne’s pets pause briefly before picking back up again. That more than anything made Eddie feel ashamed. It made his jaw shake and his shoulders tighten. How fear and sorrow rattled around inside of him at the consequences of his words. He didn’t know what saying them would do–he didn’t mean them. He knew he didn’t mean them–he couldn’t have meant them. Those words were a death sentence.
“It’ll be alright,” Wayne mumbled, the words not sounding as hollow as Eddie thought they would, “I like you plenty.”
Eddie tucked in at the compliment, feeling weak and small as his sobs quieted a bit. His tears didn’t stop, but his chest heaves changed into fluttering gasps as he slowly regained his composure.
“Freaks run in the Munson blood,” Wayne continued and Eddie blubbered a small laugh shifting to press into Wayne’s hip. He was such a child, but he couldn’t help but soak in the comfort.
It was quiet again for some time as Eddie’s crying turned into hiccups and then sniffles, the TV quietly rambling in the background. It took a long while for Eddie to calm down, but Wayne never stopped stroking his hair. He felt wrung out and hollow now, his emotions dull and his body aching from how hard he had cried. Still, it did feel better than when he walked in here.
“I kissed him…” Eddie said quietly. He felt Wayne shift to look down at him, a question in his movement.
“Steve,” Eddie explained, mumbling, “I kissed Steve the other week.”
“I see,” Wayne answered back, obvious awkwardness in his delivery. He had never been good at talking about stuff like this–anything really–but it was obvious that he was trying. “And he doesn’t like that you’re a guy?”
Eddie shook his head, and closed his eyes, tucking in closer still as he pressed his forehead against Wayne’s stomach.
“Steve likes guys,” Eddie sighed, breathing heavily as he wrangled his emotions.
“Alright…” Wayne replied slowly, obviously puzzling through everything. Eddie frowned and tucked in again, hiding as he felt shame wash over him.
“I kissed him…” he explained, sniffing, “and then I told him it was a joke, that I didn’t mean it…”
“Ah…” Wayne answered, sighing a knowing breath. “Did you mean it?”
Eddie swallowed thickly, taking a long time to answer as he pressed hard into Wayne as if he could disappear this way.
“I don’t know…” Eddie replied, his voice muffled. Wayne stroked his head again and Eddie breathed deeply through his mouth, feeling bad for crying all over Wayne’s lap.
“Alright,” Wayne answered simply, not pushing the subject at all. He was good at listening and Eddie quietly appreciated that Wayne always seemed to have time to listen to him ramble. Slowly, Eddie sat back up, his back to Wayne as he hugged his knees and rallied.
“Sorry,” Eddie mumbled, feeling like he had to apologize for the way he had acted.
Wayne just patted his shoulder and Eddie felt a few tears slip down his cheek as if they had been knocked out of him by his uncle’s kindness. He sniffed hard again before getting off the couch and stumbling into the kitchen to splash water into his face and clean off the snot and tears. Eddie lifted the hem of his shirt to dry his face and then leaned against the kitchen counter, going quiet once more.
“Eddie?” Wayne spoke up and Eddie peered over at him through the cabinet shelf, “try telling your friend the truth.”
Eddie frowned at the suggestion, but he didn’t have it in him to be angry. Still, he didn’t think that was a great idea. What was he supposed to say? He wasn’t even sure if he knew what the truth was. How did he feel? Did he like Steve? That felt stupid and the idea made his stomach turn over. What good would a confession do anyway?
“And what’s that?” Eddie asked a bit flippantly, wiping wet strands of hair out of his face.
“That you’re figuring it out and you want to stay friends,” Wayne offered, looking over at Eddie for a moment before turning to look at the TV again.
Eddie stared at the back of his uncle’s head, not sure what to say to that. Was it that simple? It felt like he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone that he didn’t know how he felt about something. That he was unsure and vulnerable and scared—it didn’t feel like things were allowed to be that simple.
He didn’t answer Wayne as the TV flicked from image to image painting the dark little trailer in different colours each time. It felt comforting and Eddie appreciated that his Uncle wasn’t smothering him. He was more grateful that Wayne had just… accepted him. He had accepted him like he always did. He hadn’t said anything when Eddie started to grow his hair out or when he got a tattoo, when he flunked school, and now when he had said… he liked men. It had been a surprise to hear himself say those words and there was still deep-rooted shame attached to all of that, but that felt like something he had to unpack on his own. Still, Wayne’s reaction had been the same as it was for all of Eddie’s past transgressions. He’d quietly support him or sigh with worry, but it never seemed to change anything between them.
Eddie shifted awkwardly from foot to foot and went to the fridge. He pulled out a can of beer and walked it over to his uncle, touching the cold metal to Wayne’s forearm so he’d look up.
“Thanks,” he muttered gruffly, looking at Eddie briefly before redirecting his attention to the TV.
