❝Hold Me Down❞
slyxdiscordia:
[ ... ]
Affligo, Ambustio, Astrapicus. Confringo, Convello, Delacero.
She screams, uses all the offensive spells in her arsenal, uses the whole area as her target, and she ignores that tears that streams down her face and the broken faucet that causes the water to rain on her, drenching her robes and the floor. She only stops when the exhaustion and the emotions that comes afterwards takes a toll on her body and she collapses on her knees, wand falling to the floor, one hand to support herself, the other covering her lips to muffle any sobs that could escape. It does nothing, because by now she is bawling, and the overwhelming feeling of uselessness overcomes her being. Shoulders shaking, she clenches her eyes tight, continues to ignore the tears spilling from it, and cries,
“Why am I always not enough?! Why is everything I do always not enough?! WHY?!”
isolation for robin isn’t rare, he finds the solitude himself and relishes in the quiet, the space to think. the greenhouses, or down by the forbidden forest with the creatures needing looked after. he’s always alone, always wrapped up in his own thoughts, left to ponder and create, imagine and dream. but sometimes it’s sought for reasons other than simply a quiet moment to think to himself, enjoy his own company and do what he enjoys. more recently it’s been something he runs away to, and he’d found the perfect place only weeks ago. it’s a bathroom that seems abandoned - he’d never seen anyone, not even a ghost, enter, or exit it.
it proved a useful space to sit and be alone, to try and deal with his own emotions by himself - he’d never been good at sharing, or leaning on others for emotional support. sometimes it happens by accident and he turns into a fountain of emotions that he very soon regrets letting escape. he wants to be seen as someone cheerful, not someone who breaks down and cries. he’d never been one to think ‘boys don’t cry’, but he feels like a burden if he cries in front of other people, so he hides, and deals with things alone.
but his feet come to a halt at the door and he wonders if it makes him weak, hiding away to either cry, or write it all down, or simply spend some time clearing out all the dark and the dust from the recesses of his brain. after his mothers death only months before he’s been visiting the bathroom frequently, but after every visit to the always-empty bathroom, he feels the guilt pour in.
so his hand pushing the door open is merely automatic, but the noise that he steps into is unusual, and stops him in his tracks. the water gushing and the quiet crying from the other side of the bathroom. he spots her after a second, the small figure knelt on the floor, her entire body shaking with the sobs wracking her frame.
he forgets all about his own woes in that second, his ‘motherly’ instinct kicking in. he doesn’t move closer, he knows from experience that that may harm, more than help. he merely clears his throat, shifting his weight from on foot to the others as he peers worriedly at her, every fibre of him willing him closer, to help, to comfort in any way he can.
