#and he longs to fit in an environment that does nothing but hurt him

[skellowmare]

azula will never cease to fascinate me and make my heart clench. being so much smarter and more skilled than anybody around you that it makes you aspire to impossible levels of perfection. having your own mother think you are a monster and that there is something wrong with you. yes she might have grown to be just as bad or worse than her father but she was still only a child. how would any of that not make you go insane

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two

Fish guy is actually pretty much the same height as Steve when they’re sitting next to each other on the edge of the pool. Steve finally gave in, the heat of the day getting too much, and is trailing his feet in the water – fish guy doesn’t seem to care, but Steve still made sure to shower before he came out here. Next to Steve’s feet, the flat point of fish guys tail is also swirling in the water.

Fish guy loves pears. Steve’s sure they’re his new absolute favorite thing, and Steve’s watched him demolish six, cores and stalks and all, one right after the other.

He’s licking sticky juice from his fingers. Steve can’t see his eyes behind the shades; but he’s certain fish guy is watching him. Probably waiting to see if Steve will produce more food; fish guy has developed a hearty appetite, and he hasn’t put on much weight yet, but he’s not exactly what Steve would call emaciated either. A little over a week of regular food is obviously helping.

“Okay,” Steve sips on his beer, the points to himself, “Steve.”

“Steeee,” fish guy readily replies, nodding. Steve has no idea how or when he picked up the nodding and head shaking, but he uses both correctly, as far as Steve can tell, so Steve doesn’t argue.

Steve points at fish guy. Nothing, then a curious head tilt.

Steve’s starting to come to the conclusion that maybe fish guy just doesn’t have a name. Which, okay, Steve can kind of see that. He vaguely wonders if fish guy has any family; if he’d even want to go back to the Upside Down.

“Right. Should probably name you something vaguely fish related, no? Should we stay on brand?” Fish guy cocks his head the other way, like a bird. They’ve been sat here long enough that the sun has started to dry the ropey mess of hair that fish guy has; it gone kind of curly now, pinging up as it dries.

Steve really wants to comb it out, but he has no idea how fish guy will react; they’ve only just made it to sitting next to each other. Steve’s vaguely aware that combing someone else's hair is a bit...familiar, but he figures fish guy is kind of in his care or whatever.

Maybe they could build up to it.

“Fish,” Steve muses vaguely to himself, “fishing? Scales? Tails? Fishing, fisher? Fisher, Eddie, Eddie Fisher, that singer guy Mom really likes. What do you think, how does Eddie sound? Good as anything, right?”

Steve has no idea what’s going on behind the sunglasses, but fish guys head keeps cocking curiously to the side. Steve points to himself, “Steve.”

Fish guy, replies, “Steeee,” as expected, nodding.

Steve points to fish guy, and says, “Eddie.”

Fish guy points to himself cautiously, and quietly volunteers, “Edidie?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, nodding, “near enough, man. Eddie. Sounds good.”

“Good,” Eddie replies, startling Steve a bit because it’s clear as a bell.

“That’s right, good. Eddie.”

Eddie, very slowly so Steve can clearly see what he’s doing, reaches for Steve’s beer bottle. Steve’s instinct is to take it away, what if it’s poisonous or something? But then he figures Eddie’s been pretty clear about rejecting stuff so far if he doesn’t want it; plus he lived in the Upside Down for, presumably, years. If he can survive in a toxic environment like that, then surely a sip of beer won’t hurt him.

Eddie’s funny as he lifts it, sniffing cautiously before he works out the mechanics of fitting his lips around the neck of the bottle. He drinks. Seems to ponder it for a moment, and then drinks again, giving the bottle a mournful little shake when he realizes it’s empty. There wasn’t much left anyway; Steve figures he’ll be okay.

“Good,” Eddie says as he hands the bottle back, “inied.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “finished.”

“Why do you think he doesn’t have any gills?”

“You are definitely asking the wrong person here Robs,” Steve scatters another handful of peas into the water, watching as Eddie bobs along, collecting them one at a time and popping them into his mouth, “ask Dustin. He’ll produce a book. There’s literally always a book.”

“I don’t want to ask Dustin, he’ll actually try and explain it to me...I’d rather speculate emptily.”

“You do love a bit of empty speculation.”

Robin nods in agreement, “so, no gills, what do you think?”

“I think…” Steve ponders for a few seconds, filling up the dog bowl with the rest of the peas and floating that on the water, “that he can’t actually breathe underwater. He can just hold his breath for a fucking long time.”

“Nah. Boring. Plausible. Logical. Could be correct. I need something wild Steven.”

Steve thinks, but he doesn’t have much of an imagination, not like the kids or Robin. Clever people have good imaginations; Steve’s not one of them. But he does remember hearing something about bugs one time, “he breathes through his skin.”

“Fucking rad.”

“You have been spending way too much time with Argyle.”

“He has the good stuff Steve, supply and demand,” she says shrugging, and then, “why, you jealous?”

Steve huffs, rolling his eyes. Because no, of course he isn’t. Much. Maybe a tiny bit. But that’s okay, Robin should have other friends and stuff he guesses. She pokes him in the ribs and he flaps at her.

It just encourages her, obviously, so he tries to ignore her which just makes her ten times worse. She pokes more, and she just knows him too well, goes for his ticklish ribs and before Steve knows what’s happening he’s on his side, trying to curl up to get away, begging for mercy and shrieking with laughter, Robin hollering “admit your jealousy Steven. Say uncle! Say iiiiiiiiiit!!”

Robin disappears suddenly with a splash and yelp. She scrambles on the grass, trying to right herself from where she was shoved, Eddie suddenly flopped half on top of Steve, his tail twisting around Steve’s middle. Robin scrambles back a few more paces, Eddie’s arms locked at the elbow to hold his torso up off the ground as far as he can, claws raking into the grass.

He’s completely silent, and Steve, shocked, just sits for a moment, looking at the back of Eddie’s soaking head. The water’s dripping from his hair in rivulets down his pale back, his shoulder blades standing out sharply, the knobs of his spine visible where his back is held in a sharp arch.

He’s puffed up like an angry cat, Steve thinks absently.

He makes eye contact with Robin over Eddie’s shoulder, and she raises her eyebrows just a teeny tiny bit, ‘what the fuck?’

Steve shrugs, ‘I don’t know.’ Then tilts his head to the house a little, ‘give us a minute.’

Robin frowns spectacularly, ‘I’m not leaving you alone with the crazy fish guy’ or words to that effect, Steve guesses.

He nods toward the house again, trying to give his best, ‘I’ll be fine,’ vibes.

She looks hugely doubtful, but does move away, all slow and careful. Eddie hand walks to keep himself between between Steve and Robin, his tail clenching around Steve as he does.

“Eddie,” Steve’s hand hovers in the air for a few seconds before he bites the bullet and lets his hand rest on Eddie’s tail. It’s surprisingly smooth. Not soft exactly, but not hard. Doesn’t even feel scaly really, just smooth and warm it doesn’t look scaly either, now that Steve can have a close up look. It’s just...black. Matt black.

Actually now that he’s here, there are some funny little slits toward the tippy bit, they kind of look like they could be openings, but he doesn’t have time to investigate because Robin’s gone, so Eddie turns to him.

Steve has no clue what to say as Eddie’s tail slowly unwraps from his middle, “Eddie,” he starts, as Eddie slips back into the water.

“Steee.”

Steve just sighs, retrieving what are now Eddie’s sunglasses from where they’ve fallen by the edge of the lawn, “what am I going to do with you?”

Eddie tips his head, listening, but Steve doesn’t have anything else to say. At a loss, he heads inside to make sure Robin is okay.

A/N I know the time line doesn't work with Argyle since this happened after starcourt but lets just all agree to ignore that. There is no tag list for this work.

Part Four

[hersweetrevenge]

corey cunningham headcanons [volume three]

corey has my heart, i want to know every single detail about him, and if i am not given that information then i will simply make it up (he told me through prophetic dreams). based on this set of questions. and if you missed the previous instalments, no you didn't: volume one and volume two.

[credit where credit is due, some of these hcs are shared with @/slutforstabbings, and i have merely adopted into my own belief system and expanded on certain points that i latched onto, so please go read through blake's stuff too because they actually know what they're talking about !!]

WARNING for angst, brief talks of sex, and mentions of child abuse, child death, mental health, trauma and sexuality.

[image sources: X, X]

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

corey had a pretty isolated childhood, the internet wasn't really a thing for a while, joan put a lot of restrictions on his television time, and he never had play dates or the chance to hang out with people outside of school. therefore corey is the daydream king, always in his own little world. corey had a lot of spare time and he can sit and zone out for hours, unbothered, if he has the time. he's been chastised so many times by joan for not paying attention or being away with the fairies.

however, that's not to say he can't pay attention when he needs to, he has a very good attention span when he has something to focus on, like school work or reading or watching movies. but, if it's a mindless task he can do without thinking then his mind does tends to wander.

How easy is it for your character to laugh?

i've said this before but the way having a laughing fit with corey until my sides hurt would literally fix me.

corey has a funny sense of humour, kind of dark but kind of dorky. pre-accident corey laughs pretty easily. at school he had a kind of off-beat friend group who had an overall off-beat sense of humour that occupied them in the cafeteria or while they slacked off in gym class.

post-accident corey holds back from making his own jokes or being funny, like he doesn't know the social rules anymore. like he doesn't deserve to laugh or thinks people will be mad at him for thinking he can be funny.

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

as previously mentioned, corey has a lot of time to think. he struggles to sleep well at night and honestly his daydreaming can make things worse if he latches onto a thought and keeps following it when he should be trying to clear his mind.

if he wants some stimulation though, he goes on wikipedia. he will fall asleep having fallen down a wiki rabbit hole and wake up in the morning on the page for like the 1847 great fire of bucharest with no memory of how he ended up there.

How easy is it to earn their trust? How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

it's not that easy to earn corey's trust. corey is used to being in a pretty emotionally volatile environment, so he does a lot of premature damage control around people that he doesn't know well enough to read their moods and behaviour. however, once he feels more comfortable, he's a lot more open (though still has a sense of wariness in the back of his mind). basically, it's not impossible to earn his trust.

post-accident corey is a different story though, he has an automatic distrust of everyone. he can't assume anyone intentions are solely good for a long, long time. honestly, he doesn't trust most people, he canonically only goes to one gas station because he trusts they won't speak to him. and he distrusts his co-workers at prevo for different reasons, i.e. he's been low-level pranked more times than he cares to remember.

What triggers nostalgia for them most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

corey gets good nostalgia and bad nostalgia.

bad nostalgia is usually something to do with joan, or remembering how he felt as a child when he was on edge so often. spaghetti truly was joan's worst meal so the smell, taste, texture and look of spaghetti is something he can't really stand anymore. if he never eats spaghetti again, it'll be too soon. rabbit paraphernalia give a lot of bad nostalgia.

corey's sense of good nostalgia is pretty specific. good nostalgia comes from watching old movies. he loves westerns and anything cowboy adjacent. a lot of the shows he watched as a kid were older cartoons so he gets a lot of nostalgia from those too. the smell of night time, where everything feels kind of dewy is good nostalgia for him, as well as the smell of the woodwork room at school.

What were they told to stop doing most often as a child?

i've mentioned before that as a baby, corey was actually very content and not fussy at all, which joan was unreasonably pleased about -- he was her perfect, happy, chubby-cheeked baby. however, once he hit the terrible twos and developed some autonomy, that's when joan's control issues started to really kick in with her parenting.

joan told corey off for doing all sorts of things as a child -- fidgeting too much, being too boisterous, getting grass stains on his clothes, not finishing his dinner, meddling with the rabbits (or anything else around the house), watching cartoon network, not holding her hand around the store, playing with a kid she doesn't approve of, asking too many questions -- the list is honestly endless, and not all of these misdemeanours have any logic behind them other than joan's moods and keeping corey on his toes.