“Yeah,” Eddie replied quietly, wiping his nose and touching his uncle’s shoulder before stepping away, “thanks.”
PT3
#we stan Wayne Munson in this house#Wayne Munson = best uncle#Eddit is dumb cause he spent all of last fic (the week prior to this)#proclaiming that he loved queer ppl cause they were treated like he is#he thinks queer people are cool but now he's like I CAN'T BE QUEER#that's just cause he's scared of what that means and he has to face so many horrors all the time#doesn't like being hated and sometimes the RSD gets to him#the “being straight” thing is like armor that has just been stripped away and he's been shown he can be hurt here too#he'll learn and grow and eventually love his queer-ness#my_writing#steddie#steve and eddie#eddie munson#steddie fic#my writing#wayne munson#I'm bored so take pt2 early
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Eddie my tall string bean
#I’m my mind he’s like 6’3#Eddie Munson is a tall bean pole#clumsy and has to duck under doors type thing#hits people with his hands and arms#love him#and yeah he has patches over his jeans#bc I think Wayne would patch them up with one of his old shirts#oh and yeah I know he’s a metal head and I gave him bright orange converse#but I just think he’d like them#and they have beads on them#for fun#i just think he’s neat#his tattoos are all random#yeah that thing is a bad I can’t draw them#and if you think the logo is funky I’m aware it is I don’t usually draw demon skulls#I feel like Eddie would get out of so many bullying situations solely on the fact that he towers over everyone in the school#like Steve has to crane his neck up to talk to him#makes him sit down in a chair if they talk for too long cause his neck hurts#or Steve stands on the chair#in my mind they lean bob and Larry#like Steve is short and stalky/muscular and Eddie is tall and lanky#anyway#that was random my bad#digital art#art#drawing#stranger things
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i forgot how weird people get sometimes when you add minnie to clemvi situations :/
#she is NOT a threat to their relationship. she is barely a blip on the radar#shes literally just here to cause problems#vi makes it ABUNDANTLY CLEAR that clem is her top priority she is so disgustingly painfully in love with clem its embarrassing#like girl i never doubted you for a second dw 😭#but its like people want to see vi hate minnie.. like they cant grasp that shes moved on without her saying she hates her or smth#all the conflicting feelings are just so narratively juicy :) some people cant appreciate this it seems#and then theyll use it as an excuse to say clemvi sucks like okay everybody pack it up#people projecting their insecurities perhaps? (i know the answer)#and like even a captured vi who was manipulated into trusting minnie ends up getting her eyes burned out for it#like they both went down there but only vi got hurt?? and separated from minnie? hm interesting#clem fighting her own trauma of trusting the wrong people with vi continuously reassuring her nothings changed she loves her#clem would appreciate that. i definitely think shes fighting jealously demons but is just good at pretending she doesnt care#she makes too many Faces about it for me to think shes casual about the whole thing#but i think after their conversation in the dorms in ep3 clem isnt worried anymore. and vi proves she can trust her again and again#THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH theyre disgusting its disgusting :)#minnie isnt a threat to their relationship shes just a threat to their lives :)#twdg#it speaks
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you go to a lesbian blog and find it says women only!! no men allowed!!! and go oh! excuse me, um, what about other lesbians? plenty of lesbians are genderqueer... and they go well, okay, go fuck yourself tim chop off your sweaty dick and stop calling yourself a lesbian. you do not have a dick, actually. you think about that fact often, even though it does you no good. you do not tell this person that.
you go to another lesbian blog and it says women only and you try again, and this time they change it to wlw + nblw only (non-men who love non-men :D). and you'll say hey i appreciate that but gender's not really that cut and dry for a lot of people. someone could be both a man and nonbinary, for instance. i just worry that you're looking at nonbinary as a generic third gender, or an extension of womanhood. i mean yeah you include nblw in your tags but all your posts are about pussy-havers exclusively. what's with that? and they say go fuck yourself you pervy man pretending to be a lesbian. you tried to sneak in but i won't let you.
