#Both of them were practically ABUSED throughout the series

[kittylover776]

Thinking back to Starhyke, and how Dotty essentially has a longer lifespan compared the rest of her crew (thanks to Striker’s comment in that one episode), which means at some point she’ll have no choice but to watch each of her crew mates (her family, really) pass on one by one. Which is pretty heartbreaking, to say the least. 😔

[prettyinpwn]

Bill and Ford and Adult Grooming - Why Gravity Falls is a Metaphor Champion for Abusive Relationships (GF Writing Analysis Pt. 4)

GF Writing Analysis Series:

Pt. 1 - Ford Pines: A Masterclass in Writing a Good Flawed Character Pt. 2 - How Gravity Falls Could Have Been Better + Poor Ford and Wendy Pt. 3 - Mabel Pines: How Well Was She Written... Really?

Hello and welcome to the fourth post in my GF Writing Analysis series! Though the title is self-explanatory, I still want to warn folks that this post will contain dark content relating to adult grooming AKA abuse. If that is content you'd rather avoid (and for some reason your filters did not catch my trigger warning tags), this is your heads up that this post will contain that type of discussion.

For those of you who are not sure what adult grooming is, no, it's not the sexual grooming between an adult and a minor like we typically think of when the term "grooming" comes up, nor does it have to be romantic at all, although sexual acts can be a part of this form of grooming. It is defined as:

"-the predatory act of manoeuvring another individual into a position that makes them more isolated, dependent, likely to trust, and more vulnerable to abusive behaviour. The goal is to prepare the other person for abuse (for example, sexual or financial) later. Therefore, the groomer’s first step is to establish friendship and trust." (Source).

It is my belief that the relationship between Bill and Ford in Gravity Falls - which The Book of Bill helped illustrate even more - is one of adult grooming. This post will explore how the concept of adult grooming applies to the relationship between Bill and Ford, how it changes our perception of them as characters, and the value of showing metaphors for abuse in media for all ages - like Gravity Falls is - to help bring to light this very real and underdiscussed issue and help victims recognize it themselves.

Defining Adult Grooming Further + Who Bill Really Is

We already visited the definition of adult grooming above, but we haven't explored the psychology behind it yet. Namely, I want to explore who partakes in adult grooming on both ends. There is the abuser, and the victim.

The abuser is described as often being:

"Narcissists, Antisocial predators, con artists and sexual aggressors practice grooming to target and manipulate vulnerable people for exploitation." (Source).

Well, very obviously, we know that Bill is the abuser. But... why? He could be a narcissist, an antisocial predator, and a con artist, just like the above description. But which? Why is he an abuser?

Well, our first inclination might be to turn to The Book of Bill and think about his backstory; how he could see in the third dimension in a two dimensional world, tried to "liberate" his dimension to see what he could see, and... then slaughtered them all. He implies it was an accident. He just "wanted the best" for his people. But... drumroll please... get ready for a U-turn into some literary talk...

The Great Gatsby references surrounding The Book of Bill were more than just a "lol random" joke. Infamously, the narrator of The Great Gatsby, Nick Carraway, is what's called an 'unreliable narrator'. This is a writing technique defined as:

"-any narrator who misleads readers, either deliberately or unwittingly. Many are unreliable through circumstances, character flaws or psychological difficulties. In some cases, a narrator withholds key information from readers, or they may deliberately lie or misdirect." (Source).

To me, after understanding just how much more Hirsch has tied The Great Gatsby to The Book of Bill's release (e.g "TJ Eckleburg" being the password to get into the associated ARG website, offering a free PDF of The Great Gatsby on said website)... I think what Hirsch is trying to say, is... Bill is an unreliable narrator, as well. Not that that wasn't already well established throughout the series.

Let's ask ourselves this question: is there anyone Bill hasn't lied to? Tried to gain sympathies from? I'll wait. Because the answer is no. Bill lies every time he opens his mouth. Even the god of the Gravity Falls setting - the Axolotl - calls him a liar in the Dipper and Mabel and the Curse of the Time Pirates' Treasure!: Select Your Own Choose-Venture book.

So as a small aside to the main point of this post: I don't think there's anything in The Book of Bill that we can guarantee is proof or canon. If I'm honest, I think The Book of Bill is the mad rambling of a monster trying to justify to us as well as himself that he's better than he really is. He's an unreliable narrator to himself because he needs to save himself from mentally shattering upon the admission that, yeah, he's really that horrible of a person.

If I were to define what The Book of Bill is, is it's a sad attempt to elicit sympathy for a monster, by a monster. It's a masterclass in how he - as an abuser - grooms someone. If you read The Book of Bill and walk away feeling bad for Bill, then congratulations! You would have fallen prey to him just like Ford did. And just like everyone who ever fell prey to him before that.

The metaphor Gravity Falls and its extra content illustrates through Bill is how charming, funny, and enticing and sexy according to Tumblr for some godforsaken reason abusers can be in real life. Because the worst of monsters are the ones who do everything to convince you they're not.

So what does this say about Bill as a character? Don't be fooled. He really is that monstrous. He doesn't have any redeeming qualities. Everything Bill does is with a goal in mind, a person to be used or manipulated to get there, and with a complete lack of conscience to stop himself from doing it. And that's what makes Bill such a strong and terrifying villain: He really is that evil. He really is that soulless. He's not a villain of great strength or power that can be easily defeated with might. He's a villain that underlines something very real beyond a screen or book page, something that we all likely have experienced in real life: an abuser.

Bill and Ford: Abuser and Abused + How Bill Does It

Getting back to the definition of adult grooming, let's explore how it works. There are typical steps abusers like Bill use. We'll list them, then list examples alongside each step that show how Bill used these tactics on Ford for the sake of both exploring their characters more, and illustrating how well Gravity Falls depicts actual abuse.

Please note that I'm using this source as my guideline on the steps of adult grooming.

Step One: Targeting the Victim

The abuser first looks for someone they can target. They learn all they can about the victim. Typically, they look for victims who are:

Unpopular or have family problems. Gee... who does this sound like?

People who have low self-esteem. GEE... sounds familiar again.

People who have mental/physical disabilities. Although Ford does not have either, at least not proven in canon, it is possible that his genius could be considered a disability in how high IQ individuals typically are more socially isolated, depressed, anxious, insomnia-ridden from overthinking, and can have troubles with making friends due to likeliness to correct others (*cough* "Grammar, Stanley." *cough), different senses of humor, and being misunderstood. (Source). Plus, we know his polydactyly caused people to outcast him.

People who have already been through abuse. I - and many others - have made the point that it's common fan interpretation that Ford's father was abusive to a point. At the very least, I have argued in previous posts that Filbrick taught Ford that "value = what money you make from smarts". He was, after all, supposed to be "their ticket outta this (New Jersey poor neighborhood) dump", right? Assuming this is true, well... Ford was already taught from a young age that his value was in how others could use him. Filbrick may have primed him to be abused by Bill, unintentionally.

Okay, so we've established step one of adult grooming, and how Ford fits 99% of these criteria at least for the type of victim an abuser targets. What about step two?

Step Two: Gaining Trust

Honestly, I don't need to elaborate much on this part. I'll just quote the article I sourced before, because any Gravity Falls fan will instantly know how this applies to Bill and Ford:

"Groomers can be hard to notice as they will do their best to appear safe and genuine. This makes it hard to identify them. Over time, they will gradually manipulate the victim to be dependent on them."

"While gaining trust, the groomer may use flattery like offering gifts, admiration, and sharing “secrets” with the person to make them feel special. The groomer may do favours for someone. The groomer may gradually begin asking for favours in return, generally starting small. This may be the start of a romantic relationship or a simple friendship."

"Groomers may share secrets with their target in order to make them feel special and trusted by the groomer. This also may make the target feel they need to share secrets of their own, which the groomer may later use to increase their power over the target."

I mean... *gestures at all of Ford's journals and interactions with Bill in The Book of Bill*. Bill couldn't get any more textbook abuser/adult groomer than this. He praised Ford, shared secrets with him, made him feel so special, etc.

Step Three and Four: Filling a Need and Isolation

These steps are quite self-explanatory. The abuser (Bill) convinces the victim that they need them. "You need me to complete your portal project, Ford.". "No one else understands you, Ford.". And then comes the isolation, and where we'll touch on Stan and McGucket.

"Groomers will likely try to isolate the victim from their loved ones. This may be evident in the way they refuse to meet family and loved ones. Or perhaps they bad mouth them, or try to point out to the victim that the groomer is the only one who really and truly cares for them. Being isolated from friends and family makes it harder for the victim to notice warning signs."

Bill convinced Ford he didn't need anyone but him. He convinced him to isolate more and more; to push his brother away, to push McGucket away, until Ford had literally no support network, making him prime prey for Bill to take advantage of.

Step Five+: The Real Abuse

This step can manifest in many different ways. After reading the article sourced above, there are so many similarities to what Bill did to Ford. I'll list them here:

Continuing isolation.

Destroying self-esteem.

Physical abuse (leaving Ford with bloody knuckles, making his body hurt, leaving him on top of the Shack in the freezing cold, etc).

Seek to take control over victims (in Bill's case, the fantasy/supernatural metaphor of possession is just that: a metaphor for control).

Normalizing behaviors that aren't normal ("Here, I'll just possess you more and more, I swear giving me complete control is normal!").

Making the victim feel helpless.

And many, many more. Folks, I'm not going to lie: I would not be surprised if Hirsch and other writers involved in Bill's creation read a manual on how abusers work (or maybe experienced it in their own lives, but hopefully not, as I wouldn't wish that on anyone) to write Bill. Because Bill does these steps on cue to Ford. He is a textbook abuser.

So... What Does This Say About Bill and Ford?

The dark humor in Bill's writing is that he portrays his shadowy side as lighthearted, but there's a very, very dark underbelly of abuse in everything he does. Even the way we interact with Bill as viewers/readers in real life is a microcosm of his abuse. Look at how he's written:

"Oh, I look like an innocent, funny little triangle guy. Don't mind me. *Does something horrifying and awful.* Oh, I'm just funny, trust me, look how sad I am for losing Ford, and how I drink about it, and I'm all sad here in interdimensional therapy, and I kept a speck of dust from my dimension in my hat! I swear I'm really regretful!"

Text in point: "I'm just a rascal! A funny little guy! But everyone seems to think I'm "evil" or "a sociopath".

He wants to be a hero, or a star, as he calls it. He shows himself on a magazine cover, as someone talked to in a live show, as the leader of the Henchmaniacs (which I'd argue are also either are abusers or victims themselves based on how Bill describes them in the book), etc.

But he's a liar. He's a conman. He's a dream demon; a demon that has power over dreams, but dreams are just that: lies and illusions. Like I said, even the Axolotl thinks so:

"Saw his own dimension burn. Misses home and can't return. Says he's happy, he's a liar. Blame the arson for the fire."

What that line and this screenshot means, is that Bill is 100% to blame for the destruction he wreaks. He didn't "show people the truth". He burned them alive because they didn't worship him as the hero he wanted so badly to be, and he blamed it on, "Well, they just didn't GET what I was trying to tell them.". And the worst part about Bill, is he knows deep down he's to blame; that he has the blood of millions on his hands. But he literally tries to describe it as "liberating" his kind. Ford knows this, too, and tells us directly in The Book of Bill that the book itself is a sham:

Key quotes being: "It will become whatever it must to deceive you, to pull you in." and "DO NOT BELIEVE A WORD".

Honestly, there's only one line Bill ever said that was truth:

Yet, even though Bill knows he's a monster, he never stops. He's had millions of years to change, yet he hasn't. And I doubt he ever will. That's why the Theraprism is effective: it's a jail of his own making. He could get out if he wanted to get better and worked at it. He's always had the key to unlock his cage. But he won't. Because he can't admit fault.

So instead of fixing himself, he keeps wanting to drag others into his cage with him. Like a man drowning who'll grasp onto anyone else struggling, pretending he's helping them float together, only to push them down to keep himself above the water. But in the Theraprism, he has no one to pretend to. He's a "theatre kid without a stage", like Ford said. A little emotional leech without someone to latch onto. He's just alone, like he was after he destroyed his entire dimension.

As for Ford, he champions the story of a victim who regained his power and heals through the love of his family. If you read his and Bill's story from the perspective of abuser vs. victim, it's the story of a man who was isolated, taken advantage of, nearly destroyed... but then wrests his power back and chases after his abuser for thirty years for revenge. However, it's telling that it's not through his thirst for vengeance that Bill is defeated, but through his brother's love for him and the rest of their family.

I mean, look at the main villains of Gravity Falls: someone who sacrificed his family (Bill), someone who was selfish and didn't give a crap about his family (Gideon), etc. And the heroes: people who self-sacrificed for their family. All the Pines wrestle with this theme, from things as small as Dipper giving up a let's be honest very minimal chance at Wendy to make Mabel happy and win Waddles at the fair, Mabel destroying her puppet show to save Dipper from Bill, Ford self-sacrificing and getting tortured for I don't even know how many days locked up with Bill during Weirdmageddon to protect others, and Stan performing the ultimate sacrifice in the finale for his family and world.

Bill is the antithesis to the Pines: a selfish abuser who killed his family. And the Pines are heroes because they learn the moral lesson of the story: to give up pride and selfishness to forgive, self-sacrifice, and love your family and do anything for them, despite your trauma or prior disagreements. They could have just as easily ended up like Bill: awful because of a refusal to admit fault or self-sacrifice. But they don't, because they learned what Bill never did.

That's also why this show focuses so much on the theme of past vs. future and letting go; the Pines learned to let go and accept change, Bill never did. He's stuck. Funny how time stops whenever Bill shows up in the real world, huh? /symbolism wink

And that's why Gravity Falls - and Ford and Bill's story especially - is a champion metaphor for abusive relationships and healing from them.

[imtryingbuck]

One Step Forward A Hundred Back.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC!Theo

Summary: Bucky has to marry a woman who surprises him more and more as their story goes along.

Word count: 3,243

Warnings: angst. Talks about child abuse. Mentions of past rape. Bucky goes through it all. Swearing. Dot. fluff.. mainly angst though.

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

Throughout the week weirdly enough Bucky and Theo fell into a routine, that routine ending them in his bed with his arms wrapped protectively around her keeping the monsters at bay for her and unbeknownst to her, she was doing the same thing.

Of course everyone knew that they were sharing the nights together though no one said anything, Steve was happy that their marriage was developing. Everyone noticed the change in Bucky's behaviour; he was happier, less snappy now that he was getting a good night sleep.

Over the course of the week they all went to the hospital to visit Wanda, who woke up after two days.

When the redhead found out that Theo had donated blood to her she cried and pulled Theo into a hug, even though the rails to the bed dug painfully into her stomach she paid no mind to it as she wrapped her arms around the woman in the bed.

"Angel you almost ready?" Bucky asked from the bedroom as Theo was getting dressed in the bathroom.

All the clothes that Bucky had brought her was now in his wardrobe thanks to Martha who after washing and drying them had hung them there not knowing her mistake, when Bucky realised he didn't care no he rather liked seeing her clothes next to his.

"A-almost. Okay now I'm done" Stepping out of the bathroom they smiled at one another before Bucky took her hand in his and put it to his lips placing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

"Come on then, operation break Wanda out of hospital is now a go" She giggled at him. Wanda had begged them all to get her out of the hospital on the very same day she had woken up.

"Let's go"

Walking out of the room and down the stairs where the other three who was taking part of the break out was waiting. Nat held her arm out for Theo to take so she did, both women walking out of the house. One oozing confidence and the other simply following the others lead.

"Morning ladies" Clint bows dramatically causing both women to giggle, he opens the door for them to enter-

"No, Theo's with me"

"Never took you to be a possessive husband Buck" Steve laughed.

"I-I'm not I just like her being by my side"

"So... possessive" Nat laughs.

"Oh shut up." Rolling his eyes at the redhead he opens his car door and waited patiently for Theo to get in, shutting the door softly behind her. "I'm not possessive!" he argues when he sees them standing staring at him.

"Sure, sure what ever helps you sleep at night Boss" it's now Sam's turn to laugh but quickly getting into the car he was going to be sharing with Clint, Steve and Natasha.

"I'm not possessive" he mutters under his breath once he was in the car.

"Did you just say something Bucky?"

Oh yeah that was new too.

"No angel, let's bring our friend home"

"Thank god you guys are here! I'm going crazy!" Wanda huffs when they walk in the room.

"You're already crazy Wands" Nat laughed.

"Shut up, please get me out of here!"

Sam shook his head catching the bag that Wanda threw at him. "We're breaking you out now so stop bossing us around"

Breaking Wanda out of the hospital was easy as she was already given the all clear to be released but with both her and Sam being dramatic and wanted to act like they were breaking her out of prison.

"Don't try and stop us Doc! We're busting out of here and there's nothing you can do about it!" Sam practically shouted at the poor man who was just doing his job.

Bucky looked at Theo and shook his head slowly. "These are our friends"

"You wouldn't change them though"

"Well... maybe Sam"

"Oi I heard that" Sam shouts from halfway down the corridor, nearly knocking over a nurse with the wheelchair that was carrying the 'precious cargo' as he called Wanda.

Their breakout out was deemed a success so they headed home. Martha was quick to wrap her arms around Wanda as soon as she saw the girl, making sure she was careful of the wound on her stomach that was slowly healing.

Wanda made everyone join her in the cinema room in the basement for a movie day/night, Sam was on snacks with Clint, Nat's job was to get blankets, Steve's job was to carry Wanda down the stairs - according to her she had no use in her legs despite them all watching her walk into the kitchen going straight for the fridge to get her strawberry milkshake out. Bucky and Theo had to make sure Sam and Clint wasn't eating the snacks they were getting.

No big surprise when the pair walked in on the two men eating said snacks.

"Where are you going?" Bucky's question had her stopping on the stairs

"Upstairs?"

"I see that, what do you need from up there?"

"Nothing…"

Sighing when it clicked "Angel, your invited too you know?"

"It-it's a family thing James, I'll carry on reading that book" dictionary.

"Angel you are family. Come on, please don't leave me alone with them"

"I-are you sure? I don't want to cause any trouble"

He swears she's going to be the death of him.

"I'm sure, married remember?" Though his tone was light and non-mocking she couldn't help but flinch lightly.

"Okay"

Theo and Bucky side by side with a thick fluffy black blanket laid over them, Nat and Wanda cuddled up with their own blanket, Sam and Clint side by side hogging the popcorn - Sam holding the pack in a death grip - and Steve was on the other end with a blanket that had Wanda's face with different facial expressions on it, over him. Theo found out that Wanda had brought it him for his birthday as a gag gift but it backfired on her because he loved it.

The third film to play on the very large screen was in fact Theo's fourth film she had ever seen, during the first film Bucky kept looking over at her loving the way her eyes lit up it reminded him of his niece and nephew during Christmas. What the film that was currently playing was called was lost on her but it was a rom-com, at first Theo was enjoying it until it was coming to the end.

The main male character gets down on one knee and asked the main female character to marry him, she cries with joy and says yes. The next scene was them planning their wedding, and then there was a short bit where the woman tries on wedding dresses in front of her friends and mum. Then the scene came when it was their wedding day, them saying their vows, the priest announcing them man and wife and him telling the man he could now kiss his bride.

As she watched eyes glued to the screen her heart ached.

She was married. She was married but wasn't proposed too. She was married and her and Bucky didn't sit down together stressing over placements, who was able to come or not, there was no them two stressing over where to get married. She was married and she didn't get to go to a bridal shop to try on dresses in front of her friends and mum. She was married but there were no vows, there was no telling Bucky he could kiss his bride.

No. No she was married to a man that didn't want to marry her. No she was married but there was no need for them to stress over placements or who was going or not or-or worry about where it was going to be held because her father held it in a spare room of his home. No she was married and didn't get to go to the bridal shop as it didn't matter if she looked nice or not.

They didn't have wedding rings for Christ sake.

A lone stray tear slipped down her cheek as the newlywed couple on the screen walked out of the church huge smiles on their faces as confetti rained down on them.

Theo knew she wasn't worthy of love, not in the slightest. But she had always wished that a man picked her out any woman he could have, picked her and made her feel like she was his world, his life, his love.

But like she was trained to believe, she wasn't worthy to be loved.

And that's all she ever wanted. To be loved even if it was only for a little while. To be truly loved. All she craved was love.

"T-Theo?"

Looking away from the screen she followed the voice that had said her name, Bucky's bright blue eyes staring at her. "Yes?"

"You're crying..."

"Oh, oh I'm sorry"

"Don't apologise, what's wrong?"

"I-I-nothing I'm fine"

"Bullshit-hey where are you going?" Bucky stands up after Theo gets up.

"Why haven't you asked my father yet?"

"About what?"

"About you being able to divorce me?"

Sucking in a breath he rubs the back of his neck. "Let's go upstairs and talk, please"

She knew that she shouldn't have asked in front of his friends, knowing it was probably embarrassing for him that they to hear that, she nodded and followed words.

The silence left in their wake was loud.

Leading her up to their bedroom, he loved saying that now, he shut the door with a soft thud behind him.

Bucky just stands there and watches her twiddling her fingers growing nervous as he didn't utter a word since leaving the cinema room.

"I'm sorry for embarrassing you in front of your friends" she whispers with her head casting downwards.

"I-you think you embarrassed me? No Theo you didn't. I want to know why you've brought up the divorce thing after we've been getting along this past week"

"Be-because... it's-we don't have a real marriage James and-and you deserve to be happy with someone else, one of my father's daughters will do that"

"Why don't you call them your sisters? That's what they are aren't they?"

His only question threw her off. Why is that the only thing that he takes from what she had said to him. "W-what?"

"Why don't-"

"No I understand what you said but-what?"

"I just don't understand, like my father has a daughter so she's my sister so why don't you call them that?"

"Because I'm his bastard"

"But that shouldn't mean anything"

"I'm not allowed to" Bucky had to strain his ears just to hear the words that came out of her mouth.

"Theo... is this to do with your scars?" his heart sank into the depths of his stomach when she nods. Since that day in his office he didn't bring up the scars or try and have that conversation, truthfully he had been wanting to put it off for as long as he could.

"Theo, please sit down so we can talk"

"Okay" she answered after a few beats of silence, she knew she was going to have to do this even if it scared her.

"Take your time, okay"

The thought of telling him the truth terrified her, for so long since it started it was engrained in her brain that she wasn't allowed to say anything to anyone no matter what, she was made to believe that everything that was happening to her was all her fault and that the only person she could blame was herself.

Releasing a long stuttering breath she wiped her hands on her new leggings that Bucky had brought her, straightening her back she knew that she had to do this in order to free him from this loveless marriage.

"M-my mom died during child birth a-and Eliza made my father bring me to their home, apparently it was a way to remind him of his affair" she started, already struggling to get her words out and she hadn't even started properly. Bucky slid his hand over and placed it over hers squeezing lightly until she turned her hand over for him to link his fingers with hers.