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

he swears sometimes but not that much. his first swear word was probably 'shit' (he overheard joan mutter it once), like out in the yard at recess him and his little friends all went around in a circle and said the worst swears they knew. once he hit middle school and high school, swearing becomes more common and he sprinkles it through his vocab. then when he starts at prevo it's a much more rough-and-ready attitude to language and he gets (light-heartedly) teased for how much more reserved he comes across compared to the other mechanics.

joan would kill him if she ever heard him swear, so he'd never dream of swearing in front of her. he has a distinct line he draws between his language at home and outside.

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

corey lies a lot, but none of his lies weigh too heavily on his conscience.

corey would sneak out at night to parties and joan never found out about it. he can navigate his house is total darkness as to not wake his mom, and to his credit joan never found out. he used to lie about his day when he was in college all the time, and he lies saying that he comes straight home after work now.

i guess you could say he emotionally lies a lot? it's easier to placate joan with being agreeable than to admit anything (to himself or joan).

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

joan used to (and still does) tell him off for fidgeting so he will restrain himself until he can leave the room and will then become a grizzly bear and itch his back on the nearest doorframe.

Are they easily embarrassed?

yes. end post.

but seriously, he is pretty easily embarrassed. corey has never had a very good self esteem, he honestly is under the impression he's kind of unlikable and that all his actions are under some kind of social scrutiny.

pre-accident his self confidence was healing a little bit with his growing independence, so he could more easily brush things off but awkward moments still stick in his brain for him to agonise over later.

although he's learnt to deal with it in most situations, if he's feeling more vulnerable or he's with someone he really likes/admires then he does not cope well when he feels like he's being made fun of -- he gets all defensive and sulky.

What is their favourite number?

i don't think corey has a favourite number, but if he had to pick one, i think it'd either be something like a mathematically "special" number, or something sentimental like his dad's birthday.

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

oh man, this is not corey's forte at all. corey does not have a very good grasp on (his own) boundaries or the lines between different types of relationships.

i've said this a million times before (and no one has stopped me yet heehee), but because he's so used to the lines being pretty blurry with joan and having such an insular upbringing, he doesn't really know how to draw lines between how he loves someone. he's a real all or nothing type of person -- he's only ever learnt how to put all his feelings onto one person. joan wants that person to corey, because corey is that person to her.

subsequently, corey has only really experienced familial love in this abusive way, so projects the opposite (and what he reasons to be "normal") onto his imagined relationship with his father, idolising him to an unrealistic extent.

platonic is a sort of grey area for him, he tends to feel emotions either very intensely or not at all. he can go from really "loving" someone (either a friend he already has or someone he wishes he could befriend) to being mostly indifferent. the strength of his emotions tend to mean he can't really pinpoint exactly what he desires from the friendship/relationship. that's not to say he doesn't understand what "being friends" is, he does, but it doesn't always feel as poignant for him. it's something he was starting to figure out in high school and college, but then regressed with after the accident.

[this isn't the case for everyone] for corey romantic attraction and sexual attraction are usually linked, so romance does becomes slightly easier to differentiate. however, coming back to his boundary issues, even if he undeniably feels romantic love for someone, he's hesitant to communicate it unless he's figured out "the rules". everyone has rules (boundaries) to learn, and once he understands them, corey knows how to play the game -- he can do what he has to to be loved/wanted/tolerated enough to satiate his own feelings.

Why do they get up in the morning? 

currently, it's because ronald will kick his ass if he doesn't show up to work. well, ronald is usually pretty lenient on him, (maybe too lenient, and the other mechanics know corey doesn't get as much shit because he's ronald's step-kid). corey does actually like going to work though, his dream didn't pan out the way he expected but he does love being a mechanic -- it's just dampened by the rest of his circumstances.

corey has never been very good at getting up in the morning though, and back when he was at school he was no stranger to nearly missing the bus every morning.

during the manslaughter trial, he had so much to do, between trips to his lawyers office and then the courthouse once the trial actually starts, he is stressed enough that he gets up and ready for the day pretty early and then just sits and worries until someone tells him what to do.

after the trial though, he honestly just doesn't get up in the morning. he has no job, no social life, and honestly no reason to do anything at all. he spends most of his time in bed, unless joan nags him into showering, eating or running errands with her, or if he has an appointment with his shrink.

 Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom? 

as previously mentioned, corey is pretty self conscious so he won't admit to a crush under any circumstances, and he doesn't have a lot of his own experiences to talk about, so he's kind of refrained when talking about sex. he is a known prude, to be honest.

but, he is also a teenage boy with a weird friend group, so sex is a frequent topic. he can't talk about sex in regards to himself at that point, but he'll laugh at jokes and is kind of enthralled by hearing anecdotes (not that his friends have many).

in a relationship, i think it takes corey a while to open up and be comfortable talking about sex outside of doing the act itself. dirty talk makes him blush, and he's never really had a lot of experience or opportunity to seriously think about what he likes and then be able to convey that out loud.

 What are their thoughts on marriage? 

i don't think corey cares about the legal aspects, but he does like the idea of marriage. devoting yourself to one person and one person only, whom you love dearly, forever and ever until you both die? literally exactly what corey wants, the legal part doesn't really matter.

the only wedding he's been to was when joan and ronald got married at the courthouse. he was 15 and honestly had surprisingly few feelings about the whole thing -- he caught on pretty early on that his mom and ronald were hardly "in love" but this is what adults do, so here he is in his best clothes and thinking about the wedding cake he'll get to eat later. this is partly why he doesn't care too much about the legal side; anyone can get married, but the real true proven commitment if what love really is.

corey would be more than happy with a courthouse wedding himself, he just wants to be with his s/o forever, so a simple, no guests, sign on the line type wedding is good enough to get the job done.

 What is their preferred mode of transportation? 

motorbike, of course. he knew his dad had ridden a motorbike since he found some old photos, but corey never actually rides one himself until ronald gives him the kawasaki. he knew theoretically how to ride, because he knows the mechanics of a basic motorbike, but he truly learns as he goes when he fixes up his own bike. the motorbike gives him a huge sense of freedom, and fulfils all of his easy rider (1969) and the wild one (1953) fantasies.

corey learnt how to drive at 16 through drivers ed, but joan rarely lets him drive her car, and he obviously can't afford his own. sometimes she lets him drive them home from the store, but she is a serious backseat driver so it's sort of just a nightmare for everyone involved.

corey hasn't travelled very far before, so he's never been on a train, but i think he'd enjoy it. long journeys where he can zone out and just look at the landscape? a very good combination for corey.

and how can we forget his trusty bicycle. corey learnt to ride a bike as a child, joan wasn't a very good teacher, but he got the hang of it pretty quickly anyway. corey has had his current bike for almost 10 years now. the chain constantly comes loose, and he's had to tape up the seat and the handle grips more times than he can count. it mostly does the job, and it did give him a lot more freedom as a teenager than he'd had before that.

 Who do they most regret meeting? 

is it cliche to say the allens? maybe so, but it's definitely the allens.

if he never met the allens then jeremy wouldn't have died and corey would have gone off to college and got his degree and a graduate job at mercedes or boeing or somewhere and --

mostly corey tries not to think about the "what ifs" but they do creep into his mind.

[and, if you're that way inclined, if corey had never met roger he could have saved himself so, so much heartache, and maybe not have ruined his perceptions of relationships for the foreseeable]

 Could they be considered lazy? 

on a superficial level, maybe. he sleeps in late and doesn't do any housework, so maybe out of context he could seem lazy, but he actually has a really good work ethic and likes to be doing something. joan doesn't enlist him to do chores because chores are skills and she wants him to be dependent on her.

he definitely is not lazy at work though. when he first started a prevo, he mostly just did grunt work and the easy tasks that the other mechanics were too busy for but still needed to get done. he pulled his weight, no one can deny that. a few years in, he still doesn't handle many full jobs himself, but he is trusted to do more specialised things.

 How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt? 

joan ingrained it in him to feel guilty about a lot of things that aren't his fault. baseline guilt like that he can cope with, he just grovels and submits himself enough to earn forgiveness and then the whole thing starts over the next time joan finds a bone to pick.

after the accident though, his guilt is pretty constant. everything serves as a reminder of what happened, and even if he got acquitted, he does feel like it was at least partly his fault jeremy died.

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)? 

corey has a great memory but he doesn't really have any particular system, things just stick with him. he's great with remembering conversations, and when he was studying he could retain information in maths/science pretty easily, but his "less strong" subjects required more work on his part.

he does remember all the states and their capitals because of the animaniacs song.

What memory do they revisit the most often? 

it's not his most frequent, but there's this memory that corey has about his dad that usually comes to him when he's on the cusp of sleeping and awake. subconsciously, i think he's aware that it's probably a false memory. wally "died" before corey could really form any proper memories of him, but he loves this one anyway. corey remembers himself, as a baby, laughing while his dad is holding him, maybe he's playing with him, or bouncing him on his knee, but the details are pretty fuzzy -- it's barely a fragment of a memory but it makes corey happy.

a memory that has involuntarily has made it's home in corey's brain is from the accident. the blood was bad, but mostly it's the sound that corey can't forget. that sick thud sound.

How do they feel about children? 

pre-accident corey didn't care much about children. he doesn't dislike them, but he doesn't really interact with them (he doesn't have any family, and at the houses he does yard work, the parents tend to keep their kids out of his way so he can work without dodging any kids). he's kind to them though, if a little awkward.

post-accident, corey avoids kids as much as possible. he's no more mean to them, but seeing kids just brings back too many memories of the accident and also it just is not good to be seen near kids when you're regularly called a kid killer in public.

corey never wanted his own kids. maybe in some half-baked daydream he thought about a life of college, then a salary job and marriage and 2.5 kids, but i don't think he ever took it seriously.

part of him kind of wants the chance to be a better parent than his ever were, but he also worries that he'd just fuck his kids up like his parents did him. maybe he'd be unable to break the cycle (no matter how badly he wanted to) and be destined to become a helicopter parent -- trying his best to protect his child but ultimately smothering them.

to be honest though, i think his idea of love is so skewed towards obsession, that a kid would just get in the way. he wants to be the only person his s/o loves, and they will be the only person he loves in return, a baby is going to take that love away from him.

How badly do they want to reach their end goal? 

at one point, all corey wanted was to go to college and get out of his house, out of haddonfield. he wanted that more than anything else, and if he just worked hard enough, for just a little bit longer, he'd make it. if he were in a better position (more supportive family, better socio-economic status) his goal would be much easier to attain, but if he did have those benefits, would he feel so strongly about that goal?

i feel like even though college is his way out, corey requires and enjoys mental/intellectual stimulation enough that he would want to go to college anyway, even if things were better for him at home.

post-accident, he doesn't have a goal at all beyond surviving, and even then we see his commitment to that goal is pretty tenuous.

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so? 

ahh well if you read my hcs about corey's sexuality, you would already know. but that will not stop me repeating those hcs here.

corey doesn't really consciously label his sexuality, but if he was asked point blank i think he could probably connect himself with bisexuality, but he's way more of a euphemism person -- "swing both ways".

[inkstainedheartbeats]

What’s this? Another silly AU? (Please note silly does not mean this is gonna be angst free). Modern AU, Upside Down Events still happen, but I’m unsure if I wanna keep the deaths.

This now has a name: Learning to be Loved

It takes everything inside Tommy to not pull over on the side of the road and throw up. He left this town as quickly as he could. Wanted nothing to do with it, with the constant death, with his father and brothers. Leaving his mother, leaving the little plot of land where his sister sleeps was a blow to the gut but he needed to go. His hands tighten on the steering wheel, he ran because Hawkins would have been his death. And now here he is running back.

Ten years older and thousands in debt thanks to a degree he never even got to finish. Still, his eyes flick back to the three little girls sleeping in their seats, it wasn’t all bad. Sure Lloyd was probably the worst Alpha Tommy could have let knock him up, he was everything Tommy hated he had become in high school, but he had treated Tommy right at the start. He treated Tommy like an equal instead of the way most Alphas did here in Hawkins. They’d spent three years dancing around each other, two of them Tommy spent fixing all the shit in his head… okay, not all. Up until he fled he’d had a therapist visit every other Wednesday, but most of it. He recognized that painting ‘Nancy the Slut Wheeler’ was a shit thing to do, that spreading rumors that could get them hurt in their small, often backward ass, town was a morally indefensible thing to do. He’s grown. Has had to grow. He has children to raise and an Alpha who showed his true colors the moment Tommy got pregnant. Raging and throwing things, breaking things before turning toward Tommy. The baby couldn’t be his. He wouldn’t raise the bastard.