so you go to a lesbian blog with a dozen or so posts about queer people needing to be more weird about it and you sigh in relief. but you still see the men dni. that's odd. hoping for the best, you say hey! i know you mean well but please maybe don't put men dni at the end of the lovely posts on your lesbian blog bc some lesbians are men. and they'll be like ok!! well you're allowed ;) and you say no that's not. no. some men are lesbians not just me. you think about your own dicklessness and wonder if that's why you were given entry. and you add that even if male lesbians are allowed, there's no indication of that. how would anyone know without asking? and they're like ohh gotcha gotcha well men dni + this is for sapphics only!! and you'll be like ok well that treats the concepts of men and sapphics as mutually exclusive identities and i just told you that's not true and you agreed with me so.. i don't think that solves our problem. and they're like. ok. fine. men dni but genderfluid and multigender people are allowed! and you're like no see that's. that's still the same thing.. you're saying the same thing just with different words. if you don't want men to interact but you're fine with multigender/genderfluid/etc ppl interacting then you either don't see them as Real Men (because they don't reach a standard of Full Manhood) or Complete Men (because they're only Part-Time Men), both of which suggest that they are, in some way, not men or less-than men, which is invalidating and defeats the point of the exception in the first place (accommodation) OR that you don't really mean the dni which is confusing and inconsistent and makes guydykes feel weird and uncomfortable and excluded from the lesbian space you're trying to cultivate. and they're like um. ok. so. cishet men dni? and you're like well i think that makes more sense, but what if someone identifies as both a cishet man and a sapphic? again, if we're trying to accommodate the genderfucky populace then that has to be a possibility that is considered. and they say god you people are never happy. what do you want me to do? what am i supposed to say to keep the right men out? and you pause. you empathize with the need for a space free from dudes trying to fuck you straight and feminine. dudes who watch lesbian porn and joke about what they'd do if they were allowed into girls locker rooms. who look at you like a piece of meat, and like someone who looks at women like pieces of meat in the same way he does. you get it. you know. you want a space where you can be sapphic, too. that's why you came to these blogs in the first place. you brace yourself and you say well i don't know that there are "right men" to keep out. i don't know that there's any single label that would accomplish whatever it is you're trying to accomplish. you could go for "sapphics only" or "queers only" and i think that might be the closest thing to what you want, but it's never going to be perfect. creating any exclusive space is going to shut out people you didn't account for, and the broader the label, the more people will be shut out that you didn't want to shut out. and what about people who don't know if they're allowed? what of questioning transbians, where are they supposed to go? and, frankly, i think i might rather my dykey posts get read and appreciated by a gay guy who sees me as a man than a woman who only sees me as a sacred womb, pure from male perversions or violence or whatever. i think community might just be more complex than a dni can handle. and they look at you and say i don't want to not have a dni. i think you're too permissive. you can't just "what about" or microlabel your way into everything. go fuck yourself, i bet you're not even a lesbian anyway. go find a real problem to get mad about.
you go to a lesbian blog. you ignore the men dni because you know you probably don't even count to them. or maybe you do count and, out of respect for your manhood, they'd shun you accordingly. you try to feel okay about that. you scroll past dozens of posts about mediocre men and gagging at straight friends' boyfriends and how gross and undeserving men are of the beautiful women they couple up with and how all women should be gay so they can get treated right and and and and and. you finally find a post about curling into someone you love and feeling at peace and try to lose yourself in it. you know that feeling is what unites you, what makes you belong. you try to focus on it. you think about carding your hands through a butch's hair or lacing fingers with a femme and feeling warm and loved and more yourself than you ever have before. like this is who you're meant to be. you read about lesboys and butch boytoys and genderfucky dykes and big hairy deep-voiced wonderful women (like you want to be someday, like you wish you could make yourself) and you try to ignore the men dni underneath each and every post. and you daydream about meeting someone kind and earnest at a lesbian bar even though you don't think any such bars exist within three states of you and you can't drink and don't want to drink because you need to be in control of yourself at all times so you don't fuck up like you're always about to and here in the nonexistent lesbian bar you feel wanted and safe and in good company. you picture your ideal, happiest self. it is a mistake. ideal-you has a goatee. not the mascara one you smear on and call drag even though you know it's not drag, not really, the beard you call drag because you think everyone would look at you sadly if you told them it was just to pretend you had something out of your reach. a beard that's soft and that you grew and that cannot be smudged away if you get too comfortable with it. the dream shatters. your people pull away from you, their scoffs mixing with the mind-numbing gay girl bedroom pop you learned to settle for just to have something that almost resembled you, they all pull away and turn their backs and do not look at you. you're too close to being a man now, even though you're the same amount of man as before. and they know you're not supposed to interact with men, not as you would with dykes, at least. and it sours. it's all your imagination, all in your head, but it sours.