"My earliest clear memory is when I was five a-and Eliza got mad because I was playing with Matt and his toys, she got super mad that she started smacking me really hard on my bum. I remember Matt crying and begging her to stop. From then I was always hit by her a-and sometimes she would get her kids to join in"

Bucky's heart squeezed painfully in his chest at her words. Angry at Eliza for hurting Theo when she was just an innocent little child.

"I don't know why or what I did wrong but it got worse, the punishments got worse. Eliza had made me sleep in the basement it's always so cold down there, w-when I was ten she had one of my father's men strap me up against the wall and she started to whip me on my back"

"Did your father know?"

"Yes, first he was angry at her but I don't know why but he stopped trying to stop her"

"D-did he ever do anything to hurt you?"

"The-the scars on my legs, he did them"

"Theo..."

"It got worse when I turned fifteen. Eliza had men do things...

"Wh-what kind of things?"

"They would have sex with me and Eliza would take money off them, bu-but I didn't want them to do it! I swear" there was a reason for her trying to reassure him that she didn't want the things done to her by strangers and it was because one night Michael had walked in on Jack, Carla's husband having sex with her and he went mad. That night they all took it in turns beating her until Matt ran in and pulled them away from her, it was also the first time she had left the house to go the hospital.

She hadn't realised that she had said all that out loud. Until Bucky choked out a sob.

"Angel… tha-that's rape"

"What's that?"

"What they were doing to you, baby forcing someone to have sex with them is-it's called rape"

"Oh, is-is that bad?"

"It's bad angel-no no listen to me you did absolutely nothing wrong! Nothing" he said quickly when he saw her frowning with tears welling up in her eyes.

"But it's bad..."

"The person doing it to another person is bad but not the victim and that's what you are"

"Oh"

"Theo… is-is there any more?"

"No not really, but that's my life. And that's why you should divorce me, I'm damaged-"

"You're not damaged! Angel I mean it. Please listen to me l know our marriage didn't start because of love b-but if you stay here, with me I promise you that no one and I mean no one will ever hurt you ever again. Theo we-we can make this work, I want to make this work"

"Why I have scars that are horrible to look at"

"Can you take your clothes off and show them to me?"

She had already embarrassed herself once so what's one more time, right?

Nodding she stood and slowly removed her clothes, Bucky looking up at her "May I?" he asked softly though she was confused by his question she nodded once again, gasping lightly when his hands reached out slowly and traced each scar with care.

"Beautiful" he whispered.

"You don't need to lie" she whispered back.

"I'm not lying Theo, you are beautiful. These scars are beautiful, do I wish you didn't have them? Of course then that means you never went through the pain, that you never was scared. Please never question your beauty, please"

Is this love? Does he love her despite seeing the damage done to her skin? Is this acceptance? Does he accept her for who she is? Did he just say I'm beautiful? Is this how marriages work? He thinks I'm beautiful-

"Hey Theo come back to me angel" his soft voice pulled her out of her thoughts, snapping back into reality she finds his eyes softly gazing on her.

"I-I'm sorry"

"Don't apologise to me, ever. Do you want to go to sleep? It's been a long day"

"Okay"

Climbing in to bed after they both did their night time routine they laid side by side when Bucky wraps his arm around her frame pulling her into his chest tight enough for her to hear the rhythmic beating of his heart against her back.

Just as she fell into a deep sleep his voice came from behind her ever so quietly she nearly missed it.

The next morning after telling him everything she had gone through growing up and showing him the scars she's forced to live with in detail she couldn't get how dark his eyes turned with anger at the sight of them but when his eyes flicked up to hers they were soft again out of her mind. She appreciated that he didn't judge her for what she had told him.

The fact that he had wanted to continue their marriage, that he wanted to make it work made her believe that maybe just maybe that Eliza was wrong, that she was capable of being loved.

As Theo walks down the stairs in search of her book she was sure she had left in the living room as it wasn't on the bedside table when she had woken up, her heart sank into the deep depth of her stomach as she walks in on Bucky with Dot who straddled his hips, their lips are locked together passionately.

Neither one of the pair notices her standing there in the doorway until they hear the door creaking; all Bucky sees is the figure of his wife retreating backwards before disappearing down the corridor.

Pushing Dot off of him he runs out of the room in search for Theo. Going up the stairs he heads to their now shared bedroom. His heart pounds loudly in his chest as he watches Theo take the clothes he had brought her out of her side of the wardrobe.

"A-Angel it wasn't what it looked like" He stutters out.

"It is fine Mr James"

"No it's not, please stop and listen to me so l can explain"

"There is no need to explain. You're allowed to have girlfriends Mr James"

"N-no I'm not, we are married Theo."

"It is okay. I promise"

"Where are you going?"

"Back to my old room Mr James"

Bucky stands there with tears in his eyes as he watches as she bows her head to him and leaves the room.

He's so wrapped up in his own turmoil and pain that he doesn't know that as she cries she covers her mouth painfully with both hands or that she softly mutters.

'you're so stupid' ‘you really believed he wanted you' ‘you should of never of shown him, stupid girl' ‘you're not worthy of love' to herself.

She knew the words she thought she had heard last night was only her imagination playing ticks on her.

He has no idea how he can fix this. It’s one step forward a hundred steps back and every time it's his fault.

"I love you Theodora"

<Previous   Next>

Tags: @sapphirebarnes @bellabarnes1378 @unaxv @skulliecadaver-blog @mrsnikstan @sebastians-love @pattiemac1 @julvrs @undf-stuff

[uponfieldsofglass]

Here's a theory: Abuse us a running theme in Murder Drones. In this essay, Imma rant about this, so, uh Spoilers.

Still here? Great! I've already glued your hands to your phone, so get comfy.

Almost everyone is a victim of since sort of abuse, Uzi is neglected by Khan, J's treatment of N, everything that Tessa's parents do...

The first point of this theory is that the crazyass violence is an allegory for abuse, or at least. That's just about it, the Deconstructors were made into Deconstructors and sent to kill everyone in Copper-9. Their abusers actively tried to turn then into abusers. Uzi abd Doll's infection represents the abusive behaviors they've learned bubbling up.

The reason the main three kill people a lot less is because they have each other to act as a support network. Episode 5 is basically Uzi giving N abd V robotherapy. (They literally went back to their childhood! I'm not reaching, YOU'RE REACHING!)

Second, the main cast have abuse coping mechanisms as a large part of their personality. There are several recognized forms of abuse and Murder Drones has explotlred four of them as of episode six, which was the best when I wrote this. Interestingly, each member if the main cast is also an example of one

Uzi represents Escapism, the act of pretending one's circumstances are different than their awful reality. This is usually depicted as indulging in delusion or substance abuse, but Uzi's escape is a more healthy variety. When we first see her, she's talking about how she's going to kill the Deconstructors and free the Workers. She's escaping to a reality where she's a hero who has saved everyone from the threat that has defined their entire existence. Where her ostracization has ended, everyone loves her, and Khan's doors have become pointless.

N is obsessive people-pleasing, wherein one tries to satisfy everyone, since they've internalized the idea that their abusers act the way they do because the victim has displeased them in some way, and thus us best to simply please everyone and ignore their own wants, needs, and desires. The pilot had plenty of examples: He started killing because the humans tools him to. He almost betrayed and killed Uzi because J tells him to. He would have let himself get killed by J because she wanted to, had Uzi nor intervened. Throughout the series he still lets others walk all over him. It took until episode 4 for him to offer any resistance and in both episodes 5 and 6, he was nothing but friendly and helpful to people that wanted to vivisect him

V is apathy. Push everyone away and never care. She cared about N but never showed it. She never stood up for him in episode 1, dismissed his depression at the end of episode 2, and whenever she actually did act in his best interests, she refused to actually tell him, just like how she knew their past. But she always witheld why, because disappointing N was easier having thlse uncomfortable conversations

Doll represents continuing the cycle of abuse. She's defined herself off of V killing her family, and now all she cares about is revenge. Now, she's infected by the Solver, just like V. She has to eat people, just like V. She's completely lost all sympathy for others and all qualms about killing. Just. Like. V. She literally has all the afforestsif her abuser that caused Doll to hate her in the first place

All antagonistic characters are abusive.

JCJenson refused the Worker Drones to live without it. (Maybe. Maybe the real reason it sent in the murderhobos was to prevent the Absolute Solver from manifesting)

Deconstructors? This theory depends on three idea that the murder and mayhem that they were made for is alleglrical abuse

J was an enabler. She enabled JCJenson's practice of robocide by practicing robocude for them. Even if the real reason she was there was to stop the Absolute Solver, she was acting on the assumption that she was carrying out the will of a jilted magacorporation

Khan? Emotionally neglects Uzi in favor of his replacement family: Doors and walls

Doll? See above

Tessa's parents? A microcosm of their issues is that they wouldn't let her talk to anyone that they couldn't legally murder

Alice and Beau. I mean, they torture people to death with the intention of using them as food, limbs, and antlers because JCJension sicced a bunch of velocirapters on them. I just don't feel like they fit into this theme. Maybe that's why I felt like they weren't very compelling villains

The sentinels? Same as Antlers and the baby. Just not very compelling

Cyn/Absolute Solver? Okay hear me out!

A separate theory I have is that the reason Cyn/AS smacktalked Tessa's mom was to get her "grounded" keeping her separated from everyone else in the house, do she wouldn't get caught in the crossfire when it killed them all, because Tessa bothered taking it in and not immediately redestroying it, even after it became clear that it was NOT right!

Now its master plan is to eliminate humanity, because humans have always gotten in the way of its "family."

The abusive part comes in because it's a narcissist with a textbook "I'm doing this for you" complex. It didn't care that Tessa didn't want mass murder to be done in her name, it knew better! Anytime N finds out what's in the basement, just get rid if him and get a new one. Tessa won't be able to tell the difference! The billions of unrelated lives lost whenever it destroys a word are an acceptable side effect of getting rid if anything that would try to get between them.

And when J died? I think it was trying to rebuild her in some capacity? If that's right, then tell me who's worth more alive: Tessa's favorite toy, or a bunch a faceless nobodies that she didn't even know are alive, and probably won't ever find out about.

Alright, I think that's everything.

Let me know if I'm wrong, you have any additional observations, or if my formatting sucks

Or if I glorified a harmful practice

[awhhhflush]

The Beginning

Mob!Bucky x Reader, Steve Rogers

I'd recommend listening to this for this chapter!

Warnings (apply to the whole series): drugging, mafia/gang activity, criminal activity, age gap (reader is over the age of 18), arson, death, murder, coercion/peer pressure (non-sexual), manipulation/brainwashing, parental issues (a.k.a daddy issues), abuse of power.

Summary: When you're forced to move to a new town due to your father's "business trouble," you're likely to be left to fend for yourself, alone, and bored. You should probably try to make some friends.

Your head rests against the window pane of your father's leather adorned S-Class Mercedes Benz, thumping every now and again as he practically raced into the estate. You would have thought he'd take a more secluded approach, perhaps swaying away from using his shiniest car at 75 mph and buying the largest house on the street full in cash. You weren't complaining though. As the car slowed to a halt before the house, your eyes narrowed. This house was smaller than the previous ones - your father must be in serious "business trouble."

Your door opened with a click as you were met with the offer of Matthew's assistance. He was one of your father's favoured men when it came to your protection, but you both know he' hardly get through a staring contest, let alone a fight for your life. You stood, stretching after the 4 hour car drive from Leesville. Exhaustion from being cooped up in the back of the car for so long washed over you like a wave as Matthew lifted your luggage from the boot - one of the many benefits of having burly men working for your father was that you never had to put much effort into doing things for yourself, another being that they could arrange for the house to be fully furnished and cleaned before your arrival.

Your heels clicked against the polished white steps as you reached the front porch, stopping behind your father one of his men unlocked the door for you all. Your parents remained silent as the door was pushed open to reveal the interior of the house. Throughout the entirety of the car journey, your parents hardly spoke a word to one another too, let alone to you. Their love had a soft and strange unspoken nature, one in which many usually mistook for coldness, but your father had always been distant with you anyway. He had wanted a son, an heir to his throne, and as a woman, you could never be such a thing. By the time your mother had healed from your birth, she had grown too old to bear another child safely. Your father didn't detest you, but you knew you'd never live up to what he wanted, and the effect of that knowledge was just as harsh as the former.

As you peered over your parents' shoulders, your eyes widened. Despite the decrease in size compared to your last home, the house was actually gorgeous. The walls were painted a dusted cream, almost sun kissed in a way. The floors were light wood panelling, and the stair case twisted and curved to reach the second floor, which had walls painted a shade ever so slightly darker and warmer in tone than the walls down stairs. The pure and bright interior design was almost curious, considering your father's usual dark and sharp decoration requests. Catching a glimpse of your mother's faint smile told you that this time, the decorating was not per your father's desires, but hers instead. You father's eyes warmed in a way that did so only for his wife as he looked at her. See: unspoken. She needed not to thank him, because the quirk in her lip said enough. You smiled fondly as your eyes looked between your parents, a stab of jealousy rushing through your chest as you wondered where love like that could be found.

When your parents entered the house, you followed behind them eagerly, excited to see what your room would be like. Admittedly, it was a bit embarrassing for a girl of your age and wealth to be living with her parents still, but given your father's work situation, it would be too dangerous for you to live alone, unprotected. Turning to close the door behind you, you momentarily locked eyes with one of the most attractive men you had ever seen. Although he was relatively far away, his features were perfectly defined. His jaw was brushed with the faintest of stubble, his jawline sharp enough to cut open your finger if you dared to touch it. His eyes were a piercing shade of blue, stopping you in your tracks as your grip on the door handle faltered. As your mother called your name, you were snapped back to reality, turning once more to look at the man, leaning against his door frame, hands in his pockets and knitted sweater clinging to his muscles, before closing the door and making your way upstairs.

You hadn't noticed, in your flustered panic, the smirk that fell upon his lips and the darkness that settled in his eyes as he watched you retreat into the house.

[archivalofsins]

In the same vein as those last tags. I've been going back and forth with myself on whether to share what was said on these diagnosis forms or not. However, I am just excited about having them and wish to talk about them. Mostly given how difficult it was to get some clarity on this due to life I guess (someone actively abusing their power).

So, I'm going to. Not putting this in the tag because it's somewhat personal but it does discuss Haruka and Mikoto. So there's that.

I already said it but this exam only occurred thanks to my therapist. I was willing to just go whelp getting tested for autism again is actually fiscally impossible within my state at least for me because most practices that do that don't take state insurance. I don't have thousands of dollars to drop on this.

So, my therapist went out of her way to look for places that do testing and taking my insurance. There were none. However, there was one place that would do it for significantly cheaper. That place would be the Michigan School Psychological Clinic for anyone interested in that. However in total that costs five hundred dollars out of pocket. Again much cheaper than other avenues but still a good amount to pay for something but there's a good period of time between doing the intake forms and payment.

Plus it can be split into two payments of two hundred and fifty dollars one given before testing and the other after before receiving the results. This place doesn't test for autism though it's focus is psychological evaluations and ADHD testing. Now for most people in the states the first thing would be okay why is it so cheap what's the catch.

The catch is this diagnostic testing is being done by students it's a part of training program. It's done under the oversight of a Clinical supervisor that does have a doctorate. This is why it's cheaper. It's something that both parties need but no one wants to do for free at the same time.

Which brings e to the first thing I want to highlight,

ASSESSMENT AND STANDARDIZATION

A battery of tests designed to assess multiple domains of cognitive and emotional-behavioral functioning was administered. Testing was administered by a trained clinician under standardized conditions, and under the direct supervision of a licensed psychologist. The results of this assessment are presented in conceptual groupings for easy interpretation and are meant only as a guide for interpretation.

TESTS ADMINISTERED

Conners Adult ADHD Rating Scales, Second Edition (CAARS-2) [self and observer-report] Conners Continuous Performance Test, Third Edition (CPT-3) Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory, Third Edition (MMPI-3) Wechsler Adult Intelligence Scale, Fifth Edition (WAIS-V) Beery-Buktenica Developmental Test of Visual-Motor Integration (BeeryTM VMI)

I'm more so adding the thing above to give a general idea of how these things are done. In case people want to create more fan works around the prisoners and diagnoses. Now I can get into the parts that were interesting to me. Either because I found it to be laid in an oh way, or it was just like got damn.

First is a got damn type of thing,

BEHAVIORAL OBSERVATIONS

[REDACTED] was on time and appropriately dressed for her appointment. She presented with a pleasant and friendly disposition throughout the testing process. She was eager to discuss her favorite anime series and showed the test examiner a new book she recently purchased to read during breaks. [REDACTED] exhibited a verbal tic in the form of an involuntary repetitive sound that was uttered infrequently and spontaneously during conversation. She occasionally asked about items placed in the room and inquired about “correct” responses to test items following her responses. [REDACTED] was observed to be wearing her headphones with music playing at the initial start point of test administration and reported that it aids with focus and concentration. [REDACTED] demonstrated excellent stamina during the lengthy test administration and often initiated breaks.

Did I show another psychiatrist Milgram yes. She said Mahiru seemed to have anxious attachment by the way. Also the note on stamina is in regard to how long the test took. It took five to seven consecutive hours. The tester administrator said we could do it over the course of days if necessary but since I was aware of this being a student thing I didn't really want to impede on their schedule too much. So, I opted to finish it in one go.

The verbal tic thing is something I've had since I was a child. I can't really hear it so I didn't know I was doing it in this instance. It existing isn't news to me. My godchild actually makes the noise when she mirrors me saying hi to her. Ha, ha.... echolalia has interesting benefits. My sweet god daughter be like, "Hi, (her name) *that fucking noise I make after a sentence*".

I know, I know it's there I went to speech therapy for it. Since that speech therapy involved being hit with a ruler repeatedly each time I made the noise and that went on twice a week for three weeks. I've been aware of that existing since third grade actually. Sometimes I hear it but normally I do not.

Second point- I shouldn't be proud of this but I am.

Verbal Comprehension

The VCI is a measure of crystallized intelligence learned through verbal means. The VCI also assesses oral expression and receptive language. It measures the ability to access and apply acquired knowledge. The application of this knowledge involves verbal concept formation, reasoning, and expression. [REDACTED] obtained superior VCI scores (VCI= 124, 95th percentile) reflecting a well-developed verbal reasoning system with strong word knowledge, acquisition, effective information retrieval, good ability to reason and solve verbal problems, and effective communication of knowledge. On Similarities, which is a task that taps the abstract reasoning or the ability to identify the conceptual relationships that exist between words, [REDACTED] scored in the High Average range (SIM= 14, 91st percentile) indicating that she can state common features between two words or concepts when asked. On Vocabulary, which is a task that assessed [REDACTED]’s ability to provide word definitions, she performed in the Very High range (VOC= 15, 95th percentile). When answering questions about a broad range of general-knowledge topics, [REDACTED] scored in the Average range (IN= 9, 37th percentile). Furthermore, [REDACTED] performed better with verbal expression of word definitions than the ability to retrieve general factual knowledge from the environment, or past formal instruction.

I enjoy talking a lot that much should be kind of clear.

When the diagnosis goes you suck at drawing. My friends irl, "You graduated from an arts school what the fuck? You were an art major?!"

My ass who has one train of thought always and forever,

Q.05 Do you like drawing?

Mikoto: I like it, but I’m not especially good at it- It was one of the main areas of study at the arts uni I went to so I could just do the bare minimum for that, I guess. Don’t expect all designers are gonna be good at drawing~

I was a graphic design major. During my admissions interview the this conversation happened,

"Are you sure you don't want to be in radio and television? This is a very well edited video." (Needed to bring proof of competency and a piece of art one has made could be fan works brought an amv I'd made.)

"I'm positive I want to go into graphic design if there's no writing department. My concern is am I going to have to draw???"

"Well... If you're sure a bit of a waste though. One sec, here draw a triangle, circle, and square." slides sheet of paper across table.

Does that, "So?"

"That's all the drawing you need to know."

"Really...?"

"Yes. You'll have one drawing related class which since there's overlap between traditional arts and graphic design. But what I need to see is that you have an understanding of shapes and an eye for design. Which you've proven through drawing that and the work provided. So, I'll see you in class."

I literally could do the bare minimum to pass the one mandatory drawing class I had and while I like some aspects of it. Boy does it tire me out. So about that apparently physically writing isn't supposed to be immensely tiring. Who knew-

Visual Spatial

The VSI assesses a person’s ability to evaluate visual details and understand visual-spatial relationships. The ability to construct designs requires visual-spatial reasoning, integration and synthesis of part-whole relations, attentiveness to visual detail, and visual-motor integration. [REDACTED] scored in the Average range (VSI= 93, 32nd percentile) in comparison to her peers suggesting an adequate ability to apply spatial reasoning and analyzing visual details. For Block Design, [REDACTED] was asked to physically piece together a puzzle with a specified time limit to which she performed in the Low Average range (BD= 6, 9th percentile). She may have scored additional points if there were no time constraints. Moreover, when asked to reconstruct a puzzle from a selection of individual pieces, [REDACTED] scored in the Average range (Visual Puzzles= 11, 63rd percentile) indicating that her skills were stronger when a fine-motor component was not involved.

Now onto my beloathed,

The Beery-Buktenica Developmental Test of Visual-Motor Integration (BeeryTM VMI)

The Beery VMI (BEERY-BUKTENCIA DEVELOPMENTAL TEST OF VISUAL-MOTOR INTEGRATION (BEERY-VMI), 6TH Edition, 2010) was administered and measures the extent to which an individual can integrate their visual and motor abilities. It involves a developmental sequence of geometric forms to be copied with paper and pencil. Because children with different backgrounds often have widely varying degrees of experience with alphabets and numbers, geometric forms are used in the VMI rather than latter or numeric forms. The visual motor impairment, such as problems with fine motors skills of the hand and hand-eye coordination.

I fucking hate this test screw the Beery. This shit sucks.

On the VMI, [REDACTED] performed in the very low range, and her standard score of 66 corresponded to the 1st percentile relative to her peers. [REDACTED]’s performance in this area suggests that visual motor coordination is an area of weakness for her.

Did you catch that? When your score is low on a psychological test they refer to the thing you're low in as a Weakness.

MILGRAM / Haruka - Weakness

"If I tried and couldn’t say it, you would get angry at me and say “You’re hopeless.”."

"The VCI is a measure of crystallized intelligence learned through verbal means. The VCI also assesses oral expression and receptive language. It measures the ability to access and apply acquired knowledge. The application of this knowledge involves verbal concept formation, reasoning, and expression."

20/06/05

"If only I could do what anyone else could do."

Haruka: Ah…… ah, u-um, Mikoto-san. The c-communication……? thing, that you were saying was important. I-I thought, I’d give it my best…… Um, so, Mikoto-san, what’s your favourite food……?

Mikoto: Ooh? Nice going, Haru-kun~ Yeah, we still have no idea how long this lifestyle will go on for, so it’s best if we all get along together here. My favourite food…… I like pasta and horse-meat sashimi. Also bubble tea, and recently I’ve been big on custard puddings. What about you?