Only when the twins were born, a week and a half early Lloyd had come crawling back. Begging to be part of their lives. And like a fool Tommy had said yes. Carol’s parents had divorced and while her dad was amazing he hadn’t known what or how to raise two kids on his own. And if Barty couldn’t do it, how could Tommy?? He stayed too long. Let Lloyd stay too long. Muscle memory has him almost turning onto Loch Lora before remembering that Steve doesn’t live there anymore.

“Daddy? Where are we?” Bellamy asks, her big brown eyes looking around.

She has his eyes but Tommy likes to think she got the brown from Steve. That there was a tangible connection between them. He’s pulled over, car idling as he digs out his phone. Can’t stay here long, the neighbors get pissy, but he needs to look up Steve’s address. Dr Marnie would be disappointed in him, dropping by an old ex friend’s house unannounced. But even when they were on the outs Steve looked out for him. The pact made between Omegas never weakened.

“We’re in Hawkins, babydoll, daddy’s just gotten a little turned around is all.”

Plus Steve’s facebook profile is public for the world to see. Complete with address and place of employment. Steve’s a teacher nowadays. Tommy hadn’t dared look further than that. Didn’t have the right to, which makes just as little sense now as it did when he mentioned that to Dr Marnie. He’d done the same to Carol. Looked at that little About section, only addresses and place of work. Needed to see how they were doing. Carol is an accountant, or maybe a CPA, not that Tommy knows what the fuck that means. Finding the address he gets to driving.

It doesn’t take long to get the quaint little house. The outside is painted a cheery yellow the neighbors must hate or love. There are toys in the yard. This is it. He takes a deep breath, steps out of his shitty second hand car that barely fits his three daughters and all he packed for them, and starts the process of unloading the girls. They gather close around him, nervous about the new environment. Together the little family approaches the round green door. Knocks.

“Heya, Steve.”

——//——//——//——//

Hope you don’t mind the tag @busyheadkeepbreathing but you sounded super into this idea part two available

[calypsolemon]

if i did have one Actual Criticism of ToH (I actually have a few I just am trying to avoid sounding negative about the show bc overall I very much enjoyed it and think its good) it would be that I do think the reasoning Papa Titan gives Luz for why Belos's actions and her own do not come from the same place is... a little off the mark.

Mainly because I think there's not too many ways in which you could say Belos's choices aren't genuine to him. Oh, the reasoning he gives other people of course are a bunch of lies and bullshit, and he even lies to himself, but the root cause of his delusions lies in the puritanistic upbringing he was exposed to from a young age. An upbringing which very much convinces people that control and subjugation of others are necessary to protect their mortal souls from the damnation of hell.

For this reason, "genuine-ness" reads a bit too much of a handwavy abstraction of Luz's actual concern to me. Belos's existence has made her painfully aware that it is really easy to rationalize massively harmful actions to yourself if you believe it is in service of protecting someone else. This doesn't mean that Luz actually has hurt anyone, or that she needed to be as harshly punishing of herself as she was (in fact I would say her desire for self-punishment is a reflection of Belos's puritan values weighing on her), but rather that I think it doesn't really solve her conundrum to simply tell her "well, Belos is kind of a big fat liar who is trying to control people, but don't worry, you're Not That."

What I really wish he had said, and what I do think the series implies in other ways but maybe could have been served to have said openly in that moment, is that Luz is not the same because she is capable of self reflection. In all the times Luz has ever lied to someone, or attempted to change someone or something else to fit her idea of them (think attempting to cure Eda, playing along with King about him being the king of demons, Witches before Wizards, etc) she has ultimately realized it was wrong, and allowed herself to embrace the way things naturally are. In fact, she more often feels like she should be trying to change herself in response to ppl expecting her to fit into social norms. When her environment feels too stifling for her, she finds a different one. She doesn't attempt to fit everything around her into a mold that perfectly suits her, nor does she attempt to destroy everything which doesn't agree with her.

Luz stresses over being just like Belos because she has been raised to, if anything, be too self reflective, and feel like an awful person for not being able to conform to norms that don't naturally fit her. What she needs to be told is that it's admirable, that she tries so hard, and it's a good thing that she is able to see where she maybe needs to change herself at times, but she needs to allow herself the same grace she gives others. She needs to be told that nothing good comes from keeping yourself from happiness. That wanting acceptance and love from others is not the same as attempting to control them.

Buuuut I know they only had like 3 minutes to convey what's going on so I get why they phrased it the way they did. What Luz really needed was a 7 hour long therapy session with daddy titan which. I'm not even sure would have been entirely on point bc the Titan himself probably has some issues he needs to work through. But that's another post

[sharonisthebettercarter]

Chile anyways, if homelander was so smart that the fans and himself claim him to be, why didn't he just took that opportunity of freedom and ditch it all behind when sent to his first mission?? Also, since the loser learned u.s. history, you'd think he'd learn a thing or two about the slaves who fled from their prisons in the antebellum south and the members of the black panthers party fleeing to Cuba from being prosecuted. Like...there are narcissists in real life who would take that chance at freedom immediately, they want a taste of that too. Also, to learn in a new environment is to learn from the locals.

*sigh of the long suffering*

i wanna be fucking mad at this, i do. i am a little and i won't lie about that because this is FUCKED anon.

but i know (sincerely fucking hope) it comes from a place of genuine ignorance and not truly understanding what it is many abuse victims go through--or, perhaps not realizing that you have been through abuse and have fallen on any one of many many many reasons to not leave, so you rationalize your situation as tolerable (because in your mind there are no other alternatives) or you might have a weird fucked up version of survivor's bias which is pretty typical in this society.

the short answer is this:

and this:

and these also fit the bill:

but to address the question more directly and seriously.

a victim's intelligence and victimhood have nothing to do with one another. someone does not "become" a victim because they are stupid or smart. anyone can be conned. ANYONE. this is a gross oversimplification and assumption that is extremely dismissive to victims of abuse.

because he didn't realize he was a victim? because he didn't know where else to go? because vought promised him things would get better and he could finally be their 'special god boi' and believed that if he could just pull it together that maybe, just maybe vought, his only 'parental' entity and the only thing he had known his entire life to 'take care of him' and 'promise him the world', would be happy and proud of him. *and then things wouldn't have to hurt anymore*

see any of the above attached resources for more information. PLEASE. there are a number of reasons a victim will not leave an abusive situation, and they all amount to: THEY DO NOT BELIEVE THEY HAVE A CHOICE. and. THIS DOES NOT INVALIDATE THE EXPERIENCE OF A VICTIM OR THE SYMPATHY WE SHOULD FEEL FOR THEM.

okay, this bit about u.s. history is just silly to me, cause... just wut??? do you... i mean, do you honestly believe they taught him a wholly accurate take on u.s. history and gave him perfect examples of the oppressed fighting back against abusers or escaping them????? like HONESTLY, *you* think they taught him *THAT*??????????????? a NAZI made company.... teaching *accurate* history?????????????????????????????????????vogelbaum said it himself. "he loved MANIFEST DESTINY". a SUPER FUCKED UP concept that proudly proclaims white america as a "chosen people" that must "conquer the american continents"... really? REALLY??????? just that bit in itself should tell you what and how they were teaching him. take a wild guess how they teach about slavery in the deep south of the states and i can guaranfuckingtee you IT AIN'T ACCURATE.

bear in mind. vought was a company founded with nazi cult origins.

i think that should say enough on it's own but i'll elaborate, homelander was raised in a fucking cult. if you genuinely think escaping one is a 'simple and easy' thing and people INDOCTRINATED IN A CULT can just up and 'RuN aWaY', YOU ARE WRONG. plain and simple.

***ESPECIALLY for the fucking kids raised as the """"MESSIAH""" FOR THE CULT, REGARDLESS OF HOW MUCH ABUSE THEY FACE, THAT IS HOW BRAINWASHING WORKS.***

well good for those narcissists i guess?? i'm sure their situations weren't anywhere near half as bad as homelander's and i don't say that to dismiss anything they may have gone through, i say it just from a standing realistic point of view. homelander has LITERALLY been through worse that anything any human could ever go through and also more than a whole lot of comic characters out there have been through. vought was basically granny fucking goodness.

their situations are also... not relevant. AT ALL.

and i need to reiterate this:

being a victim and staying in an abusive situation is not a choice. victims do not choose to be victims.

victims. do not. choose. to be victims.

VICTMS. DO. NOT. CHOOSE. TO. BE. VICTIMS.

saying they do, and i want to be clear in no uncertain terms what so fucking ever:

IS VICTIM BLAMING.

see any of the above resources if you need to understand a bit better about human psyche and why victims do not simply 'rUn AwAy' from abusive situations.

and if it's not clear enough with that, it's because their brain, logic, belief, heart, whatever and every fucking fiber of their being tells them that they

*CAN'T*

the brain has fucked up ways of coping that don't always simply 'work out' in our favor, especially when it comes to extremely stressful environments like the one homelander was in. he was brought up to *believe* in vought. AND ONLY VOUGHT. was pretty much fucked before he was even born. forced to be trauma bonded to his motherfucking jailers.

and then never, nada, zip, zilch, NOT ONCE. has he EVER been presented with a viable alternative. or someone who genuinely cared for him.

this does not invalidate the fact that he is a victim of vought.

if anything? it only makes his whole situation worse because he still does not even realize that he is a victim.

here's to gotdamn HOPING s4 gives us at least some semblance of that understanding peaking through and brutal slaughter of the scientists or other responsible for that bullshit<3 (what i hope that scene of him covered in blood is~!)

the reason people have so much trouble seeing this and understanding it is:

we still live in a culture/society which is heavily veered towards victim blaming, especially imperfect victims. once a victim fights back or even if they choose not to, regardless of what happens actually, they are still somehow at fault for their situation, right? RIGHT? wrong... please see above resources for better understanding.

homelander is STILL stuck in the cult. he's trying lead it even (of course he fucking is, he was the raised 'messiah' and still has a childish mindset that believes in what he was taught), because that is what he was made for, and he is what VOUGHT made him... JUST as much as he a VICTIM of them.

homelander is an adult. at least physically. yes seriously, that is a factor. although i see this as something that makes his whole situation much much WORSE *because* of his stunted growth *because* of VOUGHT, his adult body and general presentation is enough for people to deny his victimhood if not outright blame him for it. (*HINT* STILL NOT HIS FAULT!), people keep calling him an immature 'manchild' which... sure, whatever sometimes i guess. but more *accurately*, we should be calling him a *CHILD* trapped in an *adult body*.

'manchild' implies the dude at least had an honest opportunity to grow the fuck up, and *chose* not to.

homelander had neither of these things. his growth was deliberately stunted so that he could be *controlled*.

and here's where i might differ from certain parts of fandom on homelander.

the show has actually done a relatively good of showing us that homelander is as much a victim to his circumstance as he is an asshole, and the trump/***cult messiah*** comparisons (while obviously satire and a bit on the nose) are actually... mm... not necessarily vital but actually pretty fucking important on providing an accurate representation of what he really is AND understanding how society reacts to it.

it is NOT the show that does a bad job presenting these characters intricately, whether showcasing victimhood, complexity, hypocrisy, critique, etc. they can do BOTH. and that is the point, that none of what's being presented is 'mutually exclusive' in one form or another because *society and people are fucking complex and nothing is black and white*. the point being, they at least make the effort and it is... profoundly ignorant to deny these details when they are presented.

they *present* homelander as a victim AND an asshole. *that* is why ANYONE in fandom is able to see that fact. no, that's not to say everything is hunky dory and perfectly written (because it's still written by ordinary *human* people, not abstract entities of perfection or imperfection)

it is to say that there is a factor fans seem to keep forgetting about this whole ass show built upon and centered entirely 1000% fucking percent on *CHALLENGING TRIBALISM AND HUMAN POLARIZATION WHICH DECENSITIZES US TO ALLEGED OPPOSING SIDES*.

it is the FANS that take what they are given, and *choose sides* from it. NOT THE SHOW.

this is very natural to society in some ways, the winners of wars get to write history, but it's also... not. or i should say, it's extremely fabricated and promoted because it's a means of 'divide and conquer' used against us.

this show gave us an entire segment with one chubby bastard who went down the right wing internet radicalization rabbit hole, and came out shooting an innocent man over his own *fear*.

you wanna know what the show did?