you sigh. you think about how small you are. how short, how narrow, how feeble. how your voice pitches up when you talk to strangers because it's easier to speak quietly when it carries more, and because you're nervous. because it's a chore to talk, like everything is. you think about testosterone. you think about how your family would look at you, the questions they would ask, your answers they would only pretend to accept. the uncomfortable glances and whispered questions they'd try to hide from you. you think about how small you are, and how small you will always be. how you don't know of a way to fix it, but even if there was one, no one would want you anymore. you'd be the only one thinking it made you a cooler dyke. you think about how you don't even want a T-voice all the time, how you'll never be able to switch it at will, because you don't know how and can't bring yourself to figure it out. you think about how your throat closes around every hint of your own attraction. how wanting is perverse, how wanting is invasive, how wanting is embarrassing and too vulnerable so it must stay anonymous, as an online witness, and how you can barely manage to form or maintain friendships because your brain makes you pull away, always spinning out and struggling to recover from the simplest of interactions. how they'll all leave you and you won't chase after them at all and how that will hurt them. how stuck you get. how it looks like nothing's holding you back, how that frustrates everyone who thought you were going to be more than you were. the people you love who understand except when it comes to being ghosted, being shut out. how you don't want to hurt them. how you can't tell them that because you're stuck. how you turn to stone when touched, how you never reach out, how you lose your speech and can't look at people, how your autism is fun and sexy until it becomes real and you never see them anymore, how much you longed for someone who knew everything without you having to explain, and who loved you anyway. how unreasonable you know that is to expect of anyone. you think about that not-even-real lesbian bar. you think about how you still can't drive. how you can't leave your home on your own, without dragging somebody into helping you. how you can't leave your body. how you can't leave your manhood behind.
you think about finding another lesbian blog and ignoring everything. about skimming it for the parts you can juice some meaning from. the parts men ignore and don't understand, and how typical of you it is to do so. or the parts where you're not welcome and you should accept that, because it's for lesbians only. how you are a lesbian anyway. how you're meant to choose lesbian or man, how each is a betrayal of some kind to yourself or your people, your family, your lovely strangers, your rare friendly acquaintances. about the parts that tell you you're not wanted, that you're ugly and lazy and gross and insert yourself everywhere without even asking. about the parts that tell you you are hated, and how lesbians are above it all by rejecting men. how lesbians are each blessed miracles. about the parts that say you should be ashamed of being whatever twisted confused freak you are, of everything, of looking and wanting or not looking or not wanting, of picking and choosing instead of taking it all in with a smile. after all, shouldn't you take it? or is your ego too fragile, as men's so often are? aren't you tired? good. we're not here for your consumption. and we sure as hell don't want your company or "community" or whatever. didn't you read the sign? no boys allowed. and if you want to come in you have to make up your mind. as if you haven't told them the only answer you have. you're both. you're both.
you know you broke the rule by interacting.
but it gets lonely sometimes. you wonder if they know.
#before i maybe get yelled at:#1) no i do not think ppl are evil for having men dnis no i do not think these are all equal transgressions even#though there is an overlap that should be examined that i think is based in a degree of lesbian separatism + exclusionism#2) yes there are lesbian blogs and people that are cool about genderfucky people. i'm not talking about them#3) this is a stylized vent post about trying to find lesbian content on tumblr that isn't like this. all these dnis/rules are ones i have#encountered. no i do not literally tell these people to change their dnis to suit me. the conversations are symbolic and ideological in#nature. if i find a blog with men dni i generally go somewhere else. it's about emotions. it's about my feelings on that it's not literally#about dming someone demanding they change things. it's not about demanding that You change things or else you're a bad person.#4) it is about the conflicts and hypocrisy and inconsistency of strict and exclusive sexuality labels persisting in gender-diverse spaces#and how it affects me as a lesbian who is a man who is a woman who is fucking whatever else. and yes it is about transphobia too.#5) it's about how lesbians feel the need to exclude men and how i think efforts to do so fail and hurt ppl and are often misguided#tht i think also comes up in like. bi lesbian/mspec lesbian/gaybian discourse. i'm not any of those myself but it seems like there's overla#6) if this post seems whiny and sad and insecure that's because it probably is. i have a right to be all of those things.#7) no i do not think all lesbians are man-hating assholes. i am a lesbian. i love lesbians. i love dykes and most of them are fantastic ppl#i just think the general bullshit of the world leads to this defensive thing that ends up hurting others in our community y'know?#8) i get that my perspective/experience is a bit unusual and many lovely ppl haven't considered it. that's part of why i'm sharing this#nyarla dni#<- sorry man it's too vulnerable. gonna keep this one to the internet-only folks
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I'm very excited for more content of your lights out au, I'm so eager to see just how good you can get at writing/creating angst!
oh babey. thats where i Shine.
#i have gotten many a fic comment where people curse me out and/or say that they cried#sometimes i get someone saying i made them sob#its a compliment every time and i strive for it!#i dont fuck around with my fics i Do Not Hold Back and that is a Warning#this is the only aspect of my creations that im confident in#and hopefully soon you'll all See! you will see.#just a little taste its nothing too intense really.#id label it more hurt/comfort than straight up angst#but yeah if people arent crying im doing it wrong#i rarely do it wrong.#JESTING JESTING im not That good. now im just exaggerating for a Humorous Touch#rambles from the bog#i might. miiiiiight. might might might maybe mayhaps might#write a certain scene from lights out that everyone already knows will happen#so... might as well dust off my hurt / no comfort skills#could be fun. i want to hurt people again#in a good safe 'you Chose to read this' way#theres a certain feeling that comes with being someone who enjoys writing angst#the happiness i get from people telling me my writing hurt them. Yes <3#so so validating. so fulfilling.#just read through some old fic comments on my better works and mmmmm talk about an ego boost....