Haruka: ……ah, I, I wonder…… H-hamburg steak, and omurice, a-and also…… what else? Ah. Cotton candy……

Mikoto: C-cotton candy!? That’s the first time I’ve met someone who has that in their top three favourites!? ……man, Haru-kun, you really are hilarious.

Kazui: Do you think you can teach her?

Mikoto: Well… The only thing I can teach with confidence are tips for debates and discussions.

The VCI also assesses oral expression and receptive language.

Amane: Right now- English? No, I need to learn about math.

Oops got sidetracked. This was actually meant to be about me for once. Well I guess that can sit there what's the harm. Yeah so my coordination is a weakness apparently. So that's how I got diagnosed bad at art or in general physical coordination something needed to draw in any capacity down to even holding a pencil.

Oh that bring us to dysgraphia,

What is dysgraphia? In short, it’s a learning disability that affects fine motor skills like writing, buttoning a shirt, or tying a shoelace — as well as the mental processes associated with writing, like picking a topic, organizing ideas, and making a coherent point. - ADDitude (What Does Dysgraphia Look Like in Adults?)

Tying shoelaces-

Damn I could just end it there but let's keep going.

Dysgraphia is a neurological condition and learning difference in which someone has difficulty with writing for their age level. This can range from issues with the physical act of writing to issues with translating thoughts into written words. Dysgraphia is manageable with interventions that can help you learn new writing strategies.

Is dysgraphia a form of dyslexia?

Dyslexia and dysgraphia are two distinct neurological conditions, though they’re easy to confuse because they share symptoms and often occur together. Dyslexia is a learning difference that makes it harder for people to learn to read. If you have dyslexia, you may read more slowly or have trouble recognizing words. Often, people with dyslexia read at a lower level than expected. People with dyslexia may struggle to break words into sounds or relate letters to sounds when reading. Dysgraphia involves difficulty with the act of writing. Difficulties can range from issues with physically writing words to issues with organizing and expressing thoughts in written form.

Is dysgraphia a form of autism?

Dysgraphia isn’t a form of autism spectrum disorder (ASD). Though dysgraphia commonly occurs in people with autism, you can have dysgraphia without having autism.

Source: Cleveland Clinic

Does dysgraphia occur alone or with other specific learning disabilities?

Children with impaired handwriting may also have attention-deficit disorder (ADHD)–inattentive, hyperactive, or combined inattentive and hyperactive subtypes. Children with this kind of dysgraphia may respond to a combination of explicit handwriting instruction plus stimulant medication, but appropriate diagnosis of ADHD by a qualified professional and monitoring of response to both instruction and medication are needed. Dysgraphia may occur alone or with dyslexia (impaired reading disability) or with oral and written language learning disability (OWL LD, also referred to as selective language impairment, SLI). Dyslexia is a disorder that includes poor word reading, word decoding, oral reading fluency, and spelling. Children with dyslexia may have impaired orthographic and phonological coding, rapid automatic naming and focused, switching, and/or sustained attention. OWL LD (SLI) is impaired language (morphology–word parts that mark meaning and grammar; syntax–structures for ordering words and understanding word functions; finding words in memory, and/or making inferences that go beyond what is stated in text). These disorders affect spoken as well as written language. Children with these language disorders may also exhibit the same writing and reading and related disorders as children with dysgraphia or dyslexia.

Here's some information on it from another source as well,

Understood

Many experts view dysgraphia as challenges with a set of skills known as transcription. These skills — handwriting, typing, and spelling — allow us to produce writing.

Here are ways it can present and signs of dysgraphia from both of the links provides.

Specific ways dysgraphia can present include:

Difficulties writing in a straight line. Difficulties with holding and controlling a writing tool. Writing letters in reverse. Having trouble recalling how letters are formed. Having trouble knowing when to use lower or upper case letters. Struggling to form written sentences with correct grammar and punctuation. Omitting words from sentences. Incorrectly ordering words in sentences. Using verbs and pronouns incorrectly.

Signs of Dysgraphia

One of the main signs of dysgraphia is messy handwriting. Here are some of the key handwriting skills people with dysgraphia may struggle with: Forming letters Writing grammatically correct sentences  Spacing letters correctly  Writing in a straight line Holding and controlling a writing tool  Writing clearly enough to read back later Writing complete words without skipping letters

Dysgraphia Symptoms at Home

Highly illegible handwriting, often to the point that even you can’t read what you wrote Struggles with cutting food, doing puzzles, or manipulating small objects by hand Uses a pen grip that is “strange” or “awkward” Slow to understand the rules of games or follow sequential directions Trouble reading maps Difficulty drawing, tracing, or painting Avoids writing whenever possible; prefers a digital grocery list to a written one, for instance Makes spelling errors in simple notes May also dislike texting

Sorry not to make this about me but- Literally in my discord bio "I like writing but I'm not the best texter since it makes me anxious." Absolutely hate that shit it's so energy draining.

Back on topic since this is just about Mikoto now,

Dysgraphia Symptoms at Work

When using spell-check on a computer, often has difficulty picking out the correct word from a list of similar words. Trouble filling in routine forms by hand, particularly if they require fitting words into set boxes. Illegible handwriting; can’t read own meeting notes or coworkers complain that memos are indecipherable. Mixes lowercase and uppercase letters, or print and cursive letters, seemingly randomly. Often leaves out individual letters or the ends of words, particularly when writing quickly. In some cases, may have trouble with typing as well. Experiences hand cramps or pain when writing. Has trouble telling when words are misspelled. Often uses grammatically incorrect sentences in emails or reports. May be overly reliant on simple sentence structures. Prefers to give or get directions orally, instead of in writing. Has trouble “getting to the point” in written communication; emails may be rambling, or reports may repeat the same ideas several times. Able to explain self clearly when speaking, but not when writing.

Please stop calling me out this isn't about me- "Has trouble “getting to the point” in written communication; emails may be rambling, or reports may repeat the same ideas several times."

Writing in a straight line. - Trouble filling in routine forms by hand, particularly if they require fitting words into set boxes.

Difficulties with holding and controlling a writing tool. - Uses a pen grip that is “strange” or “awkward”

Mikoto from the beginning has failed to use a consistent amount of pressure with his writing utensils when answering his interrogation questions. Making it appear as though his pen is running out of ink in a matter that is inconsistent with what that would generally look like. Considering this issue is present even prior to trial two he seems to have a habit of deviating between apply too much pressure and too little when writing.

Omitting words from sentences.

They're asked the exact same question and Yuno actually writes out an answer in contrast to Mikoto who just gives a list.

Difficulty drawing, tracing, or painting

Q.05   Do you like drawing?

Mikoto: I like it, but I’m not especially good at it.

I can't take much more of this... damn I feel like I'm dragging myself right now. Oh good I think that's everything I think that is sufficient enough. So yeah got fucking dysgraphia that dude probably does too or I'm projecting to spread the suffering. Who says it can't be both wouldn't that sort of overlap be perfection-

Yeah so the second test I received was even more thorough. the third one the government is having me take is probably gonna find more fucking issues at this rate.

[jiabeewrites]

The Devil Doesn't Settle (1/?)

(aesthetic by @aesthetics-and-fuckery, yeah, that's me. do NOT steal this!)

Harry Potter/Wizarding World x DC

Pairing: Klarion Bleak x Fem!Reader, Lilith Bleak (OC) x Fem!Reader

CW: romance, past breakups, use of she/her, language, shitty attempt at angst, author attempted to not use y/n and i think i succeeded but who knows, klarion & lilith are being lil bitches who doesn't know how to romance, playing with feelings, wizarding relations are really weird, toxic relationships probably, pining, i think that's it but if there's more tell me!

Summary: Reader is an exchange student. She's a witch, but not the kind that hogwarts is used to. She uses pentagrams and incantations instead of wands and spells. She uses poisons and candles rather than potions and charms. She practices moonlit summonings instead of defense against the dark arts. So what happens when not one, but two lords of chaos appear in the middle of the great hall, both claiming to be her lover? (this is part one of a multi-part series, so look out for a pt 2!)

SONG: Devil Doesn't Bargain by Alec Benjamin

A/N: The formatting refused to work ;-; I'm sorry if I offended anyone! I just tried to portray traditional-ish(?) witchcraft in the way that I've kinda seen it portrayed in fiction. Please don't take this seriously, this is a work of fiction and isn't meant to portray witchcraft seriously.

HOW TO READ: Each set of lyrics is kinda like a divider! each section of words/blurb between the lyrics are their own moment, and this particular piece has multiple little moments. Definitely timeskips. You can find more stories like this one by looking under the tag #ryn writes songfics

<Prev ~ Next >

It's useless, don't do this It's hubris to try He's ruthless, you knew this I told you, didn't I?

"Godrick, why is she even here?"

"I heard they let her in only because she threatened them."

"Her snake is so creepy!"

The whispers shrouded her like the mists of her home. But instead of bringing her comfort, these were laced with poison, bringing her pain.

They practiced magic, same as her, so what was the problem?

Her familiar, Noodle, curled tighter around her shoulders, seeking comfort. He didn't like it here, either.

"I know, guksu, I know."

"Why are you talking to your snake?"

A ginger-haired boy with a trillion freckles was staring at her.

"His name is Noodle. Guksu means noodles," she said, frowning. "I just call him that sometimes to calm him down."

"Weird." One of his friends, a girl with bushy brown hair, smacked him.

"Ron! Be nice," she scolded. He just raised an eyebrow.

"Why? Isn't she the one who summons demons?"

Ron. So that was his name.

She tucked that away for future reference.

He's abusive, elusive The truth is, he lies I know you don't want to let go

The caws of ravens and the croaks of bullfrogs echoed throughout the classroom.

"Silencio! SILENCIO!" That boy from earlier, Ron, was trying to silence his raven to no avail.

"It’s the way you’re moving your wand,” the girl next to him said, watching Ron critically. "You don’t want to wave it, it’s more a sharp jab."

"Ravens are harder than frogs," he said, frowning.

"Fine, let’s swap," she retorted, seizing Ron’s raven and replacing it with her own fat bullfrog. "Silencio!" The raven continued to open and close its sharp beak, but no sound came out.

"Very good, Miss Granger!" said Professor Flitwick’s squeaky little voice. The trio jumped in their seats. "Now, let me see you try, Mr. Weasley!"

"Wha — ? Oh — oh, right,” said Ron, very flustered. "Er — Silencio!" He jabbed at the bullfrog so hard that he poked it in the eye; the frog gave a deafening croak and leapt off the desk.

"Hmm..." That was when Flitwick noticed her.

"Miss? Why don't you give it a go?" Startled, she flinched but nodded. She pulled out a vial of white powder from her bag, sprinkled some of it on the bird, who squawked indignantly, and began chanting.

"Tace, tace, sile. Tace, tace, sile."

The raven's caws became fainter and fainter with every round of chanting, and soon, the bird became completely silent.

She looked up at the professor and the trio, who looked at her with facination and horror, respectively.

Right when she was leaving the class, she could have sworn that she heard Ron say: "That girl is mental, I swear!"

He shut up when Noodle hissed at him.

And just like before I can see that you're sure You can change him but I know you won't

She lurked at the back of the class, trying to see what all the commotion was about.

"an’ here’s another couple, look —"

Two black, skeletal horses came quietly out of the trees, one of them passing very close to dark-skinned girl, who shivered and pressed herself closer to a tree, saying, "I think I felt something, I think it’s near me!"

"Don’ worry, it won’ hurt yeh," said Hagrid patiently. "Righ’, now, who can tell me why some o’ you can see them an’ some can’t?"

The girl from earlier raised her hand to answer.

"The only people who can see thestrals," she said, "are people who have seen death."

"Tha’s exactly right," said Hagrid solemnly, "ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, thestrals —"

He was interrupted by a soft "hem, hem."

Professor Umbridge had arrived. She was wearing a green hat and cloak with her clipboard at the ready. Hagrid, who had never heard Umbridge’s fake cough before, was gazing in some concern at the closest thestral, evidently under the impression that it had made the sound.

"Hem, hem."

"Oh hello!" Hagrid said, smiling, having located the source of the noise.

"You received the note I sent to your cabin this morning?" she asked. "Telling you that I would be inspecting your lesson?"

"Oh yeah," said Hagrid brightly. "Glad yeh found the place all righ’! Well, as you can see — or, I dunno — can you? We’re doin’ thestrals today —"

"I’m sorry?" said Umbridge loudly, cupping her hand around her ear and frowning. "What did you say?"

Hagrid looked a little confused.

"Er — thestrals!" he said loudly. "Big — er — winged horses, yeh know!" He flapped his gigantic arms hopefully. Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows at him and muttered as she made a note on her clipboard, "has . . . to . . . resort . . . to . . . crude . . . sign . . . language . . ."

She began walking among the students, asking questions about Hagrid and making rude comments about him.

Noodle hissed at her, and she had to put her hand on him to rein him in.

"I don't like that bitch."

"Well, neither do I, but what do you want me to do, poison her?" She muttered.

"Yessss."

She rolled her eyes and looked up, only to see Umbridge staring back at her.

"Why are you talking to your pet instead of paying attention to the lesson? And why is your pet out in the first place?" The toad-like woman asked with fake honey dripping from her voice.

"He's not my pet, he's my familiar. And death isn't exactly my favorite subject," she retorted. All eyes were on them now.

"Pet or...otherwise, I don't think that the ministry would approve of a student having access to their pet at all times," Umbridge remarked, making a note on her clipboard.

"Well lucky for you, I'm not a european citizen. So I don't think your ministry has to worry about me. And Noodle's my familiar. Not. My. Pet," she ground out.

"Twenty points from Slytherin," Umbridge said waspishly, and tried to take the snake away from her. She was met with a hiss and Noodle's fangs.

"Detention, and if I see your snake again I will not hesitate to have a talk with your head of house." Her nostrils flared, and she backed away and headed towards the castle, probably to tell the minister to make another Educational Decree.

"His name is Noodle!" She yelled at the retreating woman, smirking victoriously. Noodle just nuzzled up to his human's face.

The devil doesn't bargain He'll only break your heart again It isn't worth it, darling He's never gonna change

The Great Hall was buzzing with conversation and laughter. It was Halloween, and the Gryffindor house had basically adopted her ever since her little scuffle with Umbridge.

"So your sna-Noodle is bound to you?" Hermion asked. The so-called Golden Trio had taken a liking to her since she didn't seem to like Umbridge either.

"Yeah," she replied. "Noodle is...well, he protects me and I protect him. It's kinda complicated, and I don't 100% understand myself. But he's my best friend." At this, Noodle squeezed her shoulders affectionately and snuck a bit of food off her fork.

"Interesting...does he enhance your powers in any way?"

"Uh...we didn't really try that. But my-er, a friend of mine has a familiar and she keeps him attached to the mortal plane."

Just then, a bright red portal appeared in midair. Two figures were flung out of it, and they seemed to be arguing. In the middle of the hall. Suspended in the air.

She seemed to recognize them, and groaned when she did.

"Klarion and Lilith Bleak get your asses down here right now!"

The two stopped arguing and grinned. With a pop they appeared in front of her, smiling like kids in a candy shop. One had a lovesick expression, the other had a flirtatious smirk.

"Hello, love."

He'll never be Prince Charming He'll only do you harm again I don't mean to meddle But the devil doesn't settle

No, the devil doesn't bargain

(part 1/?)

[topazadine]

Let's address the idiot in the room:

Uileac Korviridi.

Portrait by Feddefar

Today, we're going to go through a play-by-play of everything wrong with this man so we all feel a bit better.

Firstly, what the fuck kind of name is that?

Simple. It's pronounced "Oui-lac." No, it is not French.

(As an aside note, I did not realize how many people desperately want to sound out names in their head while reading until multiple people asked me how the hell to pronounce Uileac.)

"Uileac" has multiple potential origins and meanings. In Norse, it's "playful and carefree," while in British mythology, it's "brave protector."

Frankly, it fits Uileac perfectly. He's calm on the surface but a storm inside. He loves his little sister Cerie and his husband Orrinir with a passion that borders on terrifying.

So who is this horrible man?

Uileac is an archer in the Rear Cavalry of the Bremish Army, meaning that he hangs out behind the Advance Infantry during battles and works on killing as many Sinans as possible. We love to see it.

It's not that he necessarily wanted to be a soldier: he was forced into the War Academy as a child because his parents were murdered by the Sinans during a raid on the family farm. But hey, if you're going to be become a child soldier, might as well be the best one you can be.

Choosing to fall in love with Orrinir (which you can read about in 9 Years Yearning) was a choice. A damn good one, frankly. Orrinir is a very handsome man.

While the Bremish army's arrows are all enchanted with High Poetry, Uileac is quite a good archer himself even without magic. He loves the sense of power that comes from killing someone at such a distance, so he hones his skills incessantly, despite the fact that he could just rely on High Poetry to fix it. This has given him one of the best kill counts in the army, beyond what would be expected from the stabilizing force of the magic.

Most of his free time is spent on the range, shooting at targets for hours while riding his beloved palomino mare, Erix.

A palomino looks like this, btw.

He's an absolutely shit swordsman, though. All those years of practice have given him no sense whatsoever of how to use the damn thing on his waist.

Thankfully, Orrinir is a fantastic swordsman and doesn't mind berating his husband for his horrible form as they practice. That's their love language, okay? And don't worry - Orrinir's a shit archer, too.

Uileac's Top Five Things He Cares About to the Exclusion of Everything Else are as follows:

Cerie Korviridi, his little sister

Orrinir Relickim, his husband

Erix, his horse

Achieving Rear Cavalry General

An excellent cup of tea

He and Orrinir what I would call "mutual simps," both happy to destroy the whole world if their husband asked them to.

No questions, just "you must be beating this dude up for a reason, mind if I join?"

He can also be really fucking mean when necessary. Mostly when someone has upset someone he loves. For example, here he is telling his husband's abusive father that he's going to hell:

One of his greatest strengths is adorable sibling relationship with Cerie, who is four years younger than him. They lost their parents at age 11 and 7 respectively, and so Uileac became her protector as she studied at the High Poet Society's meronym. This mixture of parental adoration and taunting shines through throughout the series:

Sometimes he even feeds her like she's the stupidest baby bird in the universe because her fingernails were ripped off in a brutal initiation ritual.

Loyal, level-headed, a bit sassy: Uileac is the perfect catch.

(Look, I'm not saying that I, his lesbian creator, am a little bit in love with him, but ... oh hell who am I kidding. I totally am.)

What else do we need to know about this idiot?

Glad you asked. Top Ten Uileac Facts, in no particular order:

1. Uileac is terrified of chickens. They're just ... wrong. Something about them screams of primordial menace. Also, a rooster chased him once when he was a little kid at the farm in Quirnis. 2. He exclusively uses lizardbird arrows for his enchanted arrows. Practice ones are just whatever happens to be lying around, but the serious stuff? Gotta use those bright green, vivid, fierce arrows from Breme's greatest aerial predator. 3. Despite his sister being a High Poet, Uileac himself only prays when he needs something. The rest of the time, he doesn't think much about religion. Orrinir is also the same way: they've got more important shit to do. 4. While Uileac has a very melodic voice, he can't sing, only whistle. (Though if you get enough barley wine in him, he doesn't even care that he's completely off-key.) 5. One of his favorite activities is training horses. There's just something magical about building a connection with an animal and getting them to listen to him. 6. When Cerie was little, before they went to their separate professions (the War Academy and the High Poet Society respectively), she would often have nightmares about their parents dying, and he would sit up and make up fairytales for her. She's always looked for them in old books, and he doesn't have the heart to tell her that they were all fabricated on the spot. 7. Every once in a while, he talks in his sleep, and Orrinir delights in telling him the stupid things he said while unconscious. 8. Uileac loves giving people obnoxious gifts. Unfortunately, Cerie also loves giving people obnoxious gifts (it must be a Korviridi trait) so they are an eternal war of buying something that is practical but also hideous. For example, giving Cerie a fountain pen with an immaculate nib - and a carving of a sultry cow. Why? Well, why not? 9. While one would expect that Uileac, being the tiny twink he is, would be the bottom, but in fact, that would be his strong ox of a husband. He loves to control that man. 10. If there's some form of competition, Uileac is in it to win it. Doesn't matter whether that's a dance-off (he cannot dance), a horse race (he and Erix will turn you into dust), or wrestling (he'll die), he'll give it a shot. Then brag about it.

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Healing With Storytelling

"They look into your soul, they see what you're missing, and they take advantage of that..."

"For a con artist, deception is a constant practice...they aren't delusional; they're doing it very deliberately..."

"All con artists always return to conning... they're really personable and fun...they have an explanation for everything..."

These are all pieces of interview quotes from psychologist (and poker player) Maria Konnikova from the documentary FyreFraud.

J and I (mostly I) have been on and off watching programming and listening to podcasts about scams and cults for the past several years. We watched FyreFraud and The Inventor, the documentary about the Theranos scandal before basketball games the past couple days. And for the past couple of days, the media has really been helping me feel better. And media has always helped me feel better.

A couple days ago, as I did housework, I was listening to a podcast about emotional abuse and one episode was about abusive parents, and one was about a cult situation, and each of those people talked about how seeing something on television helped them heal and gave them hope and showed them that the situation they were in wasn't right. The person with abusive parents said that watching Full House and how Danny Tanner parented his fictional kids showed her that it was possible for a parent to love and listen to and be attentive and kind with their kids. She even said, "I thought maybe this only happens on sitcoms/TV," and it's not real, but then she began to see hints of Danny Tanner in her friends' parents and her teachers and neighbors. The podcast hosts sort of half jestingly said they wondered if Bob Saget knew he helped someone see their life could be better. He probably didn't, but I bet the podcast guest isn't the only kid he helped, and as corny as that show is, or so many fictional stories about families are, I think they do help a lot of people have hope for better days ahead and better relationships.

And the person in the cult situation said they truly didn't see the cult behavior and structure in the organization they were involved with until they saw Leah Remini's nonfiction series about scientology and saw the similarities. They actually openly thanked Leah Remini for telling the stories.

Storytelling, both fiction and honest nonfiction, does heal people. Personally, I've always found it a lot easier to have compassion and care and be moved to justice and kindness for other people than I have for myself. Storytelling has always allowed me to see myself in other people, and made it easier to have compassion for myself. Like the person gaining insight and hope from Full House, I felt that too as a girl, reading books and watching films and shows about loyal friends and attentive parents and patient romance. And I solve problems and create happy endings when I tell the stories I create too. I hope it helps people. Even if they think I'm corny like Full House.

Those quotes from the FyreFraud documentary at the top made me realize that what I'd probably experienced throughout late 2021 and 2022 wasn't a tragic shift in someone's addiction or mental illness. It was a scam. A con. And they'll be back conning now with new marks, I'm sure. I certainly never would have bought in for thousands of dollars for a tropical island luxury concert festival, or investing in a medical tech start up, but those films did help me see what I did experience for what it was and how carefully crafted con artists can be. They can target you specifically with what they've gleaned will make you trust them. I'm not even a very trusting person. In fact, I'm notoriously socially cautious and skeptical. But they still got me by telling the exact right lies and deflecting any doubts in the exact right ways for over a year. I'm grateful for this storytelling. And I'm grateful for Not Dead Yet and Bob's Burgers and Animal Control for humor and affection and silliness and sentiment too. I need storytelling to heal, and I'm hoping to write new stories soon that hopefully help other people heal too.