HUMANIZED that motherfucker AS WELL AS HIS VICTIM. very well i might add, i really felt for that bastard. he was a bastard for what he did, but i understand why people go the route of violence and hostility when they are *afraid*, especially of things they don't understand. (as much as i have faced it and as much as it pains me, I UNDERSTAND BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN THERE.)

you wanna know what the fans did?

COMPLETELY IGNORED THIS VERY EXTREMELY OBVIOUSLY PRESENTED LESSON.

homelander and butcher, comic AND show, are (whether abstractly interpreted or modernized) representees of the dangers of political dichotomy brought to extreme ideologies, to the point of *dehumanizing* the *other* side.

this is clear. the show *presents* the hypocrisy from *both* sides, as well as both being *wrong*, as well as both being *human*. AS WELL AS vought (and other horrendous systems in place) being the TRUE villain. everyone else might as well be pawns on a fucking chess board.

and still, the FANS... are the ones who take what is presented and interpret... pretty much what they want to conform to their own selective bias so that the cognitive dissonance doesn't come bubbling to the surface.

i don't have that ability. i know why people do it because i'm sure and i have seen that it makes things hella easier. never been able to pull the wool over my own eyes myself tho. call it compulsion. it's a real problem because people fucking HATE when you can't just 'go along' with them no matter how you do it.

but the way that i know this?

the genocide apologism... it's almost too fucking perfect given the state of the world right now. genocide under no circumstance is a forgivable or excusable crime.

no circumstance. ever.

doesn't matter what side it is and if you have to justify it with sides, you have completely missed the fucking point.

the show *DOES NOT* present genocide as justifiable in ANY form.

and *still* we have FANS choosing sides, and justifying genocide. whether deliberately ignoring what the story is presenting before them or not fully grasping it.

homelander is a major part of that, even billy to some (if much lesser and also greater) degree. the framing is intentional. homelander is a piece of shit. billy is an EQUAL if not worse, opposing piece of shit.

but the story gives us a *framework* to understand that 'this one side is bad', then *learn* 'oh this other side that we've been following is bad too, actually', and finally 'OH, it's the SYSTEM that's the real problem', and even now this shit is pretty damn clear to me, and i don't think it's necessarily relevant to reading the comic (altho i do feel this helps people see it better)

homelander and billy are both fucking problems, but neither are *the* true problems, they're both victims and symptoms of a greater issue, and we could all do well to remember that

even if society is fucked enough that they want to forget, WE shouldn't and we should keep at fighting back against status quo brain rot bullshit while maintaining empathy for those that suffer because of it.

including the imperfect victims that might still be stuck in the cult.

[mareenavee]

Similar ask to yours! How does music play into your creative process? Can you share passages written to specific tracks? How do they tie together? And is there a difference between how your write when there are words/lyrics vs instrumental music?

Hello again!!! AHHH I love this. Thank you for returning this question to me. Music and creativity go hand in hand for me, and I definitely have some snippets to share. By virtue of the question, this one is gonna be a LONG post lol

So first, I'll preface this by saying most of the perfect-music-finding happens after writing because I can't always pay attention to the lyrics of what's playing in the background while I'm writing. I use music while writing for the most part to drown out other sounds that are more capable of distracting and/or annoying me. (Usually other people speaking, which might be mean but it's true. That and tv sound effects.)

I'll also just blast music with the intent on singing at the top of my lungs if I'm going through a relatively mindless task for work, and sometimes will need to pause and throw songs on a project's list. I'll get into that below the cut. It's mostly just a way that I can create space for myself to be creative in a normally noisy environment.

ANYWAY. Songs will start to remind me of things I've written and sometimes fit so perfectly, they get thrown on a project's playlist and I'll go back in to read the lyrics later and decide what order they'll go in or if they'll be tossed on another playlist as well. Most of my projects have their own list. I have two general fiction lists -- one contains songs with a sort of different mood than the other -- and another specifically made with my fic in mind. I also have a campaign inspo list for dnd things, and a folder of character-specific lists regarding dnd things, too. In the same way that artists might collect references to inspire them, I save songs that inspire me and remind me of my projects. And sometimes I'll listen to the list I made for a project while working on it, which is just pure happiness lol

So in regards to finding perfect songs for specific chapters or scenes, it's less "perfect" than it is just a close reminder of the mood of said chapter, I think. Sometimes a song is closer to perfect than others. Sometimes a lot of songs fit the mood I'm going for in a chapter.

Here's a small snippet of chapter 8 of The World on Our Shoulders, already published, and one of the songs I paired with the chapter. (I know you guys love Sad!Athis from the last snippet of the chapter, and I do too, and this is one with a particularly good song match. In fact, I used the lyrics as part of the chapter title.)

Tears began to well in his eyes. He missed her badly. Even if she didn’t care that he wasn’t there with her, he cared deeply that she’d been missing from him for so long. He used to have such a full life, always traveling. Always fighting. Maybe he had slacked off with training, but he felt strong, then. At the moment, he felt nothing of the sort. The best memories he had ever had in his life were now tinged with this darkness. With this loss he could barely explain. It had been his fault, he knew. There was blame, and it was his. He could have said anything other than goodbye. He could have begged her to say. He could have gotten off his ass and ran after her. He could have done any number of things, but instead he watched her go. He watched her, and never inserted himself into the adventure. Part of him knew, even then, that she didn’t want him there. She said she wanted him to stay safe. Between the lines, she had really said she’d been disappointed in him. That he had been a distraction, if anything. That, perhaps, hurt worse than the rest of it. That so suddenly, she could decide such things. That she could inflict this kind of pain. That Nyenna, of all people, could be so venomous.

She had been his whole world at the beginning. He had been so taken with her. He had watched her decide to be strong, after he had saved her, that first day. She made the choice every day to do her best. While he had been waiting for her to catch up with him, she had flown by, surpassing his skills in every way. Especially after the first dragon. She…didn’t need to be saved. Didn’t need to be rescued. How long had he held onto the notion that she did? He didn’t know how to be anything else but her rescuer. And she didn’t even see him that way anymore. And he never really clarified what she did see. Never asked her what she wanted. What her goals were. Nobody ever did anymore, not since the Greybeards had called her to her destiny.

Athis was exhausted. The weight of his thoughts, his worries, his sadness had him crumbling. Once, he could have turned to her and she’d take it all away. One kiss, one glance, and he would be okay again. She was his home, his shelter, his safety. He thought he’d given her that, too, but like with everything else, her path had taken this from her as well.

And the song:

This is one that fit particularly well. Like I said, I used some of its lyrics for this chapter's title. I think it embodies the emotion Athis is feeling here, terribly missing the whirlwind closeness he and Nyenna shared before destiny took that away from them both. It has this visceral sort of regret in the lyrics, especially "And then I can tell myself / What the hell I'm supposed to do / And then I can tell myself Not to ride along with you." And it just kind of worked when I heard it again after I'd written this chapter.

For a happier fragment, have something out of the WIP, Chapter 47. Out of context, of course (:

The giant Khajiit came into view. He held Nyenna close to his chest, breathing heavily as if he had been running. Her shirt clung to her, skin slicked with sweat, despite the chill in the air down here. Her hair was damp and loose, and she was paler than death. She lifted her head from Ma’jhad’s chest and inhaled sharply. She tapped his shoulder and he threw her a concerned glance, but stooped to lower her to the stones. He supported her as she tried to stand on unsteady legs. She took a step and her knees collapsed, but the Khajiit warrior held her firmly. She looked at him and nodded, about to try again, but Teldryn sprinted and closed the distance. He lit the torch on the wall and dismissed his spell. Nyenna let out a weak chuckle as he collapsed onto his knees and scooped her into his arms. Ma’jhad stood tall again and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

“Are you real?” Nyenna asked softly, placing both of her burning hot hands on either side of his face. “Am I awake?”

“I’m here,” Teldryn said, finding he was weeping. She wiped his tears away as he grabbed onto her wrist with one hand and gently ran his knuckles down her cheek. Tears welled in her eyes. There was so much grief there, but still she smiled. He pushed a sodden curl away from her face.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” she breathed as the tears started to overflow.

“I’m here. I’m alright. I’m so sorry it took me so long to get back to you,” Teldryn whispered. He tried to wipe his eyes on his shoulder but she held onto his face firmly. He just let his tears keep falling. “Can you forgive me, merdekhes?”

She smiled, her own tears still running freely down her face, and ran her hand through his overgrown hair.

“I never blamed you, not for a second,” she whispered. “There’s nothing to forgive. I apologize for putting us in danger to begin with.” Her eyes went dark, and she closed them against the obvious wave of sorrow. She opened them and ran her fingers through his hair once again with another tear-streaked smile.

“Don’t,” Teldryn soothed. “None of this is on you. We’re here together. It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you now.”

He pulled her into a tight embrace which she returned as she shook with sobs that mixed with relieved laughter. What madness it was to be reunited, that all the horrors they both faced could melt away at one touch, to fill the spaces left behind with joy. He could hear the gathering crowd. Niranye gasped as she stopped halfway down her basement stairs. Nyenna pulled away and gently placed her hands on either side of his face again. She lightly traced his tattoos with the tips of her fingers, almost like she thought he would disappear on her in between one blink and the next if she did not check again. When she spoke, her voice sounded like something ethereal, like her words had been granted gravity by Mara Herself.

“I love you, Teldryn. I should have said a thousand, thousand times by now.”

She wiped away more tears from his cheek. For half a second, he thought maybe he was still walking between reality and dreams. But he took both of her hands in his and they were solid, and warm, and he had never been more sure of anything in life before.

And the song:

I just love this song. It's *chef's kiss* anyway for me. But particularly for Teldryn, after everything the two of them had been through, the past didn't matter anymore. They'd been reunited after some difficult events. Distance, maybe, brought clarity. And Teldryn realized fully what the implications of this meant. That he was worthy of being loved. (backstory things here.) That his love mattered to someone. And damn the consequences, right? At this point, anyway. There's more to it, but spoilers and all. (:

And for the last part of the question -- there's no difference for me while writing to music with lyrics or without. It depends on what I feel like hearing at that particular moment. To be fair, sometimes I won't listen to anything at all, especially if I am closely editing something. But as I mentioned above, music is definitely mostly intertwined in being creative. It's a source of inspiration for me, and a reminder to always be thinking about my stories (: Never know when song lyrics might call back to them unexpectedly!

Hope that was comprehensive enough :D

[jollyreginaldrancher]

Exactly. These children are a product of their environment and I feel like Misty is no more at fault than Ethel was, in Shameless.

For context (spoilers ahead) Ethel was Kevin and Veronica's foster child. She was a 14 year old girl they fostered (V for the money, Kevin to try out being a dad) who was rescued from a cult where she was a sister-wife to a 65 year old piece of shit pedophile.

While she was with the cult she was preyed upon by the cult leader and groomed into performing acts of service and sexual favours for him, and that didn't go away when she was put into the foster care system.

That was normalised. So when she was fostered, she immediately tried to slip into her learned behaviours, cleaning the house nonstop and offering her body to her foster dad.

Did he lead her on? No. Did she have feelings for him? No. But she was indoctrinated into this belief system where sex was a duty she had to perform for the man she was in the care of, and when that became Kevin it manifested in her offering her body to him.