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Hi I kinda. Uhm. I. COUGH
Uhhh thank you @blackkatdraws for making silly hot wife and the pink clone, I will never forget your generous donation (💀??)
Some close ups too, I mean why not? :3
#goddamn Im awkward Im too shy akndksnfjsndnf -😭#also kitty if you're reading this I wanted to let you know that I saw your vent (?) post and Im letting you know that Im pretty much going -#- through something similar. I dont want you getting fully taken by this feeling like I did. Its not nice at all and it hurts a whole lot#Sooo I just want to remind you that you're loved by many many people and we care about you dear kitty <3#Apologies if that sounds strange- I mean its our first time ever talking- But just wanting to let you know because you're important to me!#but yeaaa I want to make out with Black I MEAN WHAT-#(also I drew this for the whole night. I started at 11 pm and finished at 6 am :333 yes Im okay :33)#the stanley parable#tsp#the stanley parable ultra deluxe#tspud#narrator#tsp narrator#gip!!#I gib gip eheheeh >:3
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I find it frustrating how being a gnc and gay makes it hard to talk about my experiences as a trans person.
Both because the experiences themselves are so different from the norm. And because, if i try to talk about transphobia I face there's this underlying idea that because im a feminine trans man, I deserve it or at least could avoid it by being less feminine.
And there really is no way to win because if I'm feminine, then I'm not really a man (or not trying hard enough to be one) but if im masculine then I'm not queer enough and get shit from within the community for that too.
And I cant relate to the average trans masc experience (tm) because my (lesbian) mother's idea is that I should be a butch lesbian instead of a fem gay man so the lack of acceptance from them comes in the form of barring me from wearing makeup or "flashy" clothes, as opposed to the more typical enforced femininity.
How much of myself am I expected to give up? And more importantly, why is that expectation coming from other queer people, people who should know better?
#transandrophobia#transmasc#trans man#it just makes it hurt that much more that other queer people#and even other trans people#are pulling the same shit#and on a personal note#as if this whole thing wasnt already#it really sets a grim tone for the future#the entirety of my twenties has been a constant cycle of 'youre not gay because youre trans and therefore not really a man'#'but youre not really trans because youre too feminine'#'but youre not really queer because youre too masculine'#so at what point do i just fucking give up#and what part of myself#do i give up the makeup and fun clothes that makes me feel good about myself give up my femininity to 'be a man'?#do i give up my transition and my manhood and 'just be nonbinary' like so many people have told me to in order to be a 'good queer'#or do i just give up on friends love and community and just keep to myself?#its not like i can change the way i was born so theres no future in which i get to live as a gay man#it just all feels useless#it is useless#op
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i don't know how to be merely acquaintances when we used to be friends. or i think we used to be. i don't know how to yearn for a simple hello when you've been heaping your affection on me months ago, and i don't know how to talk to you when you won't say anything. when suddenly it's all about me. you know i have nothing to say, you know my brain is void of everything but horribleness and i cannot tell you about my day because i don't even know about my day. i cannot tell you about my day when i know you won't listen, when i know you'll apply your philosophy to my world and don't believe me when i say that everything is terrible. i don't know how to be the person you seem to think i am, or the person you want in your life. i don't know if you want anyone else in your life now that you're in love and sappy, found another recipient for your affections, leaving me empty and wounded and yearning.
you said you missed me. said it many times, while i was gone. now i'm back, have been back, and i wonder how you missed me, why you missed me, when you won't talk to me. i think you mistook missing for worrying. i think you mistook caring for a feeling of obligation. i think you like missing me more than talking to me.
and i think i can't breathe with how much that hurts
#how do you miss me when you won't talk to me? how do you like me so much and then go to just. not?#how did i let you in when i try so hard not to let people do that because i know that once they get past the walls all i'll be left with#is the idea of them rotting and withering inside me. polluting the space i create to keep myself safe.#why does everyone leave? leave in silence too. leaving behind so many questions and so many words engraved in my brain#i am so tired of *grieving* when those i grieve are still alive and well and thriving and i'm reminded that it's versions of myself#that i'm grieving instead. how do you grieve yourself? how do you not fucking fall apart over it?#just. fucking talk to me. don't make it be true that all i'll ever be is nothingness and the memory of someone you liked once#but never never never liked enough#i'm so so cold already. i'm a shell. i want to be warm again but it always leaves me so hollow and hurting#i grieve the dio who was warm. i grieve them i miss them i am so so angry that he had to leave. to hide. with no way out#i'm happy for you. i'm happy you're happy. but you're no better than anyone else and it makes me want to run away again#but i have nowhere else to run and no one else to be. and it's so fucked that it doesn't matter who i am i'll never be enough#for someone to just. stay. to see me and to stay. to hear me and to sit and listen and just. just fucking stay.#maybe i'm not worth staying for. maybe there's nothing to know nothing to hear nothing to see nothing to listen to nothing to find#maybe all i'll ever get is one/two good months paid for with a lifetime of grief. and i'm at the point where i don't want the good months#anymore with you or anyone else who tears down these walls with affection that is so endlessly addictive and leaves me yearning.#on the off chance that it will keep the grief away too. but that's the thing about grief isn't it? it's here to stay. unlike you#god this is so fucked up and i'll delete this later but for now i just need to. let it out. poe said i should make a side blog for the grie#but poe's not there anymore. poe has stopped starting fires. so this goes on main until shame makes me take it down#blah#personal#not st
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you know, I changed my mind, Quaritch always loved spider, form the beginning, any attempts to make it seem like he was using him was a lie and a front, he forced himself to hurt lauder e cause he was scared of getting attached, you wanna know how I know.