[zerogate]

ISKCON’s sordid history of succession after Prabhupada has been quite well-documented both within ISKCON and by observers of the movement (Deadwyler 2004; Goswami 1998: 283–346; Rochford 1985: 221–255, 1989, 1998; Shinn 1987: 50–60). Throughout its “post-charismatic” history (Bryant and Ekstrand 2004), ISKCON has been embroiled in a series of controversies featuring egomania, sex scandals, embezzlement, murder, and child abuse (Hubner and Gruson 1998; Rochford 2011; Wolf 2004).

Over the course of three decades following Prabhupada’s departure, nearly every one of the eleven “spiritual masters” appointed by Prabhupada as successors—as gurus in their own right with the power to initiate (diksa) disciples into the parampara, or disciplic succession—has “fallen down” due to spiritual (often enough sexual, sometimes criminal) transgressions. Disciples of the “fallen” gurus found themselves cut off from the parampara, spiritually “orphaned” (Collins, cited in Rochford 2009) and unsheltered by the movement’s institutions. As the successor gurus had each been granted exclusive power to initiative new disciples within geographically defined regions under a “zonal acarya system,” the problem of “orphaned” disciples became especially acute in those affected regions (Rochford 1989, 2009).

[...]

The existential stakes involved in these succession crises have been high indeed, both for the individual devotee striving to attain salvation, and for the future of ISKCON. The consequences of this history are most succinctly conveyed by the numerical estimate that, today, more than 4,000 of Prabhupada’s 5,000 disciples no longer remain active in ISKCON (Rochford 2009).

[...]

Already known to senior ISKCON disciples since Prabhupada’s time, Prabhupada’s Gaudiya Math godbrothers in India have been only too ready and willing to offer spiritual refuge to disaffected and dislocated ISKCON devotees, and to reconnect them to the spiritual lineage by taking them on as their own disciples.

According to Rochford (2009), ISKCON experienced its first major schism five years after Prabhupada’s death, when an influential ISKCON leader and one hundred of his disciples left ISKCON to follow Sridara Maharaja, one of Prabhupada’s Gaudiya Math godbrothers. Over the course of the 1990s, hundreds of devotees, many being disciples of “fallen” ISKCON gurus, left ISKCON to become followers of a senior Gaudiya Math figure, Srila Narayana Maharaja (Collins 2004; Goswami 1998: 326; Rochford 2009).

Narayana Maharaja’s influence in particular has exposed a raw nerve in ISKCON, and it continues to pain the movement today. For those who have left ISKCON to follow Narayana Maharaja, ISKCON retrospectively emerges as a first stage in their spiritual development, a platform from which “ISKCON-created” neophytes (Brooks 1989: 197), having learned the basics of Krishna Conscious practice, can then step onto the path to the true esoteric mysteries of the Gaudiya tradition.

From the point of view of the ISKCON faithful, by contrast, the very idea that Prabhupada’s teachings were somehow limited or incomplete, or that the religious institution he founded was not in and of itself the sole sacrosanct vehicle to salvation, is tantamount to heresy.

Narayana Maharaja’s international preaching tours provoked consternation and official rebuke from ISKCON’s GBC and Temple Presidents, fearing the elderly saddhu was deliberately poaching ISKCON disciples and preaching esoteric doctrines and practices which contradicted Prabhupada’s own teachings (Collins 2004; Goswami 1998). Being unable to deny the “push” factors leading devotees out of ISKCON, however, and having to acknowledge the “pull” of traditional authority invested in a senior respected representative of the Gaudiya tradition, the burning theological and existential question for ISKCON has concerned how it can reclaim its genealogical inheritance while maintaining its exclusive claim on salvation.

-- James R. Lewis (ed.), Controversial New Religions

[lixxen]

Actually, I really want to talk about this because people on Tiktok don't understand why Adrien is upset.

(Most will be under the cut to not clog feed)

I think people genuinely forget that Émilie has only been gone for a few years. She went missing a bit before Hawkmoth appeared and we have been told that Gabriel was a good dad before his wife died. Gabriel only became"Hawkmoth" because his wife had been taken away from him and he was searching for the Black Cat and Ladybug miraculous.

Gabriel throughout the series earlier seasons had been painted as an overprotective and cold father and we slowly get to see that it comes from his need to keep Adrien from the rest of the world. Adrien is all he had left of Émilie. We see the very basic controling parent habits exaggerated through the eyes of a young teenager who had never experienced it before.

Controlling things in your life is a very simple way of coping and protecting yourself after dealing with loss of someone you love that was out of your control. If your parents die in some freak accident, you're likely to not go near whatever it is and let your kids be near whatever it is. Gabriel is doing the exact same thing.

Now, for Adrien, he loved his parents a lot. We get to see him talk in loving light about both of his parents and the good memories with them. He isn't angry towards Gabriel most of the time because he's sad and upset over the controlling changes. He gets to see his dad grieve his mom in the way of shutting everyone out and throw himself into work. He clearly doesn't blame his dad, but as everything progresses he just gives up.

Adrien still loves his dad. He clearly on some level understands his dad because he never genuinely talks bad about his dad. We know he cares a lot and doesn't see him as some evil person like everyone does. People who are abused by their parents don't always hate them. People who are abused by their parents who were once in their right mind and showed them nothing but love hold onto the old them. They know the love for them is still there, but there's something wrong.

Different people take trauma and abuse differently depending on the situation, of course. It is logical to jump to Adrien hating his dad because of how controlling he is and how he treats Adrien; but people who have never been abused in the way/similar ways that Adrien was will never understand the feeling of losing your parent to something and remember the ghost of them that appears in small interactions. Chalking Gabriel up to some heartless asshole in the earlier seasons, in all honesty, is more horrible and tasteless because that is a grieving man who is holding onto the only person left who he genuinely loved and is the only thing he has left of his dead wife.

As Gabriel gets worse and loses himself to the madness, that's when you can criticize him. He slowly is losing himself to the anger and desperation of not being able to save his wife. People will go to extremes for people they love and will hurt everyone else around them who they love. He quite literally is being corrupted by it all and becomes a horrible person.

Later season Gabriel, especially when he genuinely starts to be horrible to Adrien and with all of the timeline shit, is who I will hate and not defend. They shot his character the second they made him practically try to kill and do all of that to the son that he spent so much time protecting and loving. It was out of character but truly showed how horrible of a person he was. I genuinely hated the fact they did that. But it showed how lost he truly became, so take it as you will.

But anyways.

Adrien is allowed to grieve his dad. He quite literally lost his mother and his father within a few years. He was still grieving his mom when the show starts. Two parents that loved him dearly. He's allowed to be angry at Ladybug for not saving his dad. Just because he was mistreated doesn't mean he doesn't love his dad. Don't get me wrong, there's points in the show that he clearly is upset with his dad. But he's allowed to be upset at the mistreatment.

I think the reason why I understand Adrien's character is because I can resonate with him losing his dad but still have him there and loving him despite the mistreatment. It's not easy at times and are upset by it, but you still love your parent because you remember who they once were and miss that.

This isn't a Gabriel defending post tbh. It's just understanding his character and relationship with Adrien. I will die on this hill and block people if they get too heated about this (if anyone reads this). You can interpret the show and relationship however you want, it's not that deep and a kids show so a ton of it is shallow writing at first and all of the early fics are 100% so true to view the relationship how they do and make Adrien hate his dad. But you gotta admit, they do write some complex ass relationships as the show developed. It just becomes a mess.

So take this with a grain of salt, as this post is written by an abused 23 year old who loves and is upset by the abuser. It just puts the show in a totally different light.

People who can't understand why canon Adrien is genuinely that upset over Gabriel being gone don't understand the nuance of being in an abusive household OR Adrien's character

[fire-of-the-sun]

Lotor: The Man Behind the Mask

AKA The Many Faces of Lotor and Which is His True Face?

To say that Prince Lotor is a multi-faceted character would be an understatement. Born into a life of tragedy, the many masks he comes to wear are borne of his circumstances to not only further his own agendas undetected but most notably to aid in his own self-preservation both physically and emotionally. A proverbial sword and shield to protect himself. These false faces allow him to do and say what’s necessary to keep himself alive to fight another day - a practice that’s unfortunately hard-wired into him from centuries of abuse. 

The character we're first introduced to is probably what the audience expected: an antagonist (albeit a more complex one than expected) that leaves the audience questioning his true motivations. An aspect that makes him more intriguing but also works against him with many fans using it as evidence to validate their worst perceptions of him. But, as we see more of Lotor throughout the series, we begin to explore the depths of him and uncover evidence to the contrary. 

So, which is his truest face?

THE MASSES

We don’t get to see Lotor interact with the masses many times in the show, but the most notable occurrences are his introductory scene in the arena and the Kral Zera - both occasions in which he presents himself as a powerful, capable warrior, a persuasive public speaker and a leader worthy of the Galra’s loyalty. 

In the first occasion, Lotor almost immediately undermines his previous show of good will towards the assembled Galra by confessing to his generals in private that “the masses are easily manipulated.” This statement would, understandably, leave audience members to believe Lotor is nothing more than a liar and manipulator as a key attribute used to define all of his subsequent actions. 

At first glance, this looks pretty damning. Alone, with people we can easily infer he’s closer to, he seemingly reveals that all the magnanimity of his previous words and actions were false and showcase to us a key element of his character to watch out for: an effortless duplicity that is utilized to hide more malicious intentions. At the time, it seems to scream to the audience: ‘don’t trust him’. However, as we learn on his journey, there is more to him that meets the eye, and this line should not be taken at face value. 

Before we take this as unwavering proof that he’s a villain and everything that follows should be looked at through the lens of presumed deceit, I think we have to consider the context and audience here. This line was in response to a stadium full of Galra warriors who dutifully and unquestioningly serve his father - someone he’s trying to stop. Swaying the minds of the Galra is a necessary step in his quest to ultimately improve their way of life but he also doesn’t think very highly of them. His regard of them is different than that he holds towards other people and cultures as we see later. I also believe he says this to benefit the generals, but I'll get to them later.

Unfortunately, we don’t get to see him spend time with the members of either of the peoples he looks after, but we do know that he deeply loved his time on the mining planet and there’s no doubt he cared for the Alteans just as much if not more as they were his own people. It’s also not hard to imagine that both groups of people appreciated him just as much. We don’t know how close he truly got to them, but it’s safe to surmise that Lotor is a person that respects others enough to treat them with equality, enjoy working beside them and genuinely wants to improve their lives. Though we later learn that he was ultimately lying to the Alteans, it’s clear that’s definitely not something he enjoys doing. 

Among the average civilian or disenfranchised person, we can infer Lotor is more than likely very cordial and respectable based on how he speaks of them and how they perceive him in return. Despite his status as a prince, he’s clearly not preoccupied with maintaining an air of authority among the common folk in any way meant to remind them of his status above them, even allowing himself to bond with people on such an equal level that Zarkon saw it as unfit for his station. 

Basically, though we know he has a turbulent relationship with the Galra as a whole, we can also see that he fights for the rights of other half-breeds such as himself and treats people in his care with respect and equality. 

ZARKON

As a child, Lotor had to present himself as the perfect prince in an attempt to earn Zarkon’s love, and it produced a facade he probably maintained most of his life despite it getting him nowhere. Of course, as a child desperately seeking their parent’s affection, this behavior - though tailored specifically to appeal to his father - wasn’t inherently disingenuous and it’s only later in life that he learns to use it as a weapon. 

Knowing that Lotor has tried to portray himself as respectable and eager to please thus far, his outburst of anger in retaliation of his father’s demands in 8x02 may have possibly been the first time he’d spoken out against him in such a way as, up to this point, Lotor still seemed to genuinely believe his father would listen to him and is surprised by his decision to destroy the planet. The mask finally slipped but, I might add, only in an attempt to help others. This speaks volumes about the kind of person he is and what his deepest motivations are as it shows he cares more about protecting the mining planet than he does for his own safety as he knowingly incurs the wrath of his violent father. Of course, upon realizing that his interjection would punish them too, he immediately tries to submit himself before Zarkon once more to keep them safe. 

Despite his efforts, Lotor unfortunately fails to protect the people and this tragic situation no doubt led him to reinforce the old facade of the obedient son who would never dare act out against his father again - a mask he uses to his advantage in 4x03. After their conversation, we see Lotor smirk suspiciously upon taking his leave, clueing to the audience that his behavior with Zarkon was entirely an act to keep his father from suspecting him of any wrongdoing. 

After Zarkon uncovers his ruse, Lotor’s submissive mask drops once more and, upon meeting again, Lotor no longer holds back from sharing every ounce of disdain he bears for his father before fighting him to the death. 

HAGGAR

Unlike his father, where he hides his emotions under a guise of respect and servility initially, Lotor shows no restraint in sharing his unbridled anger and contempt for his mother, Honerva. These feelings never waver, in fact, they only seem to intensify, punctuating a heated final confrontation where Lotor vehemently renounces her as an abomination that he will never accept as family. This distaste seems to have evolved over his life as her role to him changed. As a child, she was nothing more than his father’s witch and not someone he needed to please. Their relationship was never a good one so there’s no need to pretend otherwise.

I believe his anger towards her comes, not only from rebelling against the fact that his mother was essentially stolen from him by Haggar (which shatters his dreams of having a loving mother) but also her mistreatment of him throughout his life and even fundamentally disagreeing with and despising the kind of person she (and Zarkon) are: selfish, power-hungry and uncaring of the lives of others. He denounces them for their behavior because he knows it’s wrong and doesn’t wish to fall prey to it as well - which is a great indicator of the kind of person he is and what values he agrees with and doesn’t.

In a way, this is a true face to Lotor as well. His feelings of unfettered rage towards Honerva are not censored by any mask he’d wish to portray. There is no part to play here as there’s nothing that will keep him safe from her scrutinizing eyes on him at all times. Nothing to hide because there’s nothing to gain from it. So, instead, to keep her off his trail, he goes to great lengths to evade her detection through calculated action rather than any false pretenses. 

THE GENERALS

Though they’re the closest thing he has to friends for a time, I still don’t personally believe Lotor was close enough to his generals to reveal his true self (though he obviously reveals more to Axca as he trusts her the most). Overall, he still maintains an air of authority with them, seeking to portray himself as the calculating and confident leader clearly stationed above them though he still treats them with respect. Though it’s clear he cares for them, and they hold some degree of respect for him in return, he’s still very much their leader more than their friend. They may believe in him and his mission for a time, but they don’t follow him solely out of admiration and are willing to sell him out if it benefits them - which they do. 

They’re, for the most part, his loyal allies, but not anyone he’d confide in or show vulnerability with as demonstrated by his lack of explanation regarding his actions towards Narti and his refusal to share his full plans with them. They respect him for a lot of reasons but don’t entirely understand him or what he truly wants which is why they often seem perplexed by his decisions. With them I think he maintains, to a degree, how he would present himself to the general masses. He has to remain collected and in charge to preserve their loyalty to him and can’t sully that depiction with the perceived weakness that comes from showing vulnerability. 

Jumping off my earlier statement about the “masses are easily manipulated” line, it ties into the perpetuation of the persona he’s trying to evoke to them and which they whole heartedly support. He’s telling them what he thinks they want to hear. We also know he doesn’t tell them the full truth, so why should we believe this is somehow some deep reveal into the center of his character when we also know that he doesn’t showcase side of himself with them? It’s another piece of a persona, nothing more.

This mask was not created in an attempt to manipulate but in a desire to achieve and preserve some degree of companionship and loyalty from his generals. Lotor has no one but them and he can’t afford to lose their fealty, so he tries to keep it in the best way he knows how: by being a successful leader worthy of being followed. 

Bottom line, beyond Lotor’s genuine affection for his generals - which is very much an extension of the compassion he’s capable of - he does not show his true self with them. 

THE PALADINS

Lotor sustains his typical air of confidence upon meeting the paladins face to face in a continuous effort to portray himself as a worthy asset to them (not too dissimilar from his interactions with his generals). Though he shares vital intel with them to prove his loyalty to their shared goals for peace, he doesn’t go out of his way to ingratiate himself to them. He’s cordial and honest, as is generally his nature, but not afraid to share his opinions even if they’re opposing or adversarial. 

For example, in their first scene together Lotor has no trouble calling out Allura for voicing her discrimination towards his race and generally seems tired of waiting for the paladins to truly listen to his advice and start making real strides in the war. He's interested in action, not being liked. If he truly wanted to manipulate them, I imagine he would have been far more sycophantic to worm his way into their good graces - an act he’s familiar with due to his father whom he was trying to lie to. We know what a groveling Lotor looks like and this is not it. Of course, there's also no need to lie to them to get what he wants when they have the same goal. 

There’s frustration there between both parties at times and definite growing pains as he finds a place for himself in their group, but certainly not anger or resentment of any kind on his part. That being said, when the paladins do come to trust him and there’s no disagreements in their way, Lotor defaults to his natural state: dignified, helpful and amiable. I’m not sure how much affection Lotor truly manages to garner for the paladins by the end of their time together, but he does refer to them as ‘friends�� at one point and though that doesn’t mean they’re people he would necessarily pour his heart out to, I’d say they definitely count as favored allies that he’d support and protect just like anyone else he cares even remotely about. 

However, similar to his generals, whatever degree of fondness he may have developed for the paladins is still ultimately moderated to keep them at arm’s length though, I believe that given the proper time and trust, this could have changed.

ALLURA

With Allura, we see a new, softer side to Lotor. I could write an entire meta solely about their interactions and how they’re not manipulative, but I’ll be brief here. As I said with the paladins, there’s no real evidence to suggest Lotor was just saying and doing everything he did solely to appeal to Allura and ultimately seduce her to his side. Instead, what we see is both of them slowly and organically becoming more comfortable and trusting with each other, enough so that they begin to reveal deeper sides of themselves. Just as Allura is willing to share her insecurities with Lotor, he too divulges the innermost parts of himself that he doesn’t reveal to anyone else. 

If a mask is meant to hide the deepest parts of oneself, Lotor being so openly vulnerable, honest and trusting with Allura is enough to tell us that what he shares with her isn’t an act - he’s just finally comfortable enough to show his true face and the hidden parts of himself he hasn’t with anyone else. For a man who is all about survival and whom trust doesn’t come easy, this would be counterproductive and a potential liability he normally wouldn’t risk. So why does he risk it for her?

Relationships are built on trust and that takes time and true understanding to achieve. It takes a great deal of trust to reveal your true self to someone and Lotor simply isn’t at that level with the generals or paladins. He hasn’t really had anyone to share his true self with until Allura. He’s never met anyone else like her and their shared history and desires facilitates a swift journey from enemies to friends and even to something greater - an emergence of emotional vulnerability and affection that Lotor has never experienced before: love.

This is an aspect of his identity he’s no doubt unfamiliar with unfortunately or, perhaps, has never truly experienced before in his countless years of being whatever he had to be to survive. As we’re discovering this version of Lotor, he may also be discovering himself too. 

There’s so much I could say about their relationship and how it brings out the best in both of them, but I won’t go off on a tangent here. Needless to say, the reason Lotor feels so different in S5-6 is because interacting with Allura is finally giving us the opportunity to see new aspects of his identity that’s open and unguarded. He’s finally put down his sword and shield... which leaves him vulnerable to attack. 

QUINTESSENCE POISONING

I want to address this specifically in its own meta but, for now, I’ll say that I found this depiction of Lotor a betrayal of the character and purposefully over-exaggerated to compensate for and push a narrative the writers failed to achieve organically. Essentially, I believe they made him so villainous - so vile despite how out of character it feels - simply to validate this new agenda that he is and always was, in fact, that very villain and, if that was always their intention for the character, they did not succeed. 

Though we know that quintessence can corrupt and see that firsthand in how it turned his parents into beings acting without remorse and motivated purely by evil-intentions, even they have never been shown in such a negative and manic light, making Lotor look even more deleterious here by comparison which is an... interesting choice. 

That being said, the turbulent emotions presented here do stem from underlying trauma, namely the pain of being betrayed by the one person he trusted more than anyone. The one person he showed his true face to. The person he loved. Having his true feelings be rejected and touted as nothing but more lies and deception as someone who doesn’t share them idly would be beyond devastating. Now, having put down his shield for Allura, she’s struck at the very heart of him. The pain of it unleashes a tidal wave of emotion and, like a wounded, cornered animal, he lashes out. This creates a situation which we see a side of Lotor we haven’t before. One that, though borne of genuine emotional suffering, does not actually reflect who he truly is. 

Exacerbated by his exposure to the quintessence field and perhaps even that which already resides in his blood, Lotor reveals intentions of great evil - last minute motivations stemming from deeply rooted fears and insecurities that, unfortunately, are pulled to the surface here in the worst way possible but are not necessarily indicative of him having harbored and planned to enact these darker motives all along. Recoiling from the pain, it makes sense that his natural defense mechanism would be another mask - the ultimate mask.

If this was the true him, he would have truly fooled us all despite the extensive evidence to the contrary, as there is nothing to support his sudden dark desires here but plenty of prior evidence that refutes it despite the writer’s efforts to show otherwise. To say that all of this is the true, final reveal of who he is after all is insulting not only to the character but to fans.

ALONE

To best know who someone truly is, we have to look at who they are when they’re alone. A great example of this is when we see Lotor alone in 4x06 as he overhears a message that there is an on-going attack that will result in mass casualties. Lotor doesn’t hesitate to potentially sacrifice his hard-won freedom to head straight back into Galra territory to try and stop his mother’s heinous plans. This is yet another scenario that showcases that, at the end of the day, Lotor is a character who simply wants to help people no matter the cost to himself. 

We also see Lotor alone during his trial on Oriande where upon repeatedly being attacked by the White Lion, he understandably goes on the offensive and fights back to protect himself. After failing this test, Lotor is devastated. Rather than revealing any clues to potential villainy, this interaction instead simply shows that Lotor still has things to unlearn and is aware of that and capable of change. His anger here comes from his desperation and desires for self-preservation upon being attacked, not from a place of genuine malice. 

I think it’s also worth noting Lotor’s expressions when he’s in his cockpit throughout the show but especially during his fight with Allura right before his ‘turn’. No one else can see his face but the audience so there’s no one to appeal to. No act to put on. We can clearly see he’s upset and remorseful and it feels like a sudden reversal from his previous scene with the generals because it is - not because his pleading with Allura is an act - but because his talk with his generals was. They are understandably confused here because his recent speech to them would have them believe he didn’t truly care about Allura and was just using her the whole time. This display says otherwise.