Misty we know virtually nothing about. We haven't seen her parents or the rest of her family. We haven't seen any of her friends or other formative relationships. We don't see the way anybody treats her one on one but we know her role on the team is basically just an honorary one just to humour her, that probably exploits her for tasks nobody else wants to do, (equipment manager probably just sets up cones for drills, etc, so the coach doesn't have to) but instead of begrudging the girls on the team or showing any jealousy, she seems to root for them, cheering louder than even the mascot and hyping them up.

She didn't hate or resent them for having or being something she wasn't, she admires them. She doesn't want anything bad to happen to them so she can feel superior, she's actively rooting for them to win. They inspire her. She doesn't want to be them, she wants to be with them.

All we know is that she basically wants to survive and to fit in with these girls. That she's desperate for belonging and affection. And that she is NOT like other girls.

We get the scene of her staring blankly as that rat drowns, not to show her cruelty or callousness, or at least I don't believe it is to show that she's psychotic as most people who dismiss her claim, but I believe it is to show her helplessness.

If you pay attention, it follows the scene where Allie gets hurt and she tries to intervene and perform first aid only to hurt her in her eagerness, and have coach yell at her to leave and call for help.

She's not clumsy and she does not panic easily. So I believe the reason for her absence of wherewithal in that scene, contrasting to her absolute clarity and single-minded focus during the crash, I believe is due to the fact that she is so used to her contributions to the team being behind the scenes, to nobody's applause, that when she finally gets the chance to contribute something valuable in a meaningful way she gets so overexcited she trips all over herself.

In the wilderness though she is in shock, and her body and brain slip into hyperfocus to avoid contemplating her own fate so she manages to carry the group's medical emergencies for the most part, and she is one of the most integral members of the group, if not the most important to their survival, next to Natalie, long term.

She stays in that state of hyperfocus throughout the entire second episode, from the moment they crash, until way into the night when she cauterizes coach Ben's leg. Something like 12 hours pass in this exhaustive state for her. And we only ever seen her finally snap out of it when she goes to pee and overhears Van and Akilah talking about her and she finally gets the tiniest bit of praise and validation after going beast mode for a whole damn day.

Like, she's not part of the group huddles when they score a point. She doesn't get a high five for putting cones down. This was the only time she got any validation on that team. She's so used to being overlooked, is it any wonder she would do something drastic to maintain some of that momentum and crush the flight recorder?

Note: it's not the reason they got stuck. Like the name implies it just records flight data and other information, and its location transmitter only works underwater so they wouldn't have gotten rescued because of that anyway.

Point being it makes sense that she would act out and make these desperate gestures for affection or attention when so long she's been on the sidelines, at least through soccer, though from what little we've seen, probably in her own life as well.

Misty displays signs of autism, which would explain her different morality (autistic people do not see the world the same way, and their morality system is different from everybody else's. She is impulsive and

And unfortunately autistic people take people at face value and tend to have trouble reading social cues and are statistically more likely to be preyed upon.

So for Misty to walk into the room, see coach at half mast and think it was appropriate to touch it, especially considering the likelihood that she has been assaulted in the past (1 in 4 typical women, and between 75-90% depending on the study for women presenting traits of autism) it is more than likely that it was a result of her disorder and past trauma and it's not some mark of villainy or psychopathy.

Something that really aggravates me is the fact that some people think Misty is completely at fault for her actions towards and with Coach Ben.

It is obvious to me that she already starts out the show with some severe abandonment issues, and the attraction to an older man and her innate need to have him need her in all ways possible is— alarming, to say the least. Seems clear to me that if she isn’t a victim of csa, she is definitely susceptible to that kind of abuse. Her curiosity towards Ben and sex seems less fueled by an actual, sexual attraction to him and instead a desire to be wanted and seen by anyone, and through trauma a child can be taught that the easiest way to get attention is to take it through any means possible. When a child has exhausted every avenue for love and attention, they will turn to extreme measures.

Should Misty have touched Ben in the cabin? Absolutely not, and his reaction was valid. Should she have poisoned him? Also no.

HOWEVER, I don’t believe that Ben’s fear of her is a good excuse for him to “play along” with this CHILD and her delusion. Think about how easy it could have been for him, an adult that is obviously impressionable to Misty, to sit her down and have an honest conversation with her. To tell her, “no, I don’t want you. But I don’t need to want you for your existence to be worth something. You are worthy of love and attention, and I’m giving you that love and attention by sitting you down and having this real, vulnerable conversation with you.”

All Misty needed was to be heard, not to be played along with. If Ben would of seen that, and talked to her, I truly believe she would have listened. That isn’t to say she isn’t already destined to become someone who manipulates others and uses her pitifulness to her advantage, and I’m honestly not sure how things would have played out if Ben had this conversation with her. But I think it was needed, and I think Ben is somewhat of a coward for not doing it.

[sparrowsingsstories]

For Sparrow: 1, 4, 28, & 39?

Thank you and I'm sorry it took me so long to respond!

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do? Well, it depends. If she's scoping out a job, she can sit still and quiet for as long as it takes. But generally, she's a little ball of energy. She's always doing something - even if that something is fidgeting with a stuffed animal while watching Bean clean.

4. How easy is it to earn their trust? No. She's been hurt too many times. She trusts Canary and Birdie because she followed at watched them. And because they didn't lie to her. Canary has never lied to her. She trusts Bean because she understands what it's like to not feel like you fit in. But everybody else? They have to earn her trust. And she's pretty darn good at reading people. So, for instance, Darcy's adopted father figure, Luke? She trusts him fairly quickly because he is true feeling. But Darcy? Her trust in him grows. Mercy? It comes in starts and stops. Deacon? She trusts him a little faster because she's watched "Glasses" for years. Danse? It takes FOREVER. Because he lies to himself - and she can tell. Plus, the BOS, in general, is a lie. At least to her. That said - Sturges? She trusts him almost immediately. Who doesn't love him??

28. Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? No. Sparrow would rather the truth be told. Don't sugar coat it. Just tell her. And she tried not to lie. She knows that she, sometimes has to - especially when helping her Mama with an infiltration...but she'd point out that infiltration is important work. So sure - she told Maxson she was a 12 year old orphan. SURE she tugged on his heartstrings to get info on the BOS. But she'd also point out that nobody asked them to fly into the Commonwealth and create a huge old stink. Also...infiltrating Nuka World to save her birth mother and siblings was important and lying to raiders doesn't count. But don't sugar coat the truth to spare her feelings. That, in the end, hurts her more.

39. How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people? Depends on the flaw. Are we talking about an excessively flirtatious personality (Darcy) or a deep OCD need to keep their environs clean (Levi) or that whole paranoia thing (Canary) or rabid fear of germs (Birdie)...I mean, she'd say we all have flaws. She's full of them and everybody loves her anyways. Nobody's perfect. Take Sean for example - very charming, super sweet, fun to be around...fucks Sturges in the vertibird with the door open, is a right dumbass, used to be a BOS Lancer, whines when doing morning runs...she doesn't hold that against him. Well, the entire "almost public sex thing" gets on her nerves because she got stuck in the vertibird once and saw more of her adopted brother (Sturges) than she ever wanted to see...but I mean, she still loves Sean and didn't even think about stabbing him. Not even a little bit. She loves MacCready and he nags her non-stop. She does call him MacDaddy but honestly, she'd point out it's her Mama's fault. Anyways - everybody has flaws and as long as they aren't like...murder...she's alright with them.

[achairwithapandaonit]

Serious this time then I whish you write a fic where....

Kurogiri gets the job to raise and protect Tomura properly by AfO, takes one look at the enviroument that woul mean raising the child and promptly snatches him away and fucks of

:p

Kurogiri is introduced to Shigaraki Tomura shortly after what he'd call the beginning of his life. Shigaraki Tomura is small and wild-eyed, filled with endless hate at the society that has hurt him.

A thought bleeds through as he watches the way that All for One interacts with Shigaraki Tomura.

All for One's presence does more harm than good in his young charge's life.

Kurogiri has been given orders - to raise and protect Tomura - and he must obey them.

There's nothing else to do for it. If All for One is damaging to Tomura, then Kurogiri must raise and protect him in another, safer environment.

-

Tomura doesn't take well to their change in environment at first. He's angry and demanding, wanting to know if this is really what Sensei wants and if he's going to get to see him soon.

Kurogiri knows that this must be what All for One wants. His directives are to raise and protect Shigaraki Tomura, and that's what he's doing.

He tells Shigaraki Tomura to be patient.

There's something in the back of his head that questions when everything will be over, though. It questions when he will have completed his task, if he will ever complete his task. As long as All for One remains a threatening power in Shigaraki Tomura's life, they can't return to him.

It's as Kurogiri has been ordered.

-

Shigaraki Tomura has no friends his age and it's led to him having underdeveloped social skills. He reacts to everything with fits of anger, like All for One taught him to.

For now, Kurogiri thinks that it wouldn't be safe to enrol him in a school.

All for One's presence weighs too heavily on his mind. He would likely kill anyone that annoyed him just because he'd been taught to do it.

He's only seven and yet he's still so destructive.

Kurogiri thinks long and hard about the kind of environment he needs to raise Shigaraki Tomura in. In the end, he decides that they should open some kind of shop. Somewhere where Shigaraki Tomura will get used to people again while Kurogiri can keep an eye on him.

Cats spring to mind as Kurogiri puts his plans for a cafe into action. Kurogiri has no idea what it is - if something about Tomura's attitude reminds him of them, or if there's some kind of memory hidden away that's yearning to get out - but he concedes that owning a cat would be a good idea.

Tomura is lacking in understanding for others, and having a pet could help him build it back up.

-

Kurogiri has many ideas for a way to keep the business off the radar. Perfect service would get word spread about them on the streets, thus letting All for One know where they are, but terrible service would also do the same.

Mediocre service is what he needs. Orders that take just a bit too long to get to customers, but served with enough politeness that they're begrudgingly accepting of it.

Their new cat is crabby, one ear missing. It likes to bat and scratch at whoever it can reach.

People like cats, but they don't like being scratched.

It's yet another thing to keep customers from returning.

Tomura takes to the cat very quickly. He's annoyed that it's not immediately friendly, but he's a child and children have a hard time not accepting small balls of fluff.

"What will you call him, Shigaraki Tomura?" Kurogiri asks, watching as Tomura dangles his gloved fingers in front of the cat curiously, waiting for it to pounce at them.

Tomura groans, smushing his face into the rug in front of him. He's petulant and annoyed that he has to come up with anything.

"Maybe...Mon," Shigaraki Tomura says, face twisted in confusion.

He doesn't look like he knows where the name comes from. Kurogiri can understand that. He gets strange moments like that too.

-

Being isolated for as long as Shigaraki Tomura has must be hard, Kurogiri decides. He observes again and again as Shigaraki Tomura finds every excuse not to step into the cafe, not to interact with human beings. Kurogiri doesn't know how to help him.

At least, not until one of his few regulars spies Tomura ducking around a doorway.

It's been about a year and Shigaraki Tomura is eight.

Midoriya Inko's son, a small three year old with an All Might obsession, sits squirming in her lap, trying to get another glimpse of the older boy.

"Play?" he says, waving his All Might toy about.

"Shigaraki Tomura does not appear to want to play," Kurogiri tells the boy politely.

He gets puffed up cheeks and a pout in response. Midoriya Inko giggles, brushing her hands through his fluffy hair and kissing at his forehead. "You can play with Katsuki-kun later, okay?"

Still, the pout persists.

Kurogiri serves the Midoriyas at his usual mediocre timing, forgetting about the incident as he continues to work.

It isn't until he hears giggling from a side room, sees Midoriya Inko looking around for her son in confusion, that he remembers.

"I don't want to play. You're a baby," he hears Tomura say in a gritted voice.

"Nuh uh," says the three year old. "You baby."

"What? No I'm not!"

"Play All Might?"

Kurogiri looks around the corner and sees that little Izuku has shoved his All Might toy into Tomura's face. Tomura is regarding it with a wrinkled nose, disdain clear in his features.

The thing is, Tomura has made no moves towards killing Midoriya Izuku.

This could work.

-

Mon, as terrible as he is to customers, has managed to draw in another regular.

Grouchy and tired, uncaring about the slow service when he can just nap for however long it takes, pro hero Eraserhead feels like a long forgotten memory.