the look, the look he gave spider when he figured out who he was. the pure pain and confusion and love on his face when he recognizes his son, even if this is his only knew memory of him in 16 years (his only memories of spider are of when he was a baby and being abused by of Quaritch who are 2 different people}) he knew that was his baby, the baby his original self hurt.
I know because when he hears his sins screams, he can't stand it, it hurts him (and we know this guy has a tolerance for human/na'vi suffering) and he puts a stop to it, quickly.
the first words they exchange outside of the kidnapping (as father and son) is him apologizing for what his original self did. he attempts to comfort him, to make him feel safe.
he cared for this kid, he loved him, he protected him like no one had before, I will stand by that.
#I ignore any and all potential evidence that Quaritch was really using him#like I said#I think he forced himself to use the kid#he tried to stop himself from getting to attached#you could see the conflict in his eyes when spider begged him to leave the village people alone#the pain when spider avoids his touch and starts to visibly hate him#he tried so hard to not let this kid 'ruin' him and failed so badly#and it's hurting me#if my dad showed up and his first words to me was an apology for something he didn't even really do#I'd trauma bond to his ass just like spider did#avatar spider#spider avatar#spider socorro#miles socorro#miles spider socorro#spider quaritch#miles quaritch#Quaritch#too many thoughts about them#avatar 2#avatar way of water#avatar 2 spoilers
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I've been having a severe PTSD episode for over five hours and it never registered because spending half the day in helpless fits of obsessive, murderous, paralysing rage is the nothing out of the ordinary for me. "Oh, I'm just an angry person like that" yes because I'm constantly triggered, retriggered and retraumatized by living disabled and dependent on Satan, who happens to be my egg donor.
It doesn't seem like I'll ever really internalise that these rages are PTSD episodes, especially since I'm a woman and therefore socially conditioned not to harm anyone except myself (that's a privilege reserved for six foot cis het men in charge of families who do the traumatizing). But in case it does anyone else good to hear: you aren't an "angry person". You have Complex PTSD. The rage outs are the exact equivalent of panic attacks and disassociation that Hollywood likes to show. The need to FIGHT is as a visceral, animal, instinctive and uncontrollable as the need for flight, to fawn, or to freeze. You aren't angry. You're fucking terrified and trapped and very, very ill.
#it's really apparent rn because instead of my usual suicidal ideation at this point#I'm fighting irrational fears of mum hurting or poisoning my cats#to be clear: altho i no longer put anything past her#it's the thought of the woman getting off her ass enough to arrange a poisoning or feeding an animal of her own bat is whats laughable here#also whatever she does it can't be something that would make her face up to the fact that she's foul#poison is too merciful and straightforward. she prefers criminal neglect and emotional vampirism#you wouldn't think a disabled old woman living downstairs could possibly be this much of a festering black rot on so many people's existenc#when she dies they're going to promote her to a head torturer on arrival#abuse#complex ptsd#complex post traumatic stress disorder#anger issues#gaslighting#emotional abuse#child abuse#parental abuse#actually cptsd#knee of huss
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"Ruby wouldn't be angry at Jaune because she would understand it was Penny's choice" as if grief over losing a close friend again after going through so much to save her again wouldn't manifest in absolute rage that blocks out suicide fetish logic. The writers refused Ruby her anger not only to protect their precious Jaune, but because they think certain emotions are evil
I'm constantly thinking about Blake in V5 attributing spite to Adam as if it's a bad thing. Spite is the emotional version of "hold my beer," and is responsible for some incredible things
Lord of the Flies by William Golding is a spiteful response to The Coral Island by R. M. Ballantyne, a story with the same premise of several middle class English boys being stranded on an island. Where Ballantyne has the boys having "wonderful adventures" such as... saving women and children from being killed and eaten by the native Polynesians, Golding depicts the boys falling into savagery as time and isolation grows their paranoia to the point where they start killing each other. Golding was pissed at the saccharine portrayal of English boys as the height of humanity because he was a teacher who taught that exact demographic and damn well knew better
After a teacher said he wasn't smart enough to get into college, Huey P. Newton taught himself how to read and got into law school. When the college committees were more into intellectual talk than action, he said, "Fuck this, I'm gonna make my own group," and he did! It became an international organization that had the FBI shitting themselves! That's the power of spite, baby!!