To further emphasize this point, his words and expressions here are consistent with his attempts to appeal to Allura in 6x04. The fact that his interaction with her is the same - whether he’s alone or in public - also shows us that it’s genuine. He doesn’t hesitate to share his true feelings to her when he’s trying to defend himself, nor does he bar his words in front of the paladins and generals when he’s trying to talk her down later. They might as well be speaking in private because it wouldn’t change his reaction. He’s completely focused on her and unconcerned with his unencumbered feelings being on public display - something he’s never done before and obviously wouldn’t be comfortable with. All of this continues to prove that, when it comes to Allura, he is his authentic self and his feelings for her are indeed true. 

There may be more significant instances of seeing Lotor alone that I can’t recall, but, in summary, if Lotor was truly an evil, selfish person, we’d see hints of that most clearly in the instances where he has nothing to hide. 

CONCLUSION

So, what is Lotor’s true face then? 

As I’ve stated, Lotor is a man who has had to adopt different personas to survive, and we get to see the multi-faceted nature of his character on full display throughout the series depending on who he’s with and in what context. Regardless of some blunders in writing, overall, I think the show did a decent job portraying the different sides of him that would have logically emerged given his unique life and circumstances. 

Of course, seeing the ease and skill in which Lotor can slip on these masks would naturally leave audiences to continually question him and his true intentions. As the show reveals more and more of his true self however, the answer becomes increasingly clear that, despite the resulting duplicity of his nature, there is no evidence to support that he's anyone other than someone who wanted to do exactly what he said he did and whose goals are ultimately to help and protect others - a desire which was shown through his words and actions on multiple occasions. For all his faults, Lotor does have genuinely heroic traits despite being raised in an environment that didn’t cultivate them. A flower struggling to bloom in spite of the aridity of the soil in which he was born.

Despite the intended desire to hide his true self for his own protection, these fabricated facades do inadvertently reflect shades of his inner self too - a kernel of truth buried in each even as he has to transform to become what he thinks he needs to be to survive. By default, he tends to hide his true emotions underneath a facade of control and confidence - most notably seen in his interaction with the generals, the paladins initially and the masses (mostly Galrans). This portrayal of the proud and cunning man however is just a front to hide someone underneath who is more concerned with knowledge than power and protection rather than violence and it’s his bond with Allura that reveals the truest face of all: someone who is genuinely capable of kindness, vulnerability and even love. Given the right time and treatment, the inherent goodness in him could have been allowed to flourish and win and his true face could have been the last one we saw him with...

[davnittbraes]

I’m Here

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8,546 and every single one of them is pure, unabashed self-indulgence

Warnings etc: reader is described as being in a long term previous relationship, smut (piv, unprotected, oral f!receiving), angst, fluff, description of disgustingly cliché meet-cute, established relationship, mentions of past abusive relationship, anxiety, big beefy cuddly dogs, light BDSM, breathplay, like HEAVY breathplay to some people, physical restraint, Dom/Sub dynamics, Soft!Dom Marcus, Sub!Reader, Praise kink out the wazoo

Notes aka Writer’s Plea For Mercy: This was supposed to be a ~200 word drabble, then I mentally vomited some paragraphs onto a page as part of my attempt at working through some life shit and here we are. GIF chosen because those GODDAMN HANDS STARTED THIS WHOLE THING.

You shut the lid of your laptop with a little more force than necessary - not enough to get IT pissed off at you, just enough to satisfy your urge to shove the memory of that three hour long meeting-that-could-have-been-an-email out of your mind for the rest of the night.

You definitely didn’t want to be thinking about work right now.

Because Marcus was coming over tonight.

Your handsome, sweet, caring boyfriend Marcus.

A silly, girlish grin steals over your expression before you can stop it.

You’d just went “official” with Marcus last week, after the two of you had talked about how amazing the last couple months had been. You’d met at a café - a stereotypical meet-cute that you were only a little embarrassed by, both for its eye-rolling cheesiness and your role in the entire thing.

You had been on the phone, negotiating a contract and had accidentally grabbed his coffee when it came up. He had chased you down, there was an awkward exchange and you’d apologized profusely. But you’d run into him a couple more times after that and eventually neither of you could ignore the mutual attraction. A few dates had gradually turned into spending most nights and days off together and eventually both of you had realized you had no interest in seeing anyone else right now.

So, now he was your boyfriend Marcus.

Your heartbeat does a little skipping series of flutters and you huff in amusement. It seems so silly, reacting this way at your age, but really, you’ve never felt this… light, before. Being with Marcus is so comfortable, so effortless.

So vastly different from your previous experience.

After twelve years of trying to make a toxic marriage work, you had finally seen it for what it was and filed for divorce. Now, two years later, ink dry on the divorce papers and several therapy sessions giving your step a little more confidence, you’re finding out what it means to be in a healthy relationship with someone, and you’re practically giddy with it, despite your efforts to stay level-headed.

Which is all well and good, but you know what’s best. You shouldn’t dive right into another serious romantic relationship, not after the last one. So you’re moving slowly with Marcus, keeping a little bit of yourself in reserve, just in case.

Including your… proclivities.

Your nose wrinkles in sudden self-awareness, idly sifting through your thoughts.

Marcus is a sweet guy. The definition of sweet. Tooth-rotting, saccharine-sweet. And so kind, and understanding, and supportive - he’s been your rock over the last couple months, making sure you don’t get too lost in your work, sending you silly cat memes throughout the day, patiently listening to your venting about your issues with work and family with genuine sympathy.

The exact opposite of your ex-husband, who was usually too wrapped up in his own shit to have any clue what was going on with you.

Marcus has been exactly what you need in your life right now. He’s happy to move slowly, too, having just got out of a cancelled engagement and a failed marriage before that. His own therapy sessions had taught him to find validation in himself and not others, allowing him to ease into relationships instead of immediately going all in. In fact, you had been seeing each other for three weeks before you had sex, even though you had definitely wanted to before then, and only held back on mutual agreement.

A little frisson of arousal wends its way through your core, remembering that night.

God, what a great night.

You’d been practically swimming in your panties after lusting after him for weeks, and fuck, did he ever make it up to you. There were still parts of that night that were blurry, you’d come so many times they all just ran together at one point. He was amazing, the perfect mix of attentive and confident, and of course, his signature sweetness had your heart squeezing tight in your chest.

Sitting back in your chair, you tap your fingertip against your laptop thoughtfully, your nails clicking on the plastic.

Yeah, the sex is great. Some of the best sex you’ve ever had in your life, actually. And you definitely don’t want to give that up. You don’t want to give Marcus up.

But.

There’s that little part of you, the part that you’ve shoved away deep down, never allowing it to see the light of day, hidden behind a queasy feeling of uncertainty. It’s a part that wants a little bit more, a little harder, a little rougher. A part that you’ve never shown anyone, for fear of ridicule.

Also for fear of how far you would let it take control.

But after your divorce, after realizing how much of yourself you had pushed aside for the sake of keeping your ex-husband happy, you had realized… maybe you wanted to see. Maybe you wanted to let that instinct take over, and see what it felt like, with a partner you could trust not to shy away from it.

And sweet, sugary Marcus?

Marcus, who presses soft kisses along your temple as he undresses you? Marcus, who holds you gently while he carefully pulls pleasure from your body? Marcus, who murmurs tender admirations into the crook of your neck as he slowly slides inside you?

There was no way he’d be into that. And you’re not willing to bring it up and risk scaring him away.

You’ve survived this long without giving that more… intense part of you any satisfaction. Maybe right now you need to focus on just being happy, and not worry about the future. You don’t need to give in to that darker side of you to enjoy sex, and you definitely don’t need it to be happy with someone.

And you are.

You’re happy.

That silly little grin curves your mouth again. You try to temper it with a healthy dose of easy, girl, taking it slow, remember? but you can’t help it when your phone buzzes and you see it’s a text from Marcus asking how your meeting went and saying he can’t wait to see you tonight.

Ok, so maybe a giggle even slips out.

But you’re happy.

Standing up with a purpose, you look around your office.

And why shouldn’t you be? You had worked hard to get here, almost a decade’s worth of toiling to prove yourself, shoving your way into your dream job and succeeding on pure determination and skill. With some sweet-talking to cover up the simultaneous arm-twisting, yesterday you had finally earned your spot in a role where you could make an actual difference.

Which was exactly why Marcus was coming over tonight. He wanted to celebrate your promotion by making you dinner, and even though you had protested at first, he’d won you over with a little sweet-talking and arm-twisting of his own.

He’d been getting better at that, talking you into letting him do things for you, but it was still weird to you. For pretty much your entire life and certainly your entire marriage, you had been extremely self-sufficient, independent to a fault. You never asked for help unless you truly needed it, and had exhausted all other options. You didn’t exactly hate people doing things for you, but you did feel a sort of guilty about it. The thought of putting someone out, making someone feel obligated to do things for you made your stomach turn.

But it was deeper than that, too.

The possibility of liking it when people do things for you, maybe even growing to need it, was terrifying.

Your life had been full of abandonments, let downs and disappointments. You had learned not to rely on anyone but yourself.

But sweet, kind Marcus, with his adorable dimpled grin and warm brown eyes and soothing voice…

Sighing in a manner that you refuse to label as “dreamy,” you head out of your office to the bathroom for a quick shower before Marcus arrives.

Sure, Marcus had wormed his way through the tiniest of cracks in your defenses. Which was fine, as long as you were aware of it. And, of course, made sure that’s all you allowed him.

 ***

A polite rap on your front door snaps your attention from the kitchen counter you’re wiping down, and you only have a split second to register the sound before all hell breaks loose.

Two hundred pounds of canine in the form of two bull-mastiffs tear through the house toward the front door, your shouted command to calm down lost amidst the scramble of large paws on the floor and deep, rumbling barks that echo throughout the entryway.

“Seriously guys, calm down.” You make your way to the door, weaving in-between the masses of brown fur and beefy muscle. “Fred, Ginger, hush, go on, get out of here.”

The dogs reluctantly obey, even if only enough for you to open the door.

Marcus.

Warm brown eyes and a dimpled smile fill your vision, and you pause for a moment to take in the sight of him, dressed in blue jeans and a dark red henley that does all kinds of wonderful things to his chest and arms.

Meeting his smile with one of your own, you lean a shoulder against the door-frame, feigning nonchalance while your heart flutters with excitement. “You know you can just come in, you don’t have to knock.”

His grin widens. “I like to give the welcoming committee a chance to feel important.”

As if on cue, the dogs squeeze past you and out the door, immediately swarming Marcus, tongues lolling through big grins and tails thwacking against his legs. You snort softly in amusement as he leans down to scratch them both behind the ears, one at a time since his other hand is holding a bag of groceries.

“Here, let me.” Stepping forward, you snag the handle of the bag from his fingers. “Better come in or they’ll have you trapped out here all night.”

He steps into your space, hand cupping your jaw and tilting your lips up for a kiss. It’s gentle and sweet, and so quintessentially Marcus - as is the mischievous twinkle in his gaze when he pulls away. “There are worse ways to spend my time.”

Your hands drift up his chest, feeling the warmth of him underneath his shirt. “Like this, you mean?”

His mouth curves in an answering smile as he pulls away to look at you, brown eyes warm with affection. “Not even close.”

“Such a charmer.” You press another quick kiss to that boyish smile before turning to step back inside.

His chuckle of amusement as the big dogs try to weave between his legs follows you through the house and into the kitchen.

Setting the bag down on the counter, you start parceling through the groceries, avoiding his gaze. “So what are we cooking?”

“‘We’ are cooking nothing. I am cooking dinner while you relax.” He slides closer to you, arm looping around your waist and tugging you gently away from the counter.

You hold your ground, planting your feet. “I can help. You don’t have to -“

His lips suddenly press to yours, soft but insistent, and you’re temporarily overwhelmed by the feeling of Marcus, warm and broad and steady, mouth moving oh-so-sweetly against yours as he chases the whimper that squeezes from your throat.

Suddenly he’s pulling away and your hands grasp at his shirt on instinct, tugging him back. Your eyelids drift open and you catch the smirk on his face, and realization clicks. “Distracting me won’t work.”

“I beg to differ.” His fingers curl around the nape of your neck, tilting your head back so he can trail his lips over your jaw, pausing to press a kiss just below your ear, and you stifle the sigh of pleasure that slips from your mouth.

The curl of his lips on your skin tells you he caught the sound anyway.

His hand on your waist slides up, thumb brushing the curve of your breast, but you resist the urge to arch into his touch. “If you keep this up neither of us will be cooking tonight.”

He huffs softly against your neck. “Fair enough.” Pulling back, he meets your gaze, playful smirk replaced with open earnestness. “Let me make dinner for you. Please.”

“I swear, you’re one second away from actually pouting.”

“If that’s what it takes to get you to sit down for once.”

You roll your eyes, smiling at his determination. “Fine. I won’t help with dinner. Compromise: I’ll get the dogs set for the evening while you cook.” He opens his mouth to protest but you keep talking. “That way we can just relax after dinner, maybe watch a movie?”

The slight narrowing of his eyes means he sees your diversion, but after a moment he relents, hands smoothing down your back as he shakes his head. “One of these days I’m going to convince you to let me take care of you like you deserve.”

A sharp twinge of guilt and shame stabs through your stomach, nauseating, and you shove it deep down as you step away from Marcus. “And one of these days I’m not going to cave to those puppy dog eyes of yours.”

His begrudging chuckle follows you as you head toward the patio door to let the dogs out, their heavy paws scuffling along behind you.

 ***

Dinner was delicious, the movie an old favourite that allowed the two of you to chat quietly about your day without missing anything. Marcus had tucked you into his side as soon as you’d sat down, his presence warm and steady through the night, his hand casually stroking the curve of your waist. Fred sprawled at your feet, snoring softly, and Ginger took her usual place when Marcus was over, curled up on the cushion next to him, big, heavy head lying in his lap as he scratched her favourite spot, the divot between her eyebrows.

It was a perfect night.

Except for the anxiety fluttering in your stomach.

Marcus had let you help clean up after dinner, at least. But you still felt bad - he didn’t have to cook. You liked cooking, and you really liked cooking for other people. It felt good to take care of others. You’d done it your whole life, it was a well-practiced habit, one you felt comfortable doing.

The anxiety is still buzzing under your skin as you get ready for bed, pulling on a pair of sleep shorts and a loose tank top, then a chime from your phone catches your attention. Skimming through the long list of notifications, the last one catches your eye, and you open the related email.

“Are you kidding me?” You grumble at the phone screen, thumbs already typing out a reply.

Marcus walks into the bedroom carrying the bag he uses for overnight stays at your house, pausing as he takes in the expression on your face. “Everything ok?”

You sigh, quickly flipping over to your calendar on your phone. “This supplier is saying they can’t fulfill our last order, so they’re canceling it. He wants to book a meeting to discuss, I’m going to have to pull up his contract and - shit.”

The block of time the supplier proposed shows out of office in your calendar. Vet Appt.

“What’s up? Anything I can do?” Marcus sidles closer, furrow forming between his brows.

You groan in frustration. “The dogs have a vet appointment for vaccine booster shots at the same time the supplier wants to meet. And apparently that’s the only time he’s available, he’s traveling the rest of the day.”

Marcus shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly. “I can take the dogs. They’re pretty comfortable with me.”

“No, it’s fine.” You start typing out a reply to the supplier asking that he free up his schedule more to resolve this issue, gaze focused on your phone screen.

“I really don’t mind. I’ve got a light day tomorrow, just paperwork to close up a case.”

Your thumbs fly too fast over the keyboard and you have to backspace to correct a typo. “It’s fine, I’ll handle it.”

“Hey. Let me help.”

His voice is quiet and polite but it snaps through the tension you’ve been holding on to all night, and it pours out of you, clipping your words sharply. “I said it’s fine.”

You growl as you make another typo, throwing your phone on the bed in frustration. Marcus watches you, something unreadable in his expression, and for some reason that just irritates you further.

Crossing our arms in front of you, you give him a leveling look. “You knew what my work was like when we started dating. These things happen, and it’s my responsibility to figure out how to make it all work.”

His eyebrows flick up, obviously taken back by your tone. “I know. I’m just saying I can help.”

“I don’t need your help, Marcus!” Inwardly, you cringe at the volume of your voice. It’s too much, too different from his gentle cadence. A little voice whispers that you’re being unfair, lashing out at him, but you can’t stop yourself. “I’ve handled everything in my life just fine up until now, and I can handle everything moving forward.”

The furrow between his brows is back and he shakes his head once. “I know that. There has never been a single moment of doubt in my mind that you can’t handle anything that’s thrown at you.”

His soft tone of admiration is jarring, a clear contrast to your sharp, heated words that throws you off balance, and you can only look at him in silence as your thoughts race to find footing again.

He watches you for a moment, that warm gaze contemplative. “You are the most capable person I’ve ever met. To deal with everything that’s on your plate and still have the capacity to care as much as you do - it’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

He pauses, a faint flush pinking his cheekbones. “I’m… I’m in awe of you. I know that sounds cheesy but I really can’t think of any other word for it. So please believe me when I say I didn’t offer to help because I don’t think you can do it yourself. I know you can handle everything. I guess I… I hope you know that you don’t have to. You can lean on me, if you want. I’m here.”

I’m here.

Two words, softly spoken, land on your skin with the delicacy of a butterfly.

And send a shockwave through your entire system.

I’m here.

You know it’s true. From the moment you met him, he has been. His presence has been a constant, even when he’s not physically with you, whether it’s a warm smile as you tell him about your day or a quick text message saying he can’t wait to see you tonight. He’s here, supporting you, making you feel special, making sure that you’re taking care of yourself.

I’m here.

Never once has he given you reason to doubt the truth of those two words.

Even now, as you childishly take your frustrations out on him.

Even as you hold him at a distance that keeps him safely outside of your carefully constructed walls. The walls you built after too many people had hurt what’s inside, used you until there was nothing left, took what they needed with no regard for what little they were leaving you with.

Marcus never takes from you.

Marcus only gives.

Something cracks inside you, and a flood of emotion catches in your throat, brings tears to your eyes. He sees it, concern twisting his expression, hands lifting to reach for you before they pause, unsure of if you want him or not.

And oh god that hurts, the thought that he doesn’t know, doesn’t know how you feel about him.

How you feel right now.

Three quick steps and you’re on him, hands cupping his face to draw his mouth to yours. His startled sound gets lost in your kiss and his arms come around you, steadying, as the two of you sway with your momentum.

It feels so good and perfect and he feels so good and perfect and you press yourself tighter to him, some wild instinct trying to mould your body into his, needing to be as close to him as possible. Needing to show him that you don’t want to push him away, despite what you might say, that you want him right here with you.

An instinct that almost instantly flares into arousal, heat sparking down your body to settle between your thighs. Your hips move with it, seeking friction, seeking more of him, pressing into his.

He groans, low and rumbling, sliding a hand up your back to curl around your neck and tilt your head further back, giving him better access to delve into your mouth, pulling a keening whine from you and taking it into himself.

His hand shifts and his thumb suddenly rests over your racing pulse and your thoughts are flooded with something, a thick haze that erases all logical thought, allowing that instinct you’d felt a moment ago free reign to lock onto your awareness.

Panic floods your thoughts and you shove it away, recognition flickering with anxiety.

It’s that instinct, that part of you that you’ve pushed away for so long, afraid of what it meant.

The part of you that wants to let someone else be in control for once.

Then his thumb gently brushes over the throb off your pulse, soothing, while his long fingers hold your head firmly, and you don’t want to resist anymore.

It takes barely a thought and the thick haze swarms over your awareness in full.

Everything else fades away and you can feel only him, his palm on the curve of your lower back, strong and steady. His broad chest pressed against yours, warm, solid. His mouth expertly pulling pleasure from your lips and tongue, stoking the heat of arousal in your core.

His long, thick fingers curled around your neck, holding your very heartbeat in his hand.

Him him him Marcus -

You want this. You want to feel this, only him.

It takes a couple tries to get your body to obey, to pull back from him enough to speak. “Marcus.” Your voice is high and wavering in the air between you. “I-I need…”

Too many words, too many things you could say next but can’t, your tongue frozen to the roof of your mouth.

Your gaze lifts to meet his just as some kind of understanding flashes across his expression.

Those warm brown irises grow darker, almost black, bottomless.

He sees you.

And you should be terrified of being so exposed, but all you can think about is how much you want him to know all of you.

He tilts his head a little, watching you closely as his thumb presses ever-so-lightly over your pulse, his breath catching when your eyes widen and your hands clutch at his shoulders, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. “What do you need, beautiful?”

He knows.

You can hear it in his voice, see it swirling in those deep brown eyes.

The last frisson of logical thought left in your mind tries to panic.

But the haze on your thoughts doesn’t care.

“Don’t hold anything back.” You lean into his grip, pressing his thumb even tighter to your pulse, heart skittering against it.

His warm baritone drops even lower, rasping down your spine, holding a note of something you haven’t heard in his voice before.

“Do you know what you’re asking for?”

Something that calls to the thick haze that’s settled over you, something that tells you even if you don’t know the answer to that question, he does.

A moment of stillness, just his gaze watching you, just your heartbeat pounding in your ears and against his grip.

You swallow hard, throat flexing under his hand. “Show me.”

He looks at you for a long moment, searching your features for any sign of hesitation, brown eyes meeting yours once more to read the certainty there.

Then he moves.

It’s lightening-fast.

One moment you’re standing and the next you’re face down on the bed, his hands on your waist, pressing you firmly into the mattress.

The air leaves your lungs in a rush and your fingers claw at the blanket, trying to ground yourself, a dizzying wave of arousal coursing through your body.

“You want me to show you, huh?” Marcus leans over to murmur into your ear, making sure you hear his every word, trailing his fingers down your back as he speaks. “You want me to show you what I’ve been thinking about since I first saw you? Standing in line at the café, listening to you talking on the phone, so focused, so confident, insistent on getting what you wanted. God, it was so fucking sexy. Then you turn around and this perfect ass -” his hand suddenly squeezes the plush flesh, fingertips digging, sending little stabs of pleasure-pain straight to your core. “- is right there in front of me, and all I could think about was how it would look bouncing on my cock.”

Fuck.

The dampness between your thighs grows, a warmth that makes the cloth of your underwear stick to your folds.

Your thoughts move sluggishly, words trying to make sense of instinct. “Please, Marcus.”

“Please what, baby?” His voice is gentle, coaxing, even as his hand on your ass grips tighter, tiny pinpricks of pain making you squirm.

Frustration worms its way through the haze. “I-I don’t know.”

“Beautiful girl, doesn’t know what she needs but knows she needs it.” He shushes you softly, relaxing his grip and smoothing his hand over the stinging bruises. “You said you want me to show you, and I can do that. I can show you what you need. But you have to do something for me, ok?”

He presses a tender kiss to your temple, gently tilting your chin up over your shoulder so he can meet your gaze fully. “I need you to use your words, especially if it ever gets to be too much. I know it might be difficult in the moment, but you’re so strong, sweetheart, I know you can focus enough to tell me to stop if you want me to, at any time and for any reason. Can you do that for me?”

You swallow against a dry throat, push the word out. “Yes.”

He smiles, eyes dark and full lips curling. “Good girl.”