[rescuefield-a]

eyes roll as her own blazer is taken off and unceremoniously abandoned on the couch arm rest - of course leon is not listening to her, what's new anyway? claire knows it's different, hurts to even consider it, but after all things have been rocky, she just needs time to get over it. fingers pull at the hair tie around her wrist, quickly tying auburn strands into a messy ponytail - freckled shoulders left exposed as hands rest at hips. "i'm not gonna let you sleep on the couch, don't be ridiculous." she's shorter and would fit on it easily, it's really no bother. a soft sigh escapes lips as head shakes, no use in fighting a battle that is so clear she's destined to lose.

gaze lingers on leon for a moment, hating how every single thing he does always manages to get under her skin. it doesn't feel right to be annoyed at him about something so trivial - especially knowing all too well his shirt would already be on the floor if nothing had happened in the past few days. "alright, i need to think." she announces walking past him, toothbrush and night clothes retrieved from her duffle bag before heading for the bathroom. a long glance is given at her reflection once she's in, grimace forming on features upon noticing smudged make up at corners of her eyes. she washes her face thoroughly then, brushing her teeth as if having the nicest smelling breath was her top priority. pantsuits are traded for a pair of sweatpants, deciding that the spaghetti straps tank top she's been wearing will be just fine to sleep in for one night.

when she comes out of the bathroom, the stress of the day has already started to melt away - familiar environment rather than her hotel room playing its part in such feeling even though admitting it would mean that to end the day on one final good note, she'd need to fall asleep in leon's arms too. lips purse tight as she lingers in the hallway, corner of her eye catching a glimpse of him standing not too far. "we don't really have much time left, and i don't want it to be awkward because of what happened." voice trails and a glance is flashed in his direction, expression softening slightly. "neither of us needs to sleep on the couch... i just don't know how to go back to before yet."

There was very little said as Leon drove his friend back to the hotel she had taken partial residence in over the course of her stay in town. The silence is loud, but it was uncomfortable. Not like it was before. This was much more tranquil. Things were starting to feel the way they did. Still so jarring to think just a few days prior to now; Leon almost put a serious strain on his and Claire's relationship. The very person he couldn't see himself without in life ( and it was foolish to think he would have let her go without attempting to make amends ) . Thank God he has given him SOME senses as he's aged. She was all he had some days, what helped him get through those nights after Raccoon City. All the family he could consider family. Every so often along the drive the agent glanced in the younger woman's direction. All the more pleased to see a small grin painted on her lips in the window's reflection. The tiny curve of it noticeable on her profile. It was picture worthy--- if only in memory.

He followed the woman up to her room. Most the packing was done by herself in a rush. Leon wasn't a useless person, he couldn't stop himself from helping where he could, though he ended up mostly spotting for her. Making sure nothing was getting left behind as she packed with haste. Once wrapped up, he was taking the heavier bags from her. Soon making the brisk ride back to his 'very dull' condo.

His keys are discarded on the stand beside the front door. The least likely place to loose them. Shoes were neatly untied and left behind. Blazer was finally being shaken off his shoulders, a few more buttons undone on his top. A silent sign of starting to settle for the night. Brow quirked at Claire's inquiry, blue hues narrowing at her. "The couch?" A hint of insult in his tone as arms cross over his chest, head canting, "You really think I'm gonna let you sleep on the damn couch? When have I ever made you sleep in the living... if you aren't comfortable sharing the bed yet, I can sleep in here. I've slept in worse places after all. A night in here won't kill me."

[versadies]

ophichius/body switch soulmate au +xiao or childe pretty please? for xiao it can be like, when the body switch happens the reader feels the burden of the karmic debt so xiao starts taking care of himself/leaving instructions on what to do just so his soulmate doesn't have to suffer as much. reader is the traveler, in inazuma and xiao just quietly appreciated being free from karmic debt even for a day, and appreciating inazuma's beautiful sights whilst reader is just. in wangshuu inn. suffering

delicate (hc scenario)

penpal: bless you for such an incredible idea ! hope you like this along with your other request on childe <<3

prompt: ophiuchus the snake, body-switch soulmate au

pairing/s: xiao x gn!traveler!reader

sypnosis: hc on how you and xiao went through the whole day in each other's body.

includes: reader is not aether/lumine and is a random traveler (sorry to anon if you meant by reader being aether/lumine), reader suffering cuz of karmic debt, mentions of physical pain, mentions of violence, pure fluff

the moment xiao opens his eyes from his quick nap, the first thing he sees is the view of narukami island.

the yaksha was alerted at first, wondering how he came from hunting around dihua marsh for demons to sitting down beneath a tree with a new environment he hasn’t been in before.

it wasn’t until he realized he’s in a different outfit and different body that he found out that today’s the special day.

he hopes you aren’t in too much pain.

he observes his surroundings for a moment, then his eyes moved down to his appearance, only to see an outfit that is deemed fit for a traveler. his soulmate is a traveler in inazuma?

now that the yaksha thinks about it, he has heard the unfortunate fate the people of inazuma has to go through with the new rules that the current archon has set up, with her soldiers taking away people's visions, discrimination against outlanders, and the borders being closed around the nation.

xiao immediately checks around his– or rather his soulmate's– body to see if they have a vision, feeling relieved when he felt the familiar form of a vision hidden underneath his clothing.

all he needs to do is hide the vision and not go to the city, where he's sure a lot of vision hunters will be found.

this shouldn't be too hard, right?

meanwhile, you're currently writhing in pain in your soulmate's body, confused with what's happening to you– or rather, your soulmate's body.

you honestly had never such intense pain until now, how the hell does your soulmate deal with this? did he get a rare illness?

you couldn't think straight, your mind throbbing in pain as your body continued to ache and ache with voices running in your he–

"xiao? are you okay?" you shakily look up at the woman, who was staring at you with a concerned look on her face.

before you could try to let out a word, you immediately dropped on the floor, gasping out from the continuous pain. when does it ever stop? you rather go back to inazuma and suffer their new regulations instead of going through this pain–

"you're not xiao, are you?" she asks, causing you to nod profusely in response as you clench your fists together, closing your eyes shut whilst ignoring the woman, who was busy looking for something in her clothing.

"here." you open your eyes to see her handing you what looked like a pill. as if the woman read your mind, she quickly clarified what the pill is. "it's a painkiller. your uh, soulmate gave it to me and told me to give it to you in case you two swit–"

without letting the woman continue, you immediately snatched the pill from her and swallow it whole.

it took what felt like more than 20 minutes for the pain to finally subside, causing you to finally sigh in relief. although the pain was still there, it surely wasn't as painful and unbearable as before.

by the time you calmed yourself down, you slowly stood up from the cold floor and look at the woman gratefully. "you have my thanks, miss...?"

"verr goldet," she responds with a gentle smile. "i'm the owner of this inn. if there's anyone you should thank for, it's definitely your soulmate. you would've suffered the whole period of your body swap if it weren't for his thoughtfulness."

you nodded in understanding. "i see.. but i still am grateful for you stepping in."

"it's no problem, though i'm sure you're starving right now, would you like to eat?"

"yes please."

unlike what you recently went through in xiao's body, xiao was having perhaps one of the most peaceful time he has ever experienced. after all, when will he find an opportunity to not suffer from his karmic debt in this lifetime?

although killing the opponents who came in his way was a hassle, he still found his time enjoyable– with the exception of his mind thinking a lot about your wellbeing in his body. surely verr goldet must've given you the painmeds, right?

besides that, you must've seen the instructions he left for you– but what if you didn't see it and had to go through so much pain later on?

"please be okay." he mumbled under his breath, letting out a worried sigh and continued walking around the land.

unnoticed by the yaksha, you were indeed okay.

"i can see why my soulmate would love these," you commented to verr as you take more bites of the sweet dessert. "what does he do daily?"

verr lets out a nervous laugh. "to be honest, i don't really know what else he does other than hunting demons around the nation. though, you don't have to worry about doing it since xiao insisted that you can spend the whole day here instead."

"oh..." you look down at your plate with a deep frown. what if there's a demon that's hurting people and you couldn't do anything about it?

before you could ask verr, she immediately looks up at where the reception area is. "i have to go now. if you want to know anything, i recall xiao telling me to tell you to look at the instructions in your pocket. i'll be back!" she said before rushing upstairs to tend to one of the visitors, leaving you alone with your food.

you searched for the pocket around your pants, pulling out the piece of paper and read the list.

"should the pain meds run out, please visit a man named zhongli in liyue harbor."

"don't try to hunt for demons unless you want to experience more pain to endure."

"please come to verr goldet if you need something or require food. almond tofu is the only thing i can stomache, unfortunately."

"do not come to public areas if you have no reason to go there. karmic debt– the pain you're going through right now– can be affective to others."

the rest was all more rules for you to read and you're honestly thankful for xiao to write all of this for your sake, now regretting that you didn't do the same for him. what if he isn't aware of what's happening to inazuma?

you take another bite of almond tofu, silently hoping that xiao is doing okay back in your homeland.

to tell you the truth, xiao's definitely doing alright.

the yaksha had never went out of liyue for a very long time until now. sure, he could admit that nothing can beat the beautiful views that liyue can offer but inazuma is a sight to see.

everywhere he went, he found himself being fascinated by everything in this land, looking through ruins and staring at flowers that he himself hasn't seen in all of his life.

not to mention the fact that the mobs that lurks around the areas are different than the ones in liyue.

he would be lying if he said he hadn't thought of getting you out of the nation and come to liyue harbor, but he knew it wasn't up to him to decide on that. if it weren't for his duty in protecting liyue, xiao would've wanted to try and go to inazuma just to keep you safe, but what if you dislike him after everything you went through in his body? what if you didn't like him because he's immortal–

"they won't think such thing." he mumbled to himself, still slightly taken back by the sound of your voice coming out from his mouth as he sat down in an abandoned adventurer camp he spotted, looking forward to try out foods that he can make with the ingredients he found in your inventory.

as the day went by, you spent there in wangshu inn, writing a letter for xiao to read by the time the body switch is over along with visiting the man who can provide you more pain meds. xiao on the other hand spent time adventuring around inazuma trying to not get caught by vision hunters, enjoying his time without karmic debt.

by the end of the day, as the moon rises, the both of you finally found yourselves back in your bodies– with you sighing in relief that you've already finished writing the letter and not having to be in pain again whilst xiao was happy to be back in his homeland.

you then noticed you're in watatsumi island, your home being not too far away from where you're standing, causing you to smile. who knew xiao unknowingly took you back to where you've been heading to?

xiao on the other hand, was sitting on the rooftop of wangshu inn, reading the letter you left with his heart pounding at the words you wrote just for his eyes.

his shoulders instantly relaxes when he reads that you were okay throughout the day–

his mouth twitches upward when he reads the last words you wrote.

"once i come to liyue harbor and escape from inazuma, i wish to meet you and enjoy almond tofus with you."

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗥𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗨𝗞𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 || dark!jan (the edukators/die fetten Jahre sind vorbei) x reader

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬 | in scoping out his next target, jan hadn't realised that you wouldn't be joining your family on their next vacation; in choosing to stay home, you hadn't realised what you were in for.

𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧 | 4.3k

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 | smut (noncon, with fingering and penetrative sex), innocence kink, virginity loss/first time, brief exhibitionism, degradation, daddy kink, spitting (in mouth and on pussy), breaking and entering/home invasion, touch of misogyny kink, slight objectification kink (petnames like babydoll/dolly being 99% of this), slight bleeding (from sex specifically), death mention (no threats, just the fear of threats if that makes sense?)

𝗔/𝗡 | you don't need to have seen the movie to understand this fic, as long as you know that jan and his friends break into rich people's houses as part of their anti-capitalist rebellion. note that the vast majority of dialogue is written in english for simplicity, but that these conversations would actually take place fully in german.

this is a DARK fic, if you hit 'keep reading' I don't wanna hear you upset about content listed clearly in the warnings section

It’s probably normal to hear a bump in the night, to wake up and be a little freaked out, but to ultimately just stay in bed and not do anything about it. At first you were sure you were sure it was nothing, though your gut told you otherwise; then, as you heard more and more you spent quite some time convincing yourself that it was just pipes creaking or the foundation settling. But the thing about pipes and foundations is they don’t speak German.