The writers are using emotions as a shorthand for a character’s morality, which is why Ruby can't be mad at Jaune without losing her status as a hero and why Adam's anger at injustice makes him irredeemable from day one. Ruby's ptsd disappears with a triumphant smile and musical number while Ironwood's vilifies and dehumanizes him even after his death
The writers have tied "negative" emotions to evil and "positive" to good when they're neither. Emotions are a body's response to stimuli, similar to goosebumps and crying. Think of it as a "check engine" light on your car's dashboard. What someone does because of their emotions can be good or bad, but emotions in and of themselves are morally neutral
Really wish people would learn that
#rwde#the demonization of anger is particularly troubling esp in the context of injustice#like??? sorry people dont wanna be sally sunshine abt their rights being taken away#i think it falls into respectability politics and 'the good victim' idea#the only victims considered strong are the ones who take their abuse with grace and poise#youre too weak if youre crying and scared bc of your trauma#youre too afraid if you build walls between you and the world bc of your trauma#youre too hysterical if youre pissed off and lashing out bc of your trauma#the only respected way is to grin and bear it until the abuse stops#which is absolute bullshit#people deserve to have any and every emotion without immediately being judged for having the 'wrong' response#we have so many emotions for a fucking reason!!!#and its super unhealthy to repress any emotion for long periods of time!! thats why so many people are miserable these days!!#fuck that sally sunshine perpetual positivity bullshit. let a mf be pissed off#and for characters let them be pissed off and wrong!!#let them lash out and hurt their friends or smash a car or punch a wall bc thats character conflict!! its drama!#its an opportunity for characters to grow and atone for their mistakes and ask for forgiveness they may not get#let rwby characters be full fledged people i am BEGGING
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I think Darryl was a hugger before losing Grant but afterward, both him and Grant started to hug like they wanted to crush people. Like subconsciously they needed to hold people and anchor themselves much more and it just comes off as dad-grade bearhugs.
You see the vision? Like a full body, arm wrap hug. Darryl for sure would hold Grant as much as he could and the touch aspect probably helps Grant from feeling like he's fading. Y'know
#brucey has so many thoughts but can't elborate on them properly. alas.#anyway wanted to get this out. may revsisit it later#Grant needed to hurt to stay grounded. A much healthier alternative is squeezing and hugging things#you can hold things and feel real. you can be held and be real. and Darryl was very much so touch oriented before anyway#I imagine Darryl just wanting to constantly hold or carry people too. like he's for sure picking up carol and twirling her around#ok bye!
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After saving the land before them Zelda and link were tied and they need to sleep. So they went on there Horse to the Village to Link’s house. As Zelda was so happy she was also glad to know that all that had happened was all in the past.
Zelda was so happy to not be in the Castle trying to stay awake. Everything was fine now she was with Link. When they got about 4 hours away Zelda saw that there were some people out in the distance. She had not seen people in forever she said to link to set up camp for the night and she would go talk to the people and she would come back with some food so they could cook.
Link looked at the people in concern I will be fine just go set up camp he nodded his head. Zelda loved to see the blue sky and the birds and the sway of the grass she never wanted to it to end. When she started talking to the people they were a little of but she just thought that they were excited to see her they just offered bananas to her. All at once she remembered that Link told her about a Yiga clans they would look like a normal person but they were not.
she screamed “Link” he came running at full speed and right on time the Yiga clan members were not the week kind but the much harder to kill ones. One did have a bow though Link killed the one with a sword first but the one with a bow was so fast Link told Zelda to run back to camp she didn’t want to leave him alone but she went behind a big rocks and hid.
Zelda Hurd nothing but a sweet sound of a little bird chirping in the distance. Then she heard a scream it sounded like a link she ran all the way to him the Yiga was not dead but it retreated because it has fulfill its duties. It had shot Link right in the chest with his bow 4 times he was wheezing and gasping for air. Link grabbed two of the arrows and pulled them out. Zelda squinted with fear she knew that it needed to be tended to right away. But all she had was bananas and a small cloth she was watching him grab the other two arrows and he was pulling them out. He Was in a great amount of pain. She tried to talk to him for the very first time she said “ we need to get you to a stable first but we then will rush to Hatnao village”. Link tried to speak but the pain took over.