The praise shoots through the haze and that primal instinct inside you preens, making you whimper at the fresh wave of arousal, back arching your hips higher as your fingers curl into the sheets.

His smile grows, eyebrow quirked. “Oh, did she like that? When I called her a good girl?”

You huff against the mattress, thighs squeezing together as your core throbs. Oh god why was that so hot? Him talking to you in the third person? “Yes, I like it.”

Out of the corner of your eye you watch his gaze track the movement and then he shifts down the bed, out of sight again. “Are you wet for me, baby?”

“Mmmph.” Your hips lift off the bed instinctively, body trying to supplement where your voice can’t.

“Use your words.”

Oh fuck -

The soft note of command in his voice makes the haze of your thoughts pulses and words burst free, fall gasping from your lips. “Yes, oh god I’m so fucking wet for you, please Marcus -”

He growls - growls - and suddenly his hands are tearing your shorts and underwear off and the sting of the fabric scraping down your legs with the harshness of the movement only amplifies that primal instinct to feel more.

Then his hands are lifting your hips and pushing your legs so you’re kneeling on the bed, his movements just as sharp and fast as before, and you’re gasping into the sheets at the feeling of the cool air swirling over your wet cunt.

He hums behind you. “Mmm, look at you, all spread out for me.”

Those big, warm hands cup your curves, steady on the sensitive skin where your ass meets your thighs, and he clicks his tongue in mock sympathy. “Poor girl, beautiful pussy is so fucking wet you’re dripping.”

His thumbs glide up to press and pull you completely open, and you keen, senses overwhelmed, vulnerable. He chuckles softly and you feel your inner walls flutter at the knowledge that he’s enjoying this, just watching you like this. “Look at you, clenching on nothing. Need something to fill you up, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh.” Fuck, you can’t even talk, you’re so turned on, you’ve never felt so much before.

“Shh, it’s ok, I’ve got you. I’ll fill you up, nice and full, but I’m going to taste you first.”

Before his words can even sink through the haze of your thoughts his tongue is laving over your entrance and your hips twitch with a wave of pleasure, the hot wet muscle gathering the slick that’s formed there and flicking inside for just a second before disappearing, leaving you panting.

You hear him swallow and moan at your taste, and oh god that’s hot.

His tongue glides down to your clit, swirling lightly, over and over at a pace that instantly steals the breath from your lungs.

Pleasure builds, your core clenching, back arching as your body begs for more, and he moans into your cunt, open-mouthed and breathy, and the feeling of warmth ghosting over your slick folds makes you writhe on the bed, shuddering cry muffled against the sheets.

Over and over his tongue works your clit, pulling it into the wet heat of his mouth and flicking tight circles as he suckles, drawing your pleasure higher and higher.

Then his arms are curling around your thighs to hold you in place and his tongue is rolling against your clit and his nose is brushing against your entrance and your orgasm is right there, blindsiding you, yanking you closer and closer to the peak as his tongue presses over your clit and flicks hard and you’re crying out wordlessly as you fall -

His hands grip you hard as your hips flex, the deep groan rumbling from his chest vibrating against your pussy and shoving another wave of pleasure through your body.

You whimper and claw at the sheets until finally it releases you, leaving your limbs quivering, your cheek limply pressed to the mattress.

There’s one brief moment, one breath to fill your lungs, for the world to start to reassemble around you and then he’s shoving his cock into your still-fluttering cunt, straight to the hilt.

The force of his thrust threatens to push you across the bed but his hands grab your waist firmly as he pulls out, only to immediately shove forward again, driving his cock deep. A strangled shout stutters from your throat, lips mouthing at the sheets.

He holds your waist with one hand while the other slides under your tank top, up your back and down again, caressing the curve of your hip. “Fuck, you look so good like this. Does it feel good, beautiful?”

You almost choke on your own words as he thrusts into you again, the zipper of his jeans - fuck, he’s still fully clothed - biting into the sensitive skin of your ass. “Y-yes.”

“Do you like it when I fuck you like this? Bend you over and fuck your pussy as hard as I want?”

The haze of your thoughts throbs as he takes up a rhythm that has the edges of your vision going dark. The entire world narrows down to just the feeling of him inside you and around you, the sting of his thrusts against your ass and thighs, the not-quite bruising grip of his hands on your waist, the blinding pleasure radiating from his cock as it glides over some spot deep inside you again and again -

Then suddenly he stops.

Your entire body shudders hard, cunt clenching around his cock, begging for friction. You whine into the sheets, a garbled questioning sound, your thoughts reeling at the shift.

His hands smooth down your back, soothing, voice firm. “Answer me, baby. Do you like it when I fuck you like this?”

That instinct, the haze that forces your focus to only Marcus, seems to speak for you, pushing words from your mouth, rough with need. “Yes I love it please fuck me like you want to -”

He groans, picking up his brutal rhythm. “Good girl, such a good girl for me.”

And then your words are lost again, all senses blinded by pleasure.

His cock drives through your core and every thrust feels like he’s punching into your fucking soul and then his hands are pressing down on your shoulderblades, forcing your back to arch even more, tipping your hips at a sharp angle and the head of his cock hits that spot inside you and you’re coming again -

And again and again and again -

You don’t stop you can’t stop it’s just wave after wave before one let’s go another begins and -

He picks up the pace with one-two-three quick, deep thrusts and pleasure explodes across your vision, white noise flooding your ears, inner walls pulsing around his cock over and over and your lungs scream for air.

A split second, a flash of time, you hang there then you drop and your awareness falls back into your body.

You’re moving slowly, his hands guiding you onto your side as your limbs continue trembling with aftershocks.

He slides behind you, warm and steady along the length of your frame, one arm curling underneath your shoulders to pull you close and the other tucking you into the curve of his body, his hand splayed just under your collarbone.

Your body obeys the silent command, drawing a deep and shuddering breath, gasping and choking like you had stopped breathing for ages.

The white noise ebbs and you hear his voice, quiet and unfaltering, right next to your ear.

“Breathe for me, sweetheart, nice and slow, just breathe and relax.”

The haze of your thoughts follows his instruction, focusing on expanding and retracting your lungs, bringing your heartbeat down to a reasonable pace. His hands never leave you, one resting over the centre of your chest, while the other strokes your temple, his arm cradling your head.

Finally your limbs relax, fingers uncurling from where they’ve fisted in the blankets so hard they hurt. You focus on feeling him behind you, the softness of his shirt against your bare shoulders, the rough denim of his jeans against the back of your thighs, the faint, steady warmth of his breath on the curve of your neck.

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “Are you with me?”

“Yes?” The word falls from your lips, rough and strained.

“Good girl.” The soft chuckle makes you smile, belatedly hearing the uncertainty in your own voice. His hand suddenly leaves your chest and cups your pussy, making you start, the heat of his palm a shock to your oversensitive flesh. “I think you need to come like that again, hmm?”

Your sluggish thoughts register that he’s asking a question. “Can I?”

“Are you asking if it’s possible? Or asking for permission?” He rises up on an elbow to look down at you, keeping your head nestled on his forearm, his dark gaze a hypnotic mixture of amusement and lust. “Because the answer to either question is ‘yes.’”

Your whimper is caught by his mouth, his lips coaxing yours open to slip his tongue inside. The taste of him floods your senses and your entire body arches toward him, needing to feel him.

He groans at your movement, hand between your thighs gliding up your body to curl around your neck, leaning slightly on his forearm, pressing your chest down just enough to prevent you from moving.

The sensation is overwhelming, a shiver runs down your spine and your breath stutters against his lips.

He pulls back just a bit to look down at you again. “You need this, pretty girl? Feeling me on you, my hand on your throat like this?”

His hand on your neck squeezes once, a barely-there movement, and a white-hot thrill shoots through your body, throbs in your core. “Y-yes I like it.”

“Hmm, I think it’s more than that.” He whispers as he trails kisses down your jaw. “I’ve seen it, sometimes, when I’m fucking you just a little rougher, something in your eyes that begs for more.”

His tongue laps at the skin of your throat right over your fluttering pulse. “A part of you that needs this.”

The hand squeezes again, for longer this time, and for a moment you can’t breathe, can’t move, frozen, and then he loosens his grip and oxygen is rushing through your system with a flurry of endorphins and cortisol as your fight or flight instinct flares into action, tensing every muscle.

But Marcus is right there, long fingers moving in soothing strokes up and down your neck, lips pressing tender kisses over the bridge of your nose and cheekbones.

Endorphins win out, sweeping you away into the warmth and security that he’s layering on your body with his gentle touches. Your hands clutch at his arm, holding tight, your breath coming in quick pants that almost sound like whimpers to your own ears.

His voice is soft, gentling yet direct. “Open your eyes.”

Your eyes are shut tight and it takes effort to open them, the haze on your thoughts delaying any communication with your body. But you want to obey, to be good for him, so you slowly open your eyes, meeting his gaze above you.

Something like awe forms on his features, an open amazement, as his hand strokes up to cup your jaw, fingertip brushing along the corner of your eye. “God, look at you. Absolutely perfect. Just… lovely.”

He dips down to kiss your forehead gently, runs his nose down along yours, his words brushing over your parted lips. “My lovely one.”

Something twists in your chest, turning and turning until it’s knotted around your heart and it hurts but it feels so good at the same time. A broken cry is pushed from your chest, sounding something like his name and a curse and a plea all at the same time.

His lips meet yours briefly, a reassuring kiss followed by a soft susurration, his hand returning to your neck, a comforting weight. “Tell me what you need, lovely one.”

Tell me what you need.

What do you need?

The haze of your thoughts narrows, sharpens for just one moment.

And you know.

You know what you need.

What he’s been trying to show you.

It’s this.

This state of hyper-awareness that allows you only to feel, all logical thought locked away behind a fog of pleasure.

There’s nothing else here, no problems to solve, no one who needs you to care for them, no one here to take from you.

It’s just you and him - Marcus, the shield protecting you from everything, the guiding hand showing you how to achieve perfect bliss, how to find pleasure in only receiving.

Marcus, who now holds your life in his hand with a tenderness that speaks to how aware he is of this responsibility, and that sincere, open gaze that tells you he will never break your trust.

Slowly, but with no hesitation, you curl your fingers around his wrist, pressing his hand tighter to your throat. “You. I need you, like this.”

He leans down to rest his forehead against yours, taking a moment to simply share your breath before kissing you oh-so-softly. “Good girl. My beautiful, smart, strong girl. You have me.”

Your heart throbs and your eyes sting with emotions you’re not ready to name.

He shifts, hand on your neck moving to grasp your thigh and lift up, baring your cunt to the cool air of the room. Your breath hitches in anticipation as he lines up, the head of his cock brushing along your soaked folds, catching on your entrance, then he’s pushing in, a slow, relentless movement that instantly has your legs trembling.

It’s a moment that seems to stretch forever, your entire body strung tight, focus centred on the split of your inner walls around his cock. And the whole time he’s watching you, those burning-dark eyes just inches from yours, gaze flickering over your features, noting every pull and crease and twitch as your expression shifts to one of pure need.

Finally his hips are flush with your ass and he pulls you back a bit more so your weight rests on him, your head tucked into the curve of his arm, his hand on your thigh gliding up until your knee is hooked over his elbow. You squirm helplessly, stretched open and pinned in place, stuffed full of his cock.

The need to move claws at your skin, threatens to bring tears to your eyes, so you squeeze them shut to stop it. Your thoughts are spiraling, frazzled, near panic, and you don’t know why, the sensation of being pulled open and vulnerable overwhelming and you can’t -

Then his hand glides up your chest, fingers brushing the curve of your breast over your tank top, the motion pulling your knee even higher until his fingers curl around your throat and there that’s it yes -

The weight of his hand, warmth of his palm on your racing pulse, smooth calluses on his fingertips along the sides of your neck.

It anchors your thoughts again, pulls you back into place, and the haze settles, firmly shutting out any anxiety.

Your eyes drift open, meeting his gaze. He’s still watching you, assessing, as if he knows what just happened inside your own mind, as if he can see the moment you let the haze take over once more.

His mouth curves into a gentle smile, full lips pursing slightly. “That’s it, keep your eyes open. I want to watch you feel this. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.” The haze speaks for you again, firm and confident.

His thumb strokes over your pulse. “Good girl.”

He moans softly at the subsequent pulse of your cunt around his cock, a thrill of pleasure coursing through your core at his praise.

Then he starts to fuck you.

It’s an unending series of long thrusts that drive deep, with a snap of his hips that punches up into you, setting every nerve in your body afire, shoving little whimpers from your lungs and sending starbursts across your vision as the slick glide of his cock spreads your cunt deliciously.

Words fall from your lips among the choked sounds. “Oh god - I - so good - don’t stop please - don’t -“

“I’m not stopping until you come. Wanna feel you flood my cock.”

He pants above you, voice rough with the effort of his movements and his own pleasure, and that instinct inside your thoughts preens, knowing you are the reason.

It spurs on your own pleasure, climax rising quickly, and your hands fly for purchase, one gripping the forearm of the hand on your throat and the other reaching up to find his free hand. He grasps your fingers, twining them with his own, holding your joined hands just over your shoulder.

A jagged moan rips through your chest - the contrast is devastating, this tender embrace and the soft open-mouthed kisses along your cheek as he fucks you roughly, cock spearing hard and deep and hitting that spot every time, pushing your pleasure up and up and the hand on your throat tightens just a bit, pressing just so along the sides of your neck and your vision blurs until all you can see is those dark eyes that see all of you.

His words float through the haze. “You’re gonna come so hard, I can feel it, can see it. You’re gonna come like this, spread open on my cock, pinned down with my hand on your throat, and you’re gonna love it, aren’t you? Come for me, my beautiful, perfect girl.”

Your orgasm crest, sparking all along your skin and tensing in your muscles and you’re suddenly untethered, floating in that haze, needing an anchor to pull you back and keep you safe and you call out -

“Marcus - “

He doesn’t let up, fingers flexing just a little harder on your throat, cock splitting you over and over as his words sink deep into your soul. “Let go, lovely one. I’ve got you.”

His grip on your throat slackens and oxygen floods your lungs and -

You come.

Hard.

Harder than you’ve ever come in your entire life.

Every muscle seizes, ripples, spasms, your heartbeat rushes in your ears, and for a moment you can almost hear his, his pulse, throbbing against your neck through his hand and against your inner walls through his cock. Your awareness flares and envelopes him until all that exists and has ever existed is just him and you, singular and eternal.

Then the release snaps you back into your body.

Marcus shudders, corners of his eyes tight with concentration, thrusts faltering as your pussy throbs around his cock, squelch of it filling the air. “Fuck, so good, so fucking tight -“

You want him, all of him, need all of him.

“Marcus please -“ your fingernails scrape along his skin as you try to tug him impossibly closer, words lost in your own pleasure spiraling upward again.

Something almost possessive crosses his features, gaze growing somehow darker, and he leans over you, hand shifting to cup the back of your neck and tilt your face up to look at him as he drags his cock in and out. “Want me to come inside you, pretty girl? Fuck, you know how much I love that? Filling you up, watching me drip out of you?”

Your fingers curve around his shoulder, looking up at him with as much sincerity as you can muster, voice wavering as he pulls out only to push back in with a snap of his hips. “I love it, too, please, I need it, need you -“

“Oh, fuck, yes you do, don’t you?” A shiver runs along his shoulders and he drops his forehead to yours, dark gaze completely filling your vision. “Come with me and I’ll come inside you, lovely one.”

The haze of your thoughts ripples, throbs, exalts.

You lift a hand to his face, cupping his cheek, holding him right there with you, his breath and his sounds of pleasure mingling with yours as they grow louder and faster, rising with your orgasms until yours breaks, cunt clutching and gushing around him and he cries out, thrusting home once-twice more before burying himself deep. All you can do is hold on tight, fingernails digging into his skin, riding the wave of your pleasure with him, that primal instinct shouting with joy as the warmth of his spend floods your core.

There’s a moment of calm as your heartbeats sync and your breathing starts to regulate, and you look at him, emotions too deep and weighty to name filling your thoughts, amplified by the haze that still envelopes them.

He looks back at you, those same emotions reflected in that dark, beautiful gaze.

For a moment it’s just the two of you, in the entire universe, a moment too big to fit in the space between you and yet somehow it does, squeezing into those cracks in your walls and curling around that part of you that’s been hiding for so long.

Then he’s moving, carefully pulling out of you, shushing your soft whine at the sudden emptiness with a kiss.

For a brief moment you panic, overwhelmed with the need to be close to him and your arms wrap tight around his shoulders, drawing him back.

He huffs gently into the curve of your neck. “I’m just going to grab something to clean you up.”

You make a wordless sound of protest, pulling him back down to you, and he follows, turning to roll onto his back, an arm curving around your waist to tug you into his chest. Gratefully, you tuck your head under his chin, curling your limbs around him as tightly as possible, pillowing against his broad chest.

His heartbeat thrums under your ear, keeping time with the smooth strokes of his hand up and down your back, the small circles of his other hand on your shoulder, fingers brushing your neck occasionally.

It’s safe and warm and… like home.

The haze of your thoughts flutters, starting to dissipate. Not yet, don’t go yet, I don’t want to go back to… to…

The tears that have been hovering behind your eyes since the moment Marcus laid his hand on your neck finally catch hold, pooling behind your closed eyelids. You try to swallow them back down but it’s useless, you’re still too open, too raw.

Two teardrops fall onto his chest just as you fail to hold back the sob that’s burning in your throat and his hands pause their circling path.

“Hey? You okay?” His voice is so soft, murmuring against your hair.

You try to answer but only a whimper comes out, more tears squeezing onto his skin.

His arms pull you in tighter, lips pressing kisses to the top of your head. “Talk to me, baby. What’s wrong?”

The sob finally breaks free, and you turn your face into his chest as if you could hide from it, wrestling your voice under control. “Nothing, I’m fine, it’s just -“ you sniff back another onslaught of tears, the haze of your thoughts making all these emotions seem so much bigger, so much more.

Then his hand is cupping your face, gently shifting you to look at him, and there he is, those beautiful brown eyes warm with concern, with care, for you. “It’s ok, just breathe for a minute, all right? Focus on me. I’m here.”

I’m here.

Those words again.

You meet his gaze, letting yourself fall into it, into the feel of his hands holding you steadily. Your body moves to obey him, lungs filling, shifting into a calm rhythm as you focus on the one thing anchoring your thoughts, guiding you back to yourself.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Marcus.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Marcus.

Slowly, the haze begins to pull away, the last of it evaporating with the sweep of his thumbs brushing away the tears from your cheeks and the caress of his fingertips along your jaw.

A smile suddenly breaks through your tears, and it feels like the sun itself is warming the inside your chest. “You are, aren’t you?”

His brows pull together slightly, a little crease of confusion forming between them. “I’m what?”

Your hand cups his to your face as you turn to plant a gentle kiss to his palm, your eyes steady on his. “You’re here.”

Understanding flashes across his face, and he smiles in return. “Always, lovely one.”

*****

Next: Affirmations

[frogtanii]

iwaizumi was... overwhelmed, to say the least.

the past few days had been such a whirlwind of change that hajime could barely properly process, much less appropriately react to it all, so he behaved much like a zombie, saying yes when prompted, signing papers when told, and packing up what was his entire life for the past 11 months.

wow. iwaizumi collapsed on his bed as he scanned his now barren bedroom. he’d been here for almost a year and yet, all his belongings were in boxes within a couple of days.

hajime couldn’t keep the disbelieving chuckle from escaping his chest as he leaned back on his bed, dark brown eyes trained on the ceiling.

it felt like he’d spent such a large chunk of his life trapped in this house, under the foot of the woman who he thought he’d marry but in reality, he’d been in little leagues longer than he’d been in love.

iwaizumi scoffed and rolled his eyes. yeah, “in love”. it’d been about a week since his whole life started to unravel and he had hardly seen, let alone spoken to meiko throughout that entire time.

over text, she’d sworn up and down that she loved and cared about him but as she passed by him packing his things a few days ago, she’d barely spared him a second glance.

hajime wasn’t going to lie. it hurt. he’d opened his heart up to her, something he didn’t do easily, and she’d taken his trust and used it to twist him into her weapon.

he always believed he was stronger than this — he’d never forget his mother telling him so when he was younger. he had fallen and scraped his knee yet he refused to cry to keep from upsetting his mom. iwaizumi existed to live up to what his mother thought of him but here he was, completely enveloped in meiko’s shit, doing her dirty work and following her bidding like some mutt.

god, toorū was right. he really was her bitch.

“i could hear you thinking from down the hall, iwa-chan.” speak of the devil...

oikawa stood at his doorway, leaning against the frame with a posture that seemed relaxed at first glance but if you looked a little closer, you’d notice the tenseness in his shoulders and the tightness of his smile.

hajime quickly sat up on his bed before motioning for his old friend to enter. “uh, yeah,” he began, his voice cracking a little from disuse, “i have a lot to think about.”

the light haired brunette let out an understanding hum before wandering into the room, sharp observant eyes darting to look at all the empty walls. “looks like you’re all packed.”

“pretty much,” iwaizumi nodded before the room fell into an awkward silence, the two childhood friends completely avoiding one another’s eyes.

“look, i-“

“iwa-chan, i’m-“

they both paused for a moment before bursting into laughter, the sound carrying into the hall and throughout the house.

hajime wiped a few stray tears from his eyes, shaking his head at their awkwardness. “you first, shittykawa.”

toorū gasped in halfhearted mock offense before quickly sobering up, training iwaizumi with a completely serious look. “i’m sorry and before you go on some bullshit, self sacrificing rant, you’re not the only one to blame for what happened to our friendship.”

he sighed while making his way to iwaizumi’s bed, sitting down gently beside him. “i should’ve known better, okay? i shouldn’t have let my jealousy and insecurities get in between us but i guess i got swept up in the attention, yknow? meiko is actually charming when she wants to be.”

iwaizumi nodded in agreement, knowing all too well how compelling meiko could be. the room fell into a more comfortable silence as both boys escaped into their thoughts, questions about the future of their friendship flitting throughout their minds.

“oh!” oikawa was pulled out of his own head at hajime’s exclamation, his eyes moving to observe his friend dig through his pockets to procure a thick white envelope. “here. i’d like you to give this yn.”

all toorū could do was nod, his brain short circuiting at the sight of iwaizumi’s apparent kindness to the woman he tormented for so long. “uh, what’s in it?” he ventured to ask, his soft hands toying with the sealed envelope flap.

a soft chuckle came from across the bed. “don’t be so nosy toorū, just give it to her, yeah?” oikawa rolled his eyes but obliged, the bed creaking as he stood to his feet.

“so... this is it, huh?” it was like the reality of the situation was just now sinking in — they hadn’t been close in a while but iwaizumi was still his best friend and he wasn’t quite ready to let him go.

they’d been through so much together, practically growing up together and now, they’d only see each other on holidays, if even then, and then he’d never be invited to hajime’s wedding as his best man as they’d planned and he also wouldn’t be the coolest uncle/godfather of iwa’s children and—

“fuck no,” hajime scoffed with a bright grin on his face. “thought you were gonna annoy me til the end of time shittykawa. don’t tell me you’re quitting your job now.”

the hidden meaning behind iwaizumi’s words brought tears to oikawa’s eyes and before he could stop himself, he launched his body into iwa’s arms. hajime hesitated, his hands stuttering at toorū’s sides as though he’d forgotten how to hug but the feeling passed, his arms winding around his friend’s lithe waist.