“Hier entlang, hier entlang,” someone whispered, and footsteps shifted all along the lower floor.

Maybe you were still asleep, and this was just a strange dream, a terrifying dream. You pulled the blanket up over your head and prayed to wake up, but the denial turned to terror when you heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

You jumped out of bed, but it was too late to go out your bedroom door— you could hear them walking and whispering outside. Your bathroom had a small window, but even if you managed to fit through it you’d be on the second story with no way to ropel down. Maybe in your mind you could be some daring adventurer with the perfect plan to escape, or with the skills to defend yourself with something random you could grab, but you knew better than to really think you could do anything but hide.

As the footsteps and voices got louder, your eyes frantically searched the room and finally landed on the large upright dresser— maybe it was a little obvious, but it had a handy little feature that made it lock from the inside. It had come in handy for a decade of hide-and-seek, and now it would hopefully serve you one last time.

With not a second to spare, you ran over and grabbed the golden handles, swinging the doors open but being careful to shut them quietly after you’d stepped inside and made room for yourself among the coats and dresses. You searched for the lock in the pitch darkness, only able to find it because it was right above the keyhole that glowed from the dim light outside. Just as you turned the knob and heard the metal lock slide inside the wooden door, you heard your bedroom door open.

Someone walked around your room briefly, you even heard them pick something up and set it down— probably your bedside lamp, based on where it was coming from, but you obviously couldn’t be sure and frankly didn’t care that much. Footsteps approached the dresser and you saw the keyhole light up as a flashlight passed over it.

“Let’s take all the clothes and put them in the fireplace,” a voice in the room announced. “We won’t actually light the fireplace, but it sends a message.”

You covered your mouth with your hand to try to keep quiet when the doors shook briefly from an attempt to open them.

“Fuck, it’s locked.”

“Here, you go on to the next room, I’ll pick it,” a second voice decided, and you heard more footsteps as someone else approached the armoire. “Look how fancy the dresser is, they’ve probably got furs in here too— god knows people living in a house like this can’t miss an opportunity to destroy the environment.”

You heard something jiggle inside the keyhole, a clicking noise that went on for just a few moments before you heard the metal slide inside the wood again and the doors slowly opened.

A man, dressed in black and holding a flashlight in his gloved hands, stared at you from behind a mask that left only his brown eyes visible. You both stood still, staring at each other, until he did exactly the last thing you expected: he lifted the mask up to his forehead and showed you his face.

He was a lot younger than you would’ve expected, though he had the scruffy beard of a guy trying to look older; his teeth were slightly crooked when he smiled at you, and when he raised a brow while he gave you a quick look-over, you noticed the way they almost connected in the middle.

Under his gaze, you suddenly felt very aware of how little your lacy, baby pink nightgown protected you from the chilling night air.

"Well, what's this?" he asked coyly as he watched you shiver. "Guess these capitalist pigs left one of their little piglets behind." He put on a cooing sort of voice as he addressed you directly: "Did mummy and daddy leave you all alone while they went on holiday?"

He stepped closer even as you tried to shrink away, examining you carefully.

“Get out of there, silly, what are you hiding for? I’m not gonna hurt you,” he assured, not that you found it especially comforting. When you didn’t step out of your own accord, he grabbed your arm and roughly yanked you forward; he slammed the dresser doors behind you, and you whimpered in fear as he pinned you down against them by each arm. "Shh, hey, don't worry— I'm here to take care of you, you can call me daddy instead until your heartless banker father gets back. Go ahead, tell me what's wrong."

"I—"

"Ah ah," he tutted with a mix of bemusement and disappointment, "I already told you how to address me."

You shuddered but finally responded, "Daddy, I'm scared."

He gave you a demeaning little pout, but you continued.

"Some men broke in and I'm alone and… and I don't know if they want to hurt me."

"No, baby, they don't want to hurt you," he promised with a gentle smile, but it turned horrifically sinister as he leaned in to add with a whisper: "but we will if we have to."

You swallowed thickly, your gut twisting when you felt him breathe out against your neck.

"So you're gonna be a good girl, right?"

You nodded quickly, turning away when he leaned in closer, looking down at you with darkened eyes and running the fingers of his black gloves over the neckline of your pyjamas.

“You were just waiting for me, huh? All tucked in in your cute little nightgown, dressed up like a doll,” he grinned. “I bet you want daddy to play with you, hm?”

He laughed cruelly when you shook your head, fighting harder to get away again as he squeezed your arms tight enough to leave marks where his fingers had been.

“Wanna play, little dolly?” he continued, pressing his body into yours and roughly shoving his leg between your thighs. “I know you do… c'mon and give me a kiss," he requested.

“N-no,” you stammered, but he grabbed your jaw in his gloved hand and forced you to look ahead, slamming his lips onto yours and ignoring your muffled protests. When he pinched your side you gasped instinctively, and he shoved his tongue inside your mouth roughly— but that only lasted for a moment, before you found renewed strength and managed to shove him back. It wasn’t far enough to free yourself, but enough to get a break from the oppressive kiss.

“Aw, don’t be mean,” he pouted, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. “You said you’d be good for me, remember?”

“Just stop, please,” you whined, gasping before you could stop yourself when he rubbed his thigh up against you— hitting right on your clit which throbbed in spite of everything. Somehow the fear made you more sensitive, or at least something had because you’d never felt quite like this before.

“See? You’re all worked up,” he explained, “I’m gonna help you.”

This time when he leaned in he started to kiss and suck at your neck instead, starting right beneath your ear and moving down slowly until his tongue laved over the crook where your shoulder began. As much as you hated it, it made arousal pulse between your legs where his thigh continued to push hard on you.

When he moved even closer, you could feel his erection against your hip; you didn’t even realise that you’d let out a gasp until you felt him smile against your neck. “Oh, babydoll… you want daddy’s cock inside you, I can tell.”

“N-no, I don’t— just stop,” you begged.

“If only it were so easy, to just ask someone to stop,” he mused. “You know how many times we asked people like your father to stop before they fucked us? You know how far that gets us? You don’t just get to ask nicely, you have to fight for it…”

He chuckled as you writhed in his embrace.

“But you’re too weak to fight, poor thing.”

"Please, I'm not a part of whatever you’re talking about,” you tried to explain, “I don't know much about what Papa does at work—"

"That's your problem, baby, you're blissfully ignorant! Not all of us have that luxury. But the good news is, I'm here to educate you." He pushed up even closer to you, speaking lowly right into your ear with rage starting to bubble up in his voice. "Your father is a piece of scum who feeds on the working class and then robs them blind. You live like this, unquestioningly, and the rest of Germany suffers. Stuck-up bitch like you wouldn't even notice me if you saw me on the street, would you? Wouldn't even give me the time of day, but now you're at my mercy. That’s what you people need to learn: that you’re not gonna be on top forever.”

Suddenly you felt his hand cup your sex through your nightgown, and you choked on your gasp. “No—!” you started to shout, but his right hand covered your mouth as the left hastily pulled your pyjamas up and reached under them.

“Stop fucking squirming,” he grunted as he reached between your kicking legs and slid quickly up your thigh. “Mm, bet you’re hiding a pretty little cunt under this nightgown— hold still, baby, you’re gonna like this.”

Finally maneuvring his way into your panties, he abruptly shoved two gloved fingers inside of you, watching closely as you scrunched your face up tight in discomfort. He thrusted and twisted them around for a bit, carelessly stretching you open as you tried desperately to squirm away; it stung a bit, and the leather of the gloves was cool and awkwardly firm against your walls. For some reason, when he dropped his free hand from your face, you didn’t try to scream again— maybe because you knew no one who cared could hear you— and you just panted heavily instead.

As quickly as he’d pushed them in he pulled them out, bringing the glove up to his mouth to take it off with his teeth with a little growl before rubbing his bare hand over your pussy again. You whimpered when he slid his fingers inside you again, this time feeling the texture of his skin as he curled the pads of his fingers right against your spot. “Yeah?” he mumbled his taunt around the leather between his teeth before spitting the glove out onto the floor. “Fuck, so warm… you’re so wet already, dolly, has nobody been giving this pussy any attention?”

He stopped moving his fingers inside you to pull out and give your clit a few slaps, licking his lips when you cried out from the sharp sensation.

“Huh?” he reminded you to answer when you never gave a response.

“N-no,” you shook your head, finally, and he smiled like he was proud of himself.

“Yeah? You’re not a virgin, are you?”

You only looked down at the floor, blinking a few times as you focused on the teal carpet, and heard him laugh darkly.

“Oh, dolly, I might break you,” he warned roughly as he pushed your gown up to your waist, ignoring your sobbed pleas for him to stop. “We don’t usually take anything from the people we visit, but if I take your virginity maybe your people will finally get the message.”

“Please— you don’t have to do that,” you stammered, rushing through whatever you could think of to make him change his mind, “I won’t tell anyone you were here. You can have whatever you want, if I call them they can send you money—”

“You aren’t even fucking listening to me, we don’t want your expensive bullshit and we don’t want your dirty fucking money!” he corrected sternly, clutching your sleeves tighter and shaking you slightly with the intensity of his movements. “We just want you to be afraid, because the revolution is coming.”

But you were afraid of something much more imminent than a revolution.

“Get on the fucking bed,” he demanded, though you couldn’t do much else considering he was already roughly tossing you onto it, climbing on top of you and pinning you down when you started to crawl back instinctively. With his legs resting on yours and keeping you (somewhat) still, he only needed one hand to grab your shoulders while the other rushed to open his jeans.

Your eyes got a little wide when you saw his cock— before that, it was almost like some part of you didn’t really think he’d go through with his, but now you could see clearly that he was hard and ready… and big enough to make you question how that thing was even supposed to fit inside you.

He tore through your panties like they were paper; he lifted and spread your legs as he sat between them and, much to your humiliation, just stared down at your pussy for a moment. You’d never felt so exposed and it made you feel worse than ever. “Knew you’d have a pretty cunt,” he announced smugly, “can’t wait to see it all stretched out and covered in my come— I’m gonna ruin you, babydoll.”

You weakly struggled as he held your hips down with one hand and haphazardly stroked his cock a few times with the other, rubbing himself over your opening before pulling his hips back to spit right onto your clit. After spreading the improvised lubrication around with his head for a moment, he pushed down on it with his thumb to line up with your hole and, without any further warning, slid inside in one motion.

You bit down on your lip hard, and even that wasn’t enough to distract you from the sting; it felt like he was ripping you open, not to mention going so deep that you could feel him in your stomach.

He groaned loudly, head falling back for a moment as he started to thrust into you. “Fuck, I can tell you’re a virgin— it must be hurting you, huh?”

But the question was a bit redundant, since tears had already begun to stream down your temples and your fingers were clutching tightly onto the sheets beneath you; if they were any less expensive, they probably would’ve ripped.

“Maybe a little pain will be good for you,” he decided with a smirk, “I think a spoiled brat like you has been spared the rod a few too many times.”

It was definitely more than a ‘little’ pain, and it only seemed to sting more each time he pulled back and pushed in again— he wasn’t going very fast, yet, so that was one thing you could almost be thankful for. That said, he wasn’t very gentle either.

He hastily reached up under your nightgown to grope your breasts, quickly moving from one to the other as he squeezed them just a bit too hard. “You like how daddy plays with your tits, don’t you?” he grunted. “Say, ‘yes daddy.’”

“Y-yes, daddy,” you mumbled awkwardly; maybe being embarrassed to say that was superfluous considering everything else happening right now, but your face got warmer regardless.

A whimper almost caught in your throat when he pinched your hardened nipples, but it broke through when he seemingly-randomly gave a spank to your inner thigh.