“shh you need to save your strength right now” Zelda said. She could tell that he Was in A lot of pain. Blood started to turn his clothes red and Zelda new that she will need to hurry or he wouldn’t make it! she said to him can you get on the horse he said. I-can try-to get on…. She was getting so worried that he wouldn’t be able to make it. She helped him get on the horse and they started to ride.
after about an hour or so it started to get worse they were about 20 minutes away from the staple. And he fell off his horse Zelda jumped off and rushed to the side. He was Groaning with pain as much more blood came out. At this time he was as white as the cloud He was barely breathing and struggling when he was. They finally got to a stable she found some cloth and wiped off the wound with some water. He was wincing with pain she didn’t want it to be painful but she wanted to be clean.
she turned one of the horses in so they could ride together in and he can rest. Zelda did not notice how much blood he had Lost buddy was struggling because of the blood loss they were almost to the village about only 30 minutes away when it started to get worse blood was rushing out now and Zelda was worried. The time before his eyes were open but his eyes started the clothes slowly.
Zelda knew it had to be because of blood loss or was that the reason she turned around and stop the horse she put her hand to Link’s for head he had a very high fever. She knew that the fever was going to cause some pain and some discomfort but she knew she had to get to the village that was all of her concern. when she made it to the village people came running out of their houses link was not awake anymore so They took him to his house and laid him down on the bed. Zelda fell asleep on the bedside Well they tend to his wounds.
She was still very worried for him but than her friend pura came in she said check it her normal thing she looked at link and said what happened Zelda explain to the story as pura made some food on the stove for when he woke up and fore them of course. They talked for hours then Link woke up wai-r am I… don’t worry you’re in your house he fell back asleep after about 20 minutes he was obviously exhausted from blood loss and a fever. After he was all better and able to walk again I Zelda and him continue their adventures as one! The end. Thank you so much for your kindness and your help for your love and kindness always gives me energy.❤️❤️❤️ I just want to ask if you can draw like a little seen out of this you are such an inspiration to me 😊
Hello! Thank you for all your kind words!! I'm really happy if I can give you energy; thank you for all your kindness and positivity as well! I always see you tagging people just to say nice things to them; it's really sweet and always makes me smile! 😊😊💖
Thank you so much for sharing your story! I really enjoyed reading it!! I don't take requests, but I did imagine this based on your story! (I'm sorry if it's not exactly what you had in mind!)
#legend of zelda#botw#zelink#zelda#link#aquanutart#replies#long post#blood#I hope there's always someone looking after you as well as zelda is taking care of link! 💖#I read your recent post and I'm so sorry to hear what you're going through 😭#I'm wishing for you to be well and that you keep doing everything you love! you deserve to always have people who care by your side!#I feel so glad that Zelda doesn't have to worry now that she's with Link and they can share the house in Hateno Village!#At least it seemed so peaceful but then--?!! It's sweet that Link tells her to get to safety while he rushes to protect them both! 😭#I was really worried about Link when the Yiga shot him so many times!!!#and Zelda only had bananas and a small cloth! That's not enough to treat such severe wounds oh no!!!#he pulled all those arrows out himself?!!! no wonder he was in such a great amount of pain! OUCH that sounds horrible!!! 😭😭😭#treating a wound hurts but Zelda's right it's more important for it to be clean!#the wound sounds so painful I'm so worried about him.. poor zelda wondering if he's going to make it! 😭#and now he has a fever too oh no?!! I can feel what a rush theyre in when they arrive at the village; Zelda thinking only of getting there!#HE'S OKAY!!! I'm so relieved he was able to recover from that incredible amount of blood loss!! 😭😭😭#I hope Zelda will stay by his side and hold his hand while he recovers! I love that they continue their adventures together!!#I'm so glad there was a happy ending! Thank you for sharing your story! I've never gotten an ask like this before!
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i think i have this fear of being seen as a liar i think. like. everyone does it. and as a kid i stole stuff all the time and the way that was dealt with kinda just fucked with my head. do people see my kindness and my compassion as manipulation? am i read as someone trying to tear down the walls so i can get something while ur guard is down?. idk why someone thinking that of me makes me feel so miserable like. what if they were right? ive made mistakes before.. whos to say they arent right about this time? i dont want to stop being kind but it scares me to think about that.
#im so different to all the people ive met. i know afew kindred spirits. 2 is in my cule and im dating the other#but idk. some part of me Long ago decided that i wanted to bring comfort to people. when i see how rough the world gets..#i know thats something i can do to make people feel better. even if its just 1 person.#what else has there been in my life worth living for. aside from the company it brings and the growth i get to be part of.#i never got to be this kind. i never got to be treated this kindly before i transitioned.#idk. i guess this stuff just makes me think im doing something wrong. am i not supposed to try and make other happy if i seem like a trick?#to me this is what being a woman means for me. in so many ways... maybe thats why it being doubted hurts so much.#anyway.. my blood sugar is low. and its 2am. ily reader. i hope its not too much.
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