“‘m gonna miss you hajime,” oikawa’s voice came out as a broken whimper, his arms tightening around his shoulders.

iwaizumi hummed instead of responding, too afraid of his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. they stood there for a moment but the honk of the moving truck outside signaled the both of them of their limited time.

hurriedly, oikawa wiped the tears off his cheeks before waving awkwardly at iwaizumi as he left the room with a friendly, “don’t be a stranger.”

and then he was gone.

toorū finally allowed himself to collapse into sobs on his best friends empty bed, his palms pressing into his eyes as he sat there and just let himself feel.

apparently, he wasn’t crying very quietly because it took only a few moments for you to find him, your soft footsteps alerting him to your presence. oikawa scrambled to wipe away what he knew was an unattractive mixture of tears and snot as you got closer.

you were one of the last people he wanted to see him like this.

“hey,” you whispered, standing a few feet away from him. “um, i know this is probably a bad time but i just wanted to thank you for apologizing? back at the awards show?”

toorū sniffed as he looked up at you with confusion written on his face. “what? you shouldn’t thank me for apologizing. ‘s common courtesy.”

you laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “well, not always. so, thank you.” finished with your piece and not too keen on lingering where you weren’t wanted, you moved towards the door but were swiftly stopped before you got there.

“um, here. it’s from iwa-chan.” you gaped at the thick envelope oikawa was handing you before taking it and opening it, a low curse falling from your lips.

inside the package was a dense wad of cash, more money than you’d seen in months. accompanied with it was a letter, written in beautifully loopy handwriting.

you shut it quickly before oikawa could see, stuffing the envelope deep within your pocket where you could access it alone in the depths of your room.

“do you wanna come eat? last i heard, bokuto and tsumu were doing a cooking competition and i’m sure it’ll be fun to watch.” you were severely thrown off by the money and letter but you were determined to show toorū that you’d accepted his apology and were on your way to making amends.

he gave you a shy nod and trailed behind you to the kitchen, the loud sounds of fire and screaming coming from down the hall. you wanted to focus on the fun and merriment but the envelope was practically burning a hole in your pocket.

later that night, you finally got the chance to open the letter and read it, your former manager’s words bringing tears to your eyes.

dear yn,

i’m probably the last person you expected to hear from. you probably didn’t want to hear from me at all if i’m being honest and i don’t blame you. i know there is nothing i can say that could make up for what i’ve done to you but i’d like to try.

i’m sorry. those words don’t nearly express in and of themselves how truly remorseful i am but they needed to be said. there’s no excuse for how i treated you — not meiko, not my stress, absolutely nothing.

you deserved my common decency and respect and i didn’t give that to you. instead, i abused my position and made your life hell. i’ll never forgive myself for that.

uh, i bet you’re wondering what the money is? i promise i’m not trying to pay you off, it’s just all the money i’ve denied you since you moved here. i have a lot of wrongs to right and this is one of them.

sorry, i’m not very good with words but i just wanted you to know that i’m very sorry for everything that i’ve done. and i’m in no place to make demands or anything but i just wanted to ask if you’d keep an eye on oikawa for me.

he’s strong but he’s also vulnerable. he might be a pain in my ass but he’s my best friend and since i can’t keep him from drowning, i was wondering if you’d do that - not for me but for him.

anyways, this letter is shit but i suppose you get the gist. use the money for whatever you want and if you’re as unselfish as i’ve heard, you don’t owe me anything. you don’t owe me money, kindness, or forgiveness.

take care of yourself,

iwaizumi hajime

℗ poker face

so... this is it

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - soooo m back :D hopefully this is the last of my mini hiatuses!! this chapter sucked to write but i’m not mad at how it turned out?? pls let me know how i did skjdkd don’t forget to feed me <3333

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the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[smurphyse]

Gutterson the Gossip

Smurph's Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 4 of Death From Above

Warnings: CW: Mentions of child abuse, some ptsd flashbacks, rough sex

The sex scene is told a bit out of order since it's a flashback!

Summary: How *does* Deputy Gutterson spend his weekends? Welp, we find out! And, as Monday rolls around, the new girl arrives!

Tim’s house was a place of comfort. 

It hadn’t always been that way. When he first moved to Lexington after joining the Marshals Service, he had gotten a small apartment downtown, so he’d be close to the courthouse. It was a studio, and he’d left it pretty barebones. White walls, bare mattress on the floor as far away from both the door and the windows as he could get it. 

It took him a few months to realize it was a glorified prison cell.

So, with some urging from the VA shrink and a little help from Rachel -who’d been his training officer when he first arrived- he had found the house he was in now. He spent the last six years making this his little safe house.

His mom would’ve called it his Hobbit Hole , joking about her little hobbit finally finding a place to rest. It made him think of the two of them, curled tightly together as she read to him under a flashlight, leaning up against his dad’s beat up chevy while the crickets and cicadas sang into the night.

Tim hadn’t actually known how to paint a house when he first moved here. He’d had to do some research, which made him feel like an asshole but hey, he’d grown up in a trailer, what did he know about painting houses? Ultimately he decided it was okay to have to learn the basics, that’s how you get your foothold until you know better. 

He’d gone with a rich shade of green, which had earned him a few raised eyebrows from the neighbors, but he didn’t care. He liked it. It reminded him of his mother.

The front porch had sagged deeply in the middle, which the landlord had promised to fix when she had the free time, but Tim didn’t wait for her to do it. Lynette was an older lady, long salt-and-pepper hair and hippie overalls that were hand embroidered with flowers and bees, and he liked her. She insisted he call her Nettie, and brought him cookies when she had the mind to make them. 

Her house was just next door, a bright purple two story with a wrap around porch that also sagged. She had a huge garden that wrapped from the front yard all the way to the back, little stone pathways weaving throughout the plants and foliage. He could look out his kitchen window at just about any time during the day and see her big floppy sun hat bouncing between the stalks of her plants, flannel patches standing out against the sandy colored monstrosity.

Tim decided to fix both their porches himself, completely ripping them out and re-doing them. Nettie had come home from the farmer’s market, netted bags drooping from her skinny arms and an upset look on her face as she laid eyes on the slats of wood and tools tossed around her front stoop. 

When she noticed Tim her gaze had softened, tears flooding her eyes as she saw that he’d already replaced half of the porch in the few hours she’d been gone. He hadn’t known what to do, his back stiff and anxious until she threw her arms around him and squeezed. 

“Well, somebody doesn’t have to pay rent this month!” Nettie blubbered, wiping her nose roughly on her sleeve as she pulled away from him.

Tim shook his head firmly, “No, ma’am, this is just so you don’t have to find someone to do it for you. I’m payin’ that rent.”

Nettie smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners from years of practiced use, “How can I repay you?”

“A glass of lemonade sure would make this worth my while,” he shrugged, dragging his hand across the back of his neck and smiling back.

“I can do that. Easy as breathin’.”

Since then, Tim had found himself on Nettie’s porch more nights than he didn’t. If he got home at a decent time he usually knocked on her door, saying hello and sometimes coming inside to help with one thing or another. One time he’d gotten asked to help tug some string out from her sewing machine, it had been really stuck, and ended up spending three hours getting a sewing lesson and making a set of potholders. They were green with a white flower print, and damn it all to hell if he wasn’t just a little bit proud of them. 

They usually sat on her porch and drank lemonade and bourbon, gossiping about the neighbors or talking about the plants. He helped her weed and harvest on Sundays, and they’d take everything down to her stall at the farmer’s market. Tim would sit behind her on a stool, reading or helping carry stuff while keeping one eye on the customers.

Nettie helped him find some nice furniture from a variety of swap meets and friends of hers. He ended up with a plush yellow couch that was absolutely garish to the eye, but it was usually more comfortable to Tim than his bed. A white armchair with pink and yellow flowers was on one end of the room, back facing the large windows. He had a TV, but he never really watched it, choosing instead to listen to music and read when he had downtime. He only kept it so Nicky and Tim could play Xbox when he and Rachel came over now and then.

The back wall of the living room was stuffed with books and shelves, all full and overflowing at this point. Six years of finally settling in had led Tim to be the type to pick up a variety of knick knacks and just about any book he found. 

His little kitchen had a table and a few mismatched chairs. He picked up cooking a bit, but still had a lot to learn. Nettie would give him a recipe or two a week to try out, fully indulging the good habits he had. She didn’t usually approve of his binge drinking or one-night stands, though she’d told him once that sometimes it was okay to indulge in them, so long as they remained indulgences and not addictions. He was still trying to find that line.

He’d carved out a life for himself in Lexington, and he was happy with it for the most part. Abby breaking up with him had been a blow, but he’d get through it. He settled into his little Hobbit Hole and braced for the emotional crash that would surely come after his night with Hilly, as great as it had been. 

------------------------------------------

The rest of the weekend passed without much incident, though. Tim went through his usual routine- wake up by five am, start the coffee pot, go for a run, drink coffee in the shower and try to relax a bit. Try to keep bourbon out of your coffee mug, you lush.

Around seven Nettie knocked softly on the front door before letting herself in. Tim was in the kitchen, mulling about while trying to figure out what to make for breakfast. 

“Hey, stranger,” Nettie called as she closed the door behind her.

“In the kitchen,” Tim replied.

“Makin’ a mess?” she asked, making her way into the kitchen/dinette area and pulling out a chair for herself.

“What else am I supposed to be doin’ in here?” he smirked, finally deciding on some eggs. He pulled a carton out of the fridge, along with some vegetables and cottage cheese. 

He went about mixing the ingredients together. An ex-girlfriend had actually turned him onto putting a tablespoon or two of cottage cheese in his eggs. He’d been pretty skeptical at first, but after trying it once he was hooked. As he started pouring the mixtures into a pan, Nettie spoke up again.

“You had a house guest last night.”

Tim looked over to where she sat, staring at him expectantly. Had it not been for the bright green overalls and the obnoxiously large plastic daisy pinned into her long hair, he might have described the look she gave him as ‘stern’.

“I did,” he said slowly, trying to choose his words carefully. “Abby broke up with me. I didn’t do anything untoward.”

“I wasn’t implying that you did.”

Tim sighed, feeling a bit defeated and it was only seven a.m., “So, what are you implying?”

“Just making an observation. You didn’t check on me yesterday, so I figured you’d had yourself a day.”

“I did.”

“Do you wanna talk about it, honey?” 

Tim sighed again. He pulled out two plates and piled the scrambled eggs onto them before heading to the table. Nettie took one without complaint, always happy for a free meal.  

“She left me a note.”

“A note?”

“What did it say?” Nettie asked, eyes wide. She was never a huge fan of Abby. Sure, she liked her well enough, she was a sweet girl. But she had cautiously told Tim a few times, after a few drinks, that she thought Abby was too sweet for Tim. He deserved a good girl, but he wasn’t the type to settle for a good girl, he needed a rebel, someone to pull him out of his comfort zone and push him.

“A note.”

Tim shrugged, “I haven’t read it. I don’t really want to. She didn’t even really dump me, just dropped off a box of my stuff and that fuckin’ envelope.”

“I’m sure she just needed the space. She’s a shy girl, I bet bringing the box over was hard enough for her,” Nettie nodded, taking in Tim’s dour expression. 

“She’s scared of me, Nettie, I’m never gonna see her again unless it’s at work.” 

“Honey, she’s not scared of you. You gave her a good fright, I’m sure, but if she was payin’ any attention during your relationship, she’d know you would never do anything to actually hurt her.”

“But I did hurt her, Net.” Tim chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to keep himself from getting too worked up. 

He’d seen Abby, sweet Abby, naked and bruised and it had been because of him. That night, as his mind tore at him in place of a comforting sleep, all he could see was his mother, covered in bruises and hiding with Tim in the woods behind their trailer as his father raged and ranted while he searched for them. 

He couldn’t, he wouldn’t let that happen again. He wouldn’t be like that, so he hadn’t fought to talk to Abby again after that. He said his apologies and then he left, unable to bear her stiff and trembling figure.

She reminded him too much of his mother. He reminded himself too much of his father.

“All you can do is say you’re sorry. You can’t go back and make it so it never happened. You didn’t mean to, sweetie, that’s the difference between you and whatever monster you’ve got rattlin’ around in that head of yours.”

Tim nodded, slowly picking at his eggs, no longer hungry. 

“Do you want me to read it for you?”

Tim smiled at her. He really loved Nettie. 

“No, I’ll read it. I just need a minute.”

“Take your time. It took her almost a month to bring that box over, so you can take a few days to read that note.”

--------------------------------------------

He avoided Abby’s box. 

He spent the rest of Saturday on the couch, trying to read and pretend the box wasn’t sitting on the other end like some awkward house guest that wouldn’t leave. After spending hours with anxiety and guilt swirling around in his stomach, he finally snapped it up and tossed it into the spare bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

As the sun began to set, burnt orange and pink blazing through the front windows and interrupting his now box-free reading haze, he thought of Hilly. 

Her skin was like fire, it engulfed him as her hands reached up to tangle into his hair and pull him closer as he curled around her with his arms. He ran his fingers over the back of her sweater as he pushed her toward the nearest wall, both desperate to pick up their pace. She let out a small moan as her back hit, and Tim, ever the opportunist, snaked his tongue into her mouth.

Her tongue attacked his back, determined to melt Tim from the inside out. His mind wandered to what that tongue, that heat , would feel like wrapped around his cock. He groaned softly at the thought, pushing himself tighter against her, peppering open-mouthed kisses down her neck. 

“God, you feel like you’re on fire,” Tim dragged his teeth lightly against her jugular, smiling when her hips jerked against his. 

Hilly chuckled, her fingers danced under his shirt as she pulled it above his head, tossing it into some dark corner of the living room. He could taste vanilla on her tongue from the bourbon, and with the deep coffee scent of her perfume, Tim felt surrounded by her. He was hot, flush with the feeling of her skin against his, and he wanted more. He wanted to get lost in this, in the feeling of her and her heat. 

Tim had managed to get her to three orgasms last night, though he almost fucking burst after the first one.

As he stood back up, he slid his hand into her jeans, keeping care to stay above her panties, kissing back up her stomach as she cursed quietly above him. He placed another kiss on the hollow of her throat and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs clenching involuntarily as he rubbed her gently through the fabric.

“I’m going to sound off as I pull these orgasms out of you,” he whispered into her ear, tugging on the lobe lightly with his teeth, and she whimpered at the sensation, her fingernails grazing down his back, their naked chests flush against one another. 

He then flipped her against the wall, snaking one hand around her waist, the other dipping into her folds. Her hips bucked again as his fingers slid over her throbbing clit. She was soaked through and Tim’s cock pulsed at the thought of how she would feel wrapped around him. 

She was already coming apart in his hands, her hips shaking as she rested her forehead against the wall, relying on his arm around her waist to hold her up. 

“Tim, Christ ,” she moaned breathlessly, and Tim grinned against her neck as he felt the rush of fluid that coated his fingers, her aching thighs clenching for him.

When her hips ceased their shuddering, Tim mercifully removed his hand from her ruined panties. He flipped her again to face him, her body pliant and limp in his arms as he picked her up.

“One,” he growled, giving her lips a sharp nip before pulling her off the wall.

He had honestly surprised himself. It had been a long time since he’d tossed someone around like that. He and Abby had slept together plenty, but she was very shy and soft, and he couldn’t bring himself to be anything but gentle and slow with her, and she didn’t push him for anything more. 

Hilly had been soft, but she’d also been wild and unapologetic, telling him exactly what she wanted. He gladly gave it to her, and she gladly took it. He had been ready to play, excited and willing to push and shove and give and take, and Hilly had been what he needed. He hoped he’d been what she needed.

Tim had been a bit disappointed that he didn’t even get her phone number, but he knew better than to push a woman like that after she’d given an answer. There was no way she’d gotten all those scars by taking it lying down.

He managed to pull away from her long enough to pull her shirt off of her as well, and she took the moment to run her hand across the large “R” tattooed on his chest, then to a shrapnel scar across the left side of his ribs. 

He trailed hers as well, a silent acknowledgement of his keeping to the terms of their deal so she wouldn’t ask him about his scars either. He ignored the small tattoo heart over the left side of her chest, Frank scrawled across the unfurling banner. Whoever Frank was, he probably was the one who marked her, and Tim didn’t want to think about that.

The scar on her chest was definitely surgical, dipping down between her breasts to the base of her sternum. She had a few scars spattered across her side like he did. They even looked the same as his; which were the result of the splinters of a humvee door as it exploded while he was inside it. 

She was littered with scars. She had more that ripped over her left shoulder and down her bicep, tendriling to the back of her hand. He didn’t think he’d ever met someone who had more battle scars than him. He wondered if she served, but bit his tongue. 

She eyed him cautiously, and he felt her hesitation, ready to leave if he pushed her in a way that wasn’t against a wall. 

He leaned back down, placing a firm kiss on her lips, and felt the greediness return from her. He laced a hand into her thick curls and gave a small tug as her hands went for the belt of his jeans. 

She gave a small moan, her hips bucking up into him primally, her nails grazing his stomach as her fingers clenched around his waistband. It ignited him, and he snapped the clasp of her bra, pulling it off her hungrily and throwing it behind him. 

He let out a small groan of satisfaction at the sight of her breasts, her nipples were pierced with dainty gold bars. He ran his hands over them lightly, giving one an experimental tug. Her hips jerked forward again. 

“Don’t tease me, Tim,” she warned, her eyes hungry and dark. He leaned forward, catching her bottom lip between his teeth as he gave another soft tug to her nipple, and she bit his back in return.

Yeah… he’d definitely gotten enough last night to store in his spank bank for a while, Hilly’s phone number be damned.

It was the end of October, so he and Nettie spent their Sunday getting the plants ready for winter. It was hard work, and he did most of it, sneakily coaxing Nettie into a lawn chair every chance he got, distracting her with questions about her childhood as an army brat coasting around the world.

It had been a nice weekend, and the anxiety he’d expected from punching Delano had mostly dissipated until Sunday evening. Fuckin’ Delano. Art would probably understand, but he’d yell at Tim for a bit before backing off. 

He still hadn’t read Abby’s letter.

He was first in the office, as per usual. Tim preferred it that way, enjoyed mulling about the room while making coffee and listening to a good radio station. Nelson usually changed it when he got in, always to a shitty country channel with hosts Tim couldn’t stand. He liked the classic rock station better.

He sat down at his desk, setting his coffee down and unlocking his computer. As he waited for the ungodly slow system to log in, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. 

He’d had a pretty bad nightmare the night before, no doubt brought on by the weight in his gut dreading seeing Art today and the special moonshine Nettie brought out when she thought he might be having a bad day. He’d had a bit more than he meant to, slurrily gossiping with her about Mrs. Johnson across the street, who was definitely sleeping with the mailman while her husband was at work. Thing was, the mailman was a good thirty years younger than Mrs. Johnson. Tim and Nettie did not approve.

The nightmare he’d had was just another memory, blurred and stilted by paranoia and panic from his current life. 

Mark’s leg turned inside out, acrid smoke burning his nostrils. He can’t close his ears to the screaming. It just won’t stop. His heart’s about to burst out of his chest and he can feel something hot dripping down the inside of his pant leg. Blood? Piss? He didn’t know. The sand moved under him like a wave as he caught a glimpse of Abby before everything went black.

Wait. Abby?

“I’m looking for Chief Deputy Mullen.” A voice startled him out of his memory, his body jerking forward defensively, hands going for his holster. 

It was a woman, standing in front of his desk and looking toward Art’s office. A damn familiar woman. He could only see the right side of her face, her dark eyes taking in the clutter of the chief’s home away from home. Her hair was wild, curly, big and long, landing halfway down her back. A black backpack was slung over one shoulder. Without seeing that scar on the other side of her face, he knew exactly who she was. 

Hilly.

He glanced at the clock, 6:36 am, and back toward her. Clearly she hadn’t really looked at him or she might recognize him. “He doesn’t get in until seven, usually. Can I help you?”

She turned toward him, jaw clenched tightly and her eyes unexpressive. No recognition passed over her face as she stared at Tim, and he felt his stomach sink. Just a little.

Her eyes made him want to turn away, but he held his ground, taking a sip of his coffee and staring right back. 

Two can play at this game, darlin’.  

The corner of her lip twitched up into a smile, and she spoke again.

“Asbestos mouth.”

“That’s what they call people who drink coffee piping hot.”

Tim put down his cup, “Excuse me?”

He nodded, “That’s the best way to drink it.”

“I agree.”

“Did you wanna wait for Art? If you want I can take your name and number and he’ll get back to you.” Tim pulled a pad from under a stack of papers and held it toward her. She stared at it for a second, then back to him, not moving. 

“I’m Helen O’Malley. I’m supposed to begin work here today.” 

Fuck. Me.

Art was going to fucking kill him.

She thrust her hand over the notepad. Tim looked down at it, noticing more scars he hadn’t noticed Friday night. These looked like they were from busted knuckles and the like. Past them he noticed ink and paint stains.

“Do you not shake hands?” she asked, pulling back a bit. As though they hadn’t fucked like rabbits a few days ago. As if she didn’t have bruises on her hips from his fingertips. As if his back didn’t still ache from her nails. As if he didn’t know she had a large mottled scar wrapping across her left thigh. As though he didn’t know all of these things. 

Hilly broke the kiss, ragged and panting while Tim went to work on her neck and chest, sucking deep bruises along the olive skin as he went. Untangling his fingers from her hair, he cupped one of her breasts, tugging on her nipple as he latched on to the other. Her back arched sharply, gasping as he took her into his mouth.

His tongue swirled around the hardening bud, Hilly writhing beneath him as curses flew past her lips. He grazed his teeth against her nipple as his other hand began tugging down her panties. 

He trailed a finger down her slit, wrapping his hand around the crook of her thigh and giving it a squeeze. She whimpered above him, thighs clenching in anticipation as he teased her, tracing circles along the inside of her thighs. 

“Tim,” she moaned, lacing her fingers into his hair pulling him closer as he moved his tongue from one nipple to the other, giving her the same treatment. “Please.”

“Please what?” He grinned, placing an open mouth kiss between her breasts. She groaned underneath him, tugging tightly on his hair.

“Please make me come,” she begged.

Tim stood, dropping the notepad on his desk and stuck out his hand to meet hers, grasping it firmly. No limp-wristing it just because she was a woman. In fact, he made a point to squeeze just a little too hard in retaliation for her pretending not to know him.

She held his grip firm, gaze unyielding and uncompromising. It gave no indication that she recognized him except for the small smirk set on her face. Like she knew something he didn’t, except they both knew. They both knew what the other looked like naked, they both knew what the other sounded like when they came. It was too much to know about your coworker, especially when you knew nothing else about them.

He was painfully aware of the fact that he had not let go of her hand. To be fair, she hadn’t let go of his either. It was burning hot. Fuck. 

She smiled at him, and he shook it one more time before letting go. She leaned back a bit to look at his nameplate. She’s playing a long game. Fine. I’ll still play.  

“Well, Deputy Gutterson, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too. Call me Tim.”

“Call me Hilly,” she nodded, glancing around the room, noting the empty desks, “Where is everyone?”

“Most people don’t get here until eight, nine.”

“Since Ranger school I haven’t slept past six thirty, so I’m usually here early too. Most of the Marshals here haven’t been in the service, and it’s not as busy as other districts, so they come in later.”

She made a face, “I can’t sleep past five. I’m usually at work around six. Doesn’t eight seem a bit late in the day?”

She nodded again, ignoring his Ranger comment. Most people’s eyes lit up at the mention of it, and he was quietly relieved not to have to talk about it after last night’s nightmare. 

“My last office didn’t have many either, so I was always first to arrive.”

“You serve?”

“No, not in the way that you did, Tim.” She shook her head and looked around again, always keeping her front to him, hand on her hip, near her holster. “Where is my desk?”

Tim pointed to the empty desk across from him, which was directly across from Raylan’s, and would give them all the opportunity to ogle the new girl without having to crane their necks. Nelson had offered to move, but Raylan and Tim had staunchly objected, hoping the new girl would be a nice view to have.

And she was, scars and all. Her olive skin and dark eyes were warm as syrup. Had it not been for the mottled scar and steel-backed gaze, Tim probably would have assumed she was too soft to be a Marshal. Maybe she was once.

Hilly didn’t look like a typical Marshal.  She wore dark jeans with her light-weight sweater and cheetah printed sneakers. Her hair was huge, curls poking out and pointing in all directions, and she pushed it out of her way and over one shoulder as she sat down at her new desk, looking through the drawers and adjusting her chair.

“Are you going anywhere today?” she asked, fidgeting with some of the knick knacks she’d placed on the desk. “If so, I’d like to come along, learn more about the area. If that’s alright.”

Maybe she really didn’t recognize him. Tim hated to admit it, but if that was the case then he was nowhere near as good in bed as he’d assumed he was. He had plenty of proof, he thought, having left behind a fair sized trail of satisfied bed partners along the way, even if they weren’t satisfied with the relationship.

“I’ve got some plans to head down to Harlan County and look for a fugitive. It’s more Raylan’s territory but because of him we’re all down there every other week for some bullshit reason or another.”

“Raylan?” she laughed and shook her head.

“Givens. He’s another deputy.”

“I figured. I forgot what names were like in this part of the country. It’s been awhile,” she chuckled again, pulling a coffee cup out of her bag and heading toward the coffee maker on the other side of the room.

Tim took another sip of his own coffee, a little annoyed she got so much enjoyment out of Raylan’s name. He watched her as she walked, admiring her shape, annoyance replaced by smug satisfaction that he knew what she looked like underneath those jeans. She was thin and curvy, well muscled and very short, probably only five foot three at most. He could see a tattoo on the back of her neck. A black-lined pair of eyes, full of rage and glaring back at him.

She filled her cup and came back to her desk, raking a hand through her big curls again. She leaned back and looked at him. “What?”

“You really don’t recognize me?”

The faintest sliver of a smile played across her full lips, and Tim’s eyes narrowed in response. 

“You sound like you’re from Northwest Georgia.”

Tim blinked in surprise. Nobody ever guessed that. They all figured he was from Kentucky or Tennessee. He grew up right next to the Tennessee border, which meant he might as well have grown up in Tennessee, but the distinction was a point of pride where he grew up.

Her accent was gone again, hidden again underneath a completely average and plain American one. She must hide it when she has the mind to. The only times he’d really noticed it was after two bourbons, when she was sleepy, and when she came.

“You guessed right. Outside of Chickamauga, right across the border from Chattanooga, Tennessee.” He paused for a moment, biting on the clicker of his pen, “You didn’t answer my question.”

She continued to stare at him. If it wasn’t the same move he often pulled, he would feel awkward staring back. She never faltered, her gaze steady and full of steel, that small smile on her face.

“Well, you’re early, Deputy O’Malley. I figured you west coast people liked to wake up late,” Art cracked as he walked in through the double glass doors. 

“Good thing I’m not a west coast girl, Chief,” she threw back at him, not missing a beat. 

Art nodded in appreciation as he walked to the door of his office, “It seems you met Deputy Gutterson.” 

He threw a warning glance at Tim over his shoulder, a quick reminder of their conversation the previous week. No sleeping with the new girl. Tim nodded back, bringing his hands up in subjugation, like he hadn’t already broken that rule without meaning to. 

Hilly looked between the two for a moment, still leaning back in her chair, “He’s every bit as charming as you said he would be. I take it he’s not the one with the cowboy hat?” 

“That would be Raylan Givens, resident asshole and semi-qualified Lawman,” Art glowered, propping his door open with his foot and motioning for her to follow him. 

“Ah, should’ve guessed, name like that,” Hilly chuckled again at Raylan’s name, standing up from her desk and catching Tim’s eye as she passed, “Sounds like a Lawman’s name, I’ll decide for myself if he’s an asshole when I meet him.” 

She stepped into Art’s office and sat down in one of the chairs. Art followed, but not before he gave Tim a withering glare, yet another warning not to sleep with the new girl, which was unfortunate because he already had. Tim just smiled back slowly, trying to keep from watching the two as they chatted in Art’s office. 

Tim wanted to keep watching. He had a great view of her from his chair. From the side and slightly toward the back of her, he could see as she flipped her mass of curls over her shoulder, the slender curve of her neck to her stretched ears, a silver pair of earrings he could see through, small pearls decorated the piercing right next to them. He could also see those angry eyes staring back at him, no doubt a warning of Hilly’s to stay away.

How did a girl covered in scars with stretched ears become a U.S. Deputy Marshal? And a Feeb before that? He supposed she could have gotten the scars on the job, that would make sense, though how she could have gotten them was a wonder. 

“You serve?”

“No, not in the way that you did, Tim.”

What the hell did that mean? 

Maybe she spent time in the Middle East. That would mean she’d worked in Intelligence, or maybe even PsyOps. There was no way they’d let a girl with those ears and scars take part in interrogation in Afghanistan or Iraq. The men wouldn’t talk to her for being a woman, and no woman would speak to her with scars like that, period. 

Rachel was the next to come in, her purse in one hand, bag of bagels in the other. She set her stuff down and headed over to him, opening the bag as she approached. Tim took his bagel out of the bag, pointing at Art’s office as he did so. Art made eye contact with Rachel and gave a small wave, causing Hilly to turn toward them. 

Tim gave a small wave back as Rachel did. Hilly gave an uncomfortable smile and turned back to Art, continuing whatever they were talking about. 

“Jesus, now I know why they don’t have a picture of her in her file,” Rachel whispered, sitting down in the second seat next to his desk. She took out her bagel and started to open the cream cheese spread, “but damn if she still doesn't look cute as hell with her face all ripped up.” 

“You planning on going for that?” Tim asked playfully, dipping his finger in the cream cheese. Rachel slapped his arm back and gave a small joking growl. He should know better than to mess with her before she eats breakfast. 

“Please, we know if I go for any girl I’m gonna get her, unlike you and Deputy Dipshit,” Rachel laughed, turning the handle of Tim’s coffee mug around, picking it up and taking a sip. “Besides, Art said nobody can sleep with her.” 

“And we all do what Art tells us to,” Tim muttered, taking his coffee back from her. 

“You will, if you know what’s good for you. Plus, a girl that looks like that, beautiful and cut up all to hell, she’s been through some shit that you don’t want any part of. She probably has no intention of dating another person ever again. Her ex is probably the one that did that to her.” 

“That’s what I figured. You gotta hate someone to do that to their face, I’d think.” 

“Do what to whose face?” Raylan asked as he walked up to the desks, sipping out of a paper coffee cup. Tim figured he probably had a nip or two of bourbon in there. 

“New girl has landed,” Rachel nods her head toward Art’s office. 

Raylan craned his neck toward the door, only to meet Art’s glowering gaze. He tipped his coffee toward his Chief, then turned back to Rachel and Tim. 

“She looks cute enough from behind. Definitely young, but I wouldn’t call her too young , per se.” He winked at Tim, who shook his head back in response. 

“Trust me, it’s territory you do not want to enter.” 

“Why?” Raylan asked, “She crazy? Hair like that she’s gotta be wild. Whether it’s good or bad crazy is yet to be decided. You can’t have talked to her that much already.”

Tim throws his hands up in an “I don’t know” gesture. Let Raylan figure that out for himself. He didn’t think Hilly would like Raylan’s nature all that much from what he’d seen of her demeanor. Or at least, he hoped she wouldn’t like him.

Raylan quickly turned back to his desk and sat down, pretending to be distracted by his computer as Hilly and Art stepped out of the office. They walked toward the middle of the bullpen before Art introduced her to Rachel and Raylan. 

“Rachel Brooks, Raylan Givens, this is Hilly O’Malley, our newest transfer.” Rachel stood up and stuck out her hand toward Hilly, who took it firmly as she had Tim’s.

“I look forward to working with you,” Rachel smiled, all southern charm, as always. 

“You as well,” Hilly smiled back, pointing her other hand toward Rachel’s earrings. “Those are gorgeous, I have a similar pair but they’re emeralds.”

Rachel instinctively went to her ear with her free hand, the other still clasped in Hilly’s. That seemed to be a power move Hilly used, not being the first to let go, the first to say Uncle. 

“Thank you, they were a gift from Tim for my birthday last year.” 

“Well it’s good to know the people here give good gifts, I might have to actually tell people when my birthday is,” Hilly chuckled.

Rachel finally released Hilly’s hand, flexing it a bit as she stuck it in her pocket. “Yeah, I noticed that wasn’t in your file. There’s not much of anything in there, actually.” 

“I did a lot of work for the DOJ and State Department, as well as Homeland, so most of my information is classified since some of those cases are still open.” 

Rachel nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answer. She excused herself and went back to her desk, forgetting her bagel at Tim’s, which he quickly took a bite out of before she claimed it. 

Raylan stood up from his desk and walked toward Hilly, sticking out his hand as he reached her. She turned toward him, finally letting him see the scarring on the left side of her face and chest. Raylan stopped in his tracks and pulled his hand back. 

“My goodness , darlin’, what the hell happened to you?”

“Raylan,” Art warned, taking a step between the two younger Marshals. Tim instinctively rose from his seat at Art’s tone.

“It’s okay, Chief, it’s not the worst reaction I’ve gotten,” Hilly let out a chuckle and reached her hand out toward Raylan, a peace offering. 

He didn’t take it, of course, “Make a lot of kids cry, do ya?” Another growl from Art.

“Oh yeah, a lot of them point and yell, ‘Monster!’ when they see me, actually,” she said calmly, not backing down from the challenge, her hand still in the empty space between them. “I’m sure they do the same to you, face like that and all.” 

Raylan smiled wolfishly, making Tim’s skin prickle. Asshole . Raylan clasped Hilly’s hand, shaking it twice before letting it go. “That’s what the hat’s for, to hide my disfigurement and all.” 

“Makes sense. I’d hide in shame, too, if I looked like that.” She turned to Art, who was still glaring at Raylan, “I asked Deputy Gutterson to take me on a ride-along today, to get to know the area. Is that okay with you, Chief?” 

Art looked to Tim again with a glare that almost caused him to sit down in defeat, then back at the new girl, who looked expectantly at him. Tim wanted to get out of there before Art had a chance to check his messages. He didn’t really want to be yelled at in front of Hilly.

Art nodded, “Sure, why not? Just so long as you don’t cause any international incidents on your first day.” 

“I’ll do my best, sir,” she grinned, then headed back to her desk for her bag. Art turned on his heel and went back into his office, pointedly shutting the door behind him.

Raylan followed her back to her desk, “You know, I actually grew up ‘round here. I think I might be a touch better at showing you around town.” 

Hilly looked at him, her hand on her hip, “Right, but I asked Tim to show me around. Early bird gets the worm and all. I know you all wanna get a chance to see what the new girl can do. If I got these scars doing my job well, or if I’m a total fuckup, going from the Feds to the Marshals Service.” 

She took a step toward Raylan, intimidating with her small, muscled frame compared to his lanky one. “I can promise you, I’m here because I wanna be here. I chose this assignment. As for the scars, you should see what I did to the guy who gave them to me.” She looked around Raylan, who stood speechless, to Tim. “You ready to show me the ropes, Ranger?” 

“Yeah, how did you get those?” Raylan asked as she walked away from him, a layer of annoyance in his voice, “Get caught in a fishing line?”

Hilly turned and gave him another smile, “Something like that.” 

“Looks like it hurt.” 

“I’ve had worse.” 

They stared at one another for a long moment. Hilly’s amused gaze meeting Raylan’s frustrated one. Finally, Raylan tipped his hat to her and went back to his desk, seemingly satisfied with his button pushing. She hadn’t budged like he expected her to.

She turned back to Tim again, nodding her head toward the office doors. He walked around his desk, throwing a look at Raylan as he followed out the new Marshal. Rachel chuckled at her desk, watching Raylan sulk in his chair, his cowboy hat turned down to hide his face.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Notes:

You guys weren't surprised that the new girl was Hilly, right? I don't think I was sneaky about that.

Do you like Nettie? I love her.

And what do we feel about learning more of Tim's childhood? I've had quite a few headcanons swirling around in this angsty brain for a while, tbh!

[greensaplinggrace]

honestly THANK YOU for saying all that abt baghra bc i thought i was going crazy from not liking her??? bc i haven't read the books and only summaries of them on wiki and like. i dunno why ppl like her actually even in the show bc this guy, her son, is like "i wanna make the world better for us grisha" and she's just like "no." even tho he sees that she's MAKING HERSELF SICK from suppressing her powers! she's literally like in bed coughing in the flashback yet seem much healthier at the little palace. also like after everything, after her disapproval, after the fold, after centuries of waiting for the sun summoner.. he never abandons her. he makes sure she's cares for. he doesn't harm her. and i have to wonder if baghra has ever thanks him for that, for just not leaving her alone. like i dunno how im suppose ro believe aleks is a heartless villain when he still cares for his abusive mom like this. like has baghra even told her she loved him (honestly she reminds me of a classic emotionally unavailable asian parent but maybe that's just me). also im wondering if baghra ever told aleks that he had an aunt.. bc like.. now that u bring up her isolating him it's like hmmmm...

not at me being like alina... why do u trust the bitter old woman who literally beats u with a stick and verbally abuses u every chance she gets.. just bc she showed a bad painting... like.. pls use two braincells to see that who u figured out as his mother... is also using his protection..

like baghra could've upped and left with alina. but no. she stayed bc she knew she was safe under aleks's protection.

alsoim just impressed that after his first friend tried to drown him and harvest his bones... he didn't go into hiding???? he still wanted to make a safe heaven for grisha!!! HE STILL WANTED TO PROTECT GRISHA EVEN AFTER HIS GRISHA FRIEND TRIED TO KILL HIM FOR HIS FUCKEN BONES. like... this is the guy im suppose to believe is the villain???

honestly i feel like part of the reason why LB's plotlines seem so bad and disconnected (and sometimes outright racist but that's another rant) and why darkles is disproportionately more violent and villainous in the later books is bc she didn't expect the darkling to be so popular and wanted to stick with her guns of making him the villain. but also wanted the money from aleks's popularity. but like you can't have ur cake and eat it too.

Well thank you for sending this ask! It's very sweet and very passionate. I'm glad you liked my post! I didn't put as much thought into it as some of my others lol. I kind of just talked. But it was nice to be able to finally talk about some of the problems I have with both her character and the fandom/author's perception of her.

HERE is the post this is referring to, in case anyone's wondering.

👀👀 You've hit the nail on the head for so many things, here!

Baghra is extremely emotionally unavailable, basically to the point of neglect. She's also verbally and physically abusive, traits which I doubt were only reserved for her students and not her son. Baghra claims she would do anything to protect him, but I've known a lot of parents who have that mindset and yet still harm their children because they think it's "good for them".

Aleksander stays at Baghra's side for years, and even when they're opposing each other she's never too far away from him. Idk if you've read the books but he does eventually hurt her. And as much as I don't like Baghra, I think his actions were horrid. But I'm also honestly kind of surprised it took him so long lmao.

Yeah I mean, in terms of isolation, let's not forget that she never wanted to introduce him to his father, either. Baghra's sense of eternity clouds a lot of her judgments on relationships, which means she views most people as dust and therefore teaches her son to as well. The problem with that is that he's a growing child, and he needs those social and emotional attachments for healthy development.

I would bet quite a bit of money that Baghra has either never told him she loves him or she has told him so few times it's practically forgettable.

And everything becomes more complicated because so many of Baghra's actions are understandable because of her life and her history, but the impacts they have on the people around her, especially Aleksander, are permanently damaging. And the fact that that's never gone over in critical depth in the books or how it's glossed over in fandom is just very disconcerting. Like, acknowledging Baghra's failings doesn't mean we're excusing Aleksander's actions, it just means we're holding Baghra liable for her own. Which the fandom should be doing, considering she's the epitome of an abusive parental figure.

And Alina trusting Baghra over Aleksander is even more confusing! Especially in the show!! This is the woman who beat her and abused her and tortured her friends when they tiny little children (and who probably still does so now that they're adults). This is the woman who mocks you and harasses you and insults you on a regular basis. Why does Baghra revealing she's Aleksander's mother make Alina change her mind?! Like fuck, I'd just feel bad for Aleksander. No wonder he kept it a secret, I would too! And that painting is enough evidence?! Really?! A random painting shown to you by this abusive mentor that's been making your life hell. That's what you're going to betray your new lover over?

The friends trying to harvest his bones thing is a good point, too. I think Aleksander, especially show Aleksander, is incredibly idealistic. I think he cares too much for others - those he's deemed worth his care (a sentiment given to him by Baghra). Despite everything she's tried to teach him about hiding and abandoning others and never caring and never doing anything to help or reach out or connect with people, Aleksander still continues to do so. It's likely because he never got it from Baghra growing up, and so is desperate for those emotional needs to be fulfilled elsewhere.

His turning point, when Baghra tells him it was understandable that those kids tried to kill him because the world is such a hard place for them - that's crucial. And the reason it's possible as a motivating factor is because of that idealism and that desire to help and that desire to be everything his mother isn't. Baghra tells him this trauma he just experienced was because of the oppression of his people, and instead of following her lead and accepting that, going into hiding and abandoning everybody to their misery, he goes I can do something about that. I can make it so this never happens again. Which is usually how trauma like that combines with one's core personality traits at a young age, especially when there's none of the essential support systems in place to aid in recovery (ie, the role Baghra should have been filling but wasn't, because she decided to exacerbate the problem instead).

And yeah, one of my biggest problems with the ham-fisted "beating you over the head with a sledgehammer of evil deeds" look-how-bad-this-character-is! portrayal of the Darkling in the later books comes from the impression I get that Bardugo doesn't trust her readers. She's so desperate to have us hate this character and think him an irredeemable villain, not trusting any of her readers to engage critically with a morally gray character, that it feels quite a bit like condescending fucking bullshit. Which ew, I know how to engage with literature, thanks.

She really does seem to look down on a large part of her fandom, and imo, the infantilization of the female characters in her books seems to carry over to her impression of most of her female readers as well. Which is why the Darkling's character arc gets fucking destroyed. But he's still a good cash grab, of course, so she'll shake his dead corpse in front of the fandom for money every time she wants something from it.

Also! Another reason I think her plotlines feel disconnected (I'm sorry Bardugo I respect you as a person, but shit-) is because the writing in SaB is just bad. I mean, nevermind the absolutely nauseating implications of the way she portrays the Grisha as a persecuted group who's situation is never actually fully addressed as it should be, considering Grisha rights is what her main villain is fighting for (imo for a series called the Grishaverse, LB seems to be pretty anti Grisha), but her characters and story alone are just wrong for each other. They don't fit together.

And the ending is one of the main pieces of evidence in that regard! You can’t say the ending where Alina isn’t Grisha anymore is her “going back to where she started” when she’s always been Grisha. She just didn’t know she was Grisha because she denied that part of herself that she was born with.

Alina is reluctant to move forward or change, she struggles with adapting, and she’s very set on the things she’s grown attached to throughout her life. She also has some latent prejudices against the Grisha, and so denies the possibility of being Grisha for those reasons as well.

Alina’s lack of powers in the beginning of her life because she willfully doesn’t learn about them to avoid change versus her lack of powers at the end of the book when she’s accepted them and then they’re stripped away from her by outer forces are two entirely separate circumstances. You can’t make a parallel about lost powers and lack of Grisha status bringing her back to the start when she was always Grisha and she always had powers and she simply refused to come to terms with it because of personal reasons.

The first situation is an internal conflict that indicates a story about growth and a journey of self acceptance. Denying herself the opportunity to learn about her heritage and to find acceptance with a group of people like her because she’s tied to the past and because of the way she was raised is the setup for a narrative that tackles unlearning prejudice and learning how to connect with a part of her identity that was denied her and learning how to grow independent and self assured. It’s the setup for a different story entirely. The second situation is an external conflict that centers around the ‘corrupting influence of power’... for some reason.

In a world where Grisha do not have social, political, or economic power and they are hunted, centering your heroine’s journey of self acceptance and growth around an external conflict about... the corrupting influence of power (in a group of people that don’t actually have any power?!) just doesn’t work. It is literally impossible to connect the two stories Bardugo is trying to push in Shadow and Bone without seriously damaging the main character’s developmental arc.

The only way a narrative like this would work, claiming that she has gone back to where she started, is either a) if the Grisha weren’t actually a persecuted group and instead were apart of the upper class, or b) if the one bad connection between the two instances is acknowledged - that Alina denied a part of herself crucial to self acceptance and growing up, and that losing her powers at the end has also denied her. It is a tragedy, not a happy ending.

Alina suffered because she didn’t use her powers. She grew sick. It was bad for her. This was not a resistance to 'the corruption of power and the burden of greed', it was her suffering because she couldn’t fully accept herself.

Framing the ending as a return to the beginning can’t be done if you don’t address how bad the beginning was for your main character. You brought her back to a bad point in her life. You regressed her. This should be a low point in her arc. It should be a problem that’s solved so she can finish developing organically or it should be something that is acknowledged as a tragedy in it’s own right, for the future the world (the writing) denied her.

This is a ramble and it makes no sense and I’m really sorry, but my point is that Bardugo put the wrong characters in the wrong story. The character arc required for organic development doesn’t match the story and intended message at all. The narrative doesn’t fit the cast. She's got two clashing stories attempting to work in tandem and she ends up with both conflicting messages that fans still can’t comprehend in her writing and an ending that doesn’t suit her main character to such an impossible degree that it’s almost laughable.

So yeah, there's a few reasons why I think the story and the plot feels so bad and disconnected. I hope you don't mind me making this answer so long! 😅 I was not expecting to write this much.