He looked down at where your bodies were joined, where he was stretching you out with steady pumps of his cock that filled you to the brim, before reaching up to quickly pull his black sweater off over his head— a t-shirt underneath came off with it as his chest was exposed. He wasn’t unreasonably pale but he clearly wasn’t the type to get a ton of sun, and he had a thin scattering of dirty-blonde hair over some of it. It was sort of embarrassing, now, seeing how thin he was and yet he was still so much stronger than you.

"You're getting so wet, babydoll, look— you're making a mess on these expensive sheets," he grinned. And he wasn't lying; the sting of the stretch had slowly faded, replaced with a friction you actually couldn't help but enjoy. Each time he moved, he seemed to slide right over a spot that made you tighten up your legs so they wouldn't shake.

But, apparently, there was still plenty left that he could do to hurt you.

You cried out, so louder it echoed across the room, when he suddenly thrust into you hard and deep, hitting the very end of you as your body involuntarily jolted— he clapped his hand down over your mouth instantly, muffling your cries to near-silence as he set a punishingly fast pace out of nowhere. You couldn’t turn your head when you heard your bedroom door open, but you could glance to the side and see another burglar appear in the doorway, staring forward at the scene in front of him.

A new sense of shame burned inside you for being seen in such a way; oddly, it came with guilt, too, as if you were doing something wrong yourself, when really it was just something wrong being done to you. The man on top of you didn’t seem to feel much of either, though: he didn’t even slow down.

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" the other man asked his partner, face still hidden but his voice a mixture of bewildered and disgusted. "This isn't how we roll."

"Fuck off, I'm almost done," your attacker scoffed. You tried to use the distraction to fight him again— you swung your arms to try to scratch his face or push him away, but without even hesitating he simply stopped covering your mouth to pin your wrists at either side of your head.

"Is this really what you think the revolution is about?" the man in the door sneered. "Or does that even matter to you when you think you might get some ass? Jesus, I always knew you were a creep but this is…" he trailed off.

"Maybe you should take a turn with her, might fix your attitude," the man on top of you suggested. "She's real tight— trust me, you'll feel better."

"I promise that raping that girl isn't gonna make me feel better, Jan," he frowned.

"Fine, then just go so I can finish and I'll meet you guys in the yard," Jan— apparently that was his name— instructed.

"Don't go," you begged the man in the door, seeing the concern on his face— you could tell he wanted to stop Jan, maybe if you asked him to, he would.

"Shut up, bitch," Jan growled, correcting you with a slap to the face.

The man in the doorway just shook his head and sighed, stepping back into the hall and shutting the door behind him. You cried harder, more sure than ever that Jan was right when he said you were at his mercy; and he didn’t seem to have much.

He fucked you rough and fast, recklessly chasing his own pleasure with no regard for yours. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean that you didn’t feel any pleasure, though… it was building, in fact, sort of like when you touched yourself but so much stronger, and deeper, and threatening to overflow at any moment. “Oh fuck, you’re close,” he noticed with a tilted grin, “you love it so fucking much, huh? Wanna cream on daddy’s cock?”

You shook your head but he slapped you again, spinning your face to the side as he held both your wrists above your head in one hand and gripped your jaw with the other.

“Stop lying,” he growled, “I can feel it, I can feel your cunt getting tighter… you’re gonna come so fucking hard for me, aren’t you, babydoll? God, what a nasty fucking whore you are…”

He held your face to look straight ahead, up at where he hovered above you and bared his teeth in a snarl, before forcing your mouth open and spitting into it. You grimaced and tried even harder to squirm away but he quickly clamped his hand down over your nose and mouth so you couldn’t try to spit it back out again.

“C’mon, swallow it,” he instructed roughly, voice a bit strained from the force it took to hold you down. You could hardly breathe with his hand this way, and when you tilted your head back to try to get away from it, you accidentally swallowed his spit with a disgusted, muffled grunt. “There you go, good girl,” he purred as he watched your throat bob a bit involuntarily, “that’s it, I know you wanna come— say it! Say ‘daddy I wanna come.’”

He let go of your mouth and slapped you again before you even had a chance to hesitate. “D-daddy,” you whined, “I… I—”

“It’s not that fucking hard,” he hissed, “just say it, you dumb fucking slut!”

One more slap was apparently all you needed to just choke it out: “I wanna come, daddy!” you cried, back starting to arch as the pressure of holding back your release became too much to bear.

“Then fucking come,” he demanded, “come for me, baby, right fucking now.”

You tried to hold out just a moment longer, just to spite him, just so you wouldn’t obey him so easily… but it only took one rough thrust right into the end of you to make it all spill over. You came with a sob, shaking and jerking beneath him for a moment before a warmth spread through you; it started right where he filled you and spread everywhere until your mind was all foggy and your fingers started to go numb— or maybe that was just because of him pinning you down at the wrists.

Much to your disgust, you could hear how wet you had become with every stroke inside you, a sickening squelching noise that made him laugh as your face tingled with numbness and burned with shame all at once. “Oh fuck, that’s it,” he praised, “naughty little dolly, making a mess on daddy’s cock with that dirty fucking cunt of yours… I’m gonna cover it in my come, are you ready, baby? Ask daddy to come on your pussy, don’t make me hit you again.”

“Daddy, please,” you mumbled quietly, “come on my pussy…”

“I can’t hear you, babydoll, you need to speak up,” he mocked.

And you were just so exhausted and overwhelmed and his thrusts inside your sensitive walls were starting to get painful again— that was why you really meant it when you sobbed through your begging: “Please, daddy, come on my pussy!”

With one more panted moan he pulled out and only had to give his cock one blur of a stroke before white, warm come began to paint over your sore opening, your swollen clit, your bruised inner thighs. “Fuuucckkk…” he groaned under his breath as he watched himself coat you, and you caught a tinge of pink from your blood on his cock and hand as he slowed down to a stop. "Sheiße," he sighed, letting go of your wrists to sit up and close his eyes for a moment before looking down again at where you were limp and splayed out on your bed beneath him. “See? I’m getting reckless, I really shouldn’t be leaving evidence…”

Even without that, you knew his name and face, but apparently he was focusing on the copious amounts of DNA he’d just left on you.

“I suppose it won’t be a problem, because you’re not going to tell anyone,” he posited, leaning down slightly to hover over you as you swallowed around the rock that had suddenly formed in your throat. “You know how I know you won’t?”

You weakly shook your head, already terrified to imagine what the answer to that question was going to be. Of course, your first assumption was that he was going to kill you, or threaten to do so if you involved the police. He knew where you lived, he could threaten your family, too: the thought made your skin crawl as he leaned down further to whisper right against your ear as you instinctively turned your face away from him.

“Because if you tell someone that I raped you,” he finally continued, “then you’ll also have to tell them that you liked it.”

Speaking right against your ear, it took him no effort at all to stick his tongue out and lick you right on it, making you squeal with fear and disgust.

He quickly hopped off the bed and recollected himself, stuffing his softening and blood-stained cock back into his pants before gathering his discarded clothes from the floor. "Your folks won't be home for two more nights, right? I should come visit you again," he winked when he spared a glance at you. “Now get some rest, baby, you deserve it. Don’t worry, I’ll lock the front door behind me when we leave… wouldn’t want anybody unsavory getting in, now would we?”

[unhinged-summer-fun]

the intersection of all my pieces

Danktober 2022 Day 26: Petplay, Ego, Howl at the Moon Night

Puppy!Marcus Pike x GN!Reader (22+ only)

Summary: Marcus muses on the components of his psyche. Why does he like what he likes?

Word Count: 3341

Warnings: Pet play, primal play (kinda), nudity, introspection which leads to emotional angst and hurt/comfort, psychological analysis.

Notes: the id, ego, and superego are terms used popularly in Freudian psychoanalytic theory. The id refers to your instincts, your most primal self. The superego refers to your morality and character, specifically when interacting with others. The ego is the combination of both, and controls how you see and experience your reality.

[full danktober list here]

[puppy marcus pike list here]

"Let me tell you, Pike, I'm kinda known for being the alpha dog wherever I go, I'll make sure you won't get picked on, pretty face like you."

Marcus immediately hated the man. Part of him wanted to flex the petty knowledge in his mind, that the "alpha wolf" theory was disproved over two decades ago and the scientist who'd fabricated the study had very quickly resigned in shame. He wanted to explain the true loyalties of a dog, the realities of pack behavior, what was done to the cruel and violent in most animal groups, and how they didn't exactly fit in a professional office environment full of fleshy, emotional humans. He wanted to say all of this, but the man just kept talking.

The new guy, Special Agent Benson, reeked of the kind of attitude Marcus never willingly stayed in the same breathing space as for long: self-serving, stereotyping, discriminatory, probably inflated with grandeur and pure id, though this buffoon would have probably just credited his ego as the feather in his hat.

Perhaps Supervisory Special Agent Marcus Pike was being a bit unfair, though.. He shouldn't have expected men like this to have offhand knowledge of Freudian psychology, besides being an exhibit-A motherfucker.

It was a strange but disappointing set of circumstances that had brought Benson to the International Art Crimes team. Some difficult-to-follow file filled with prior disciplinary measures from the Terrorist Screening Division and an itemized, dated, and collated collection of infraction records sent by the Office of Personnel Security sat on Marcus' desk just beneath his interlaced fingers, though he didn't really need to read it to understand that Marcus' division had been chosen as the last resort for this man's FBI career. Those same fingers were tightened into an uncomfortable grip, white-knuckled and both holding back the remarks Marcus was waiting to spit.

The situation annoyed him, but he was familiar with the steps he needed to take to dance around it. He knew that art just wasn't important to men like this. It required compassion and thought and the acceptance of devastation when following a lead to nothing but the shattered remains of centuries-old indigenous material history. Things had been getting better in the last few months, though. Activity had been picking up here and there, and they'd been granted almost twice the budget as last year, which allowed them to pursue the cases of items that had been collecting dust in the National Stolen Art File. The bottom line was this: he had cases to investigate and prosecute, millions of dollars worth of art in the basement gallery to trace provenance on and return, a team of 60 agents and bureau liaisons with the Smithsonian, and three oddly charming (or was it charmingly odd?) interns to oversee. He didn't need Agent Benson trying to herd him like a sheep dog in his own territory.

But that was a line of thinking best left at home, in the lockbox holding all the costume pieces and toys he liked best.

Almost as if you were thinking of him, his phone buzzed with a message, and he set it down on his face for now. Not even your contact photo had to see the dressing-down he was about to give Benson.

Your waiting message made the rest of the painfully awkward transfer interview a little more bearable. By the time the officially-demoted Agent Benson left Marcus' office with his tail between his legs and his head held a little less high than before, Marcus felt his authority weigh heavy across his shoulders like a yoke. Benson wouldn't be a problem, he thought to himself. If he proved otherwise, I'll make sure he doesn't have another second-chance. The thought chilled him. It was cutthroat decisions like these that drove some SSAs to keep booze in their desks, but Marcus' vices stayed at home and were only given by your hands.

Right, the message.

He shut the door and sat for a moment in the blessed silence he normally took for granted in his office, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he tapped open your message. It took a while to scroll through the wall of text and photos and links and travel information, but Marcus really preferred getting all the necessary information at once while he was at work. The odd and charming interns (he'd decided that they were both) tended to message him one - word - at - a - time, and often not getting to the point for several rounds of back-and-forth.

That was a bit of a lie, implying he didn't like clipped orders and a need-to-know attitude. He just preferred them when he wasn't wearing a tie and shirt stays.

You'd sent him information about a proposed evening camping in the woods, about an hours' drive east and another hours' hike up a mountain with a Class-1.5 Bortle Scale rating. You'd been getting very into dark-sky sites since you first heard of them during a date to the planetarium, and what with the full moon being tonight, and your close-up selfie of you making pleading puppy-dog eyes, Marcus could only smile to himself and reply with an affirmative.

The consistent staccato buzz in his pocket kept him company the rest of the workday, reminders of your excitement sitting against his hip. He tried not to think about what awaited him out in the wild, but it gave him something to look forward to for the next few hours.

He had one last meeting in the office, a conference call with some analysts out in Quantico. When he got on the call, the stoic faces that greeted him pulled a forced smile from his mouth. These analysts sometimes gave him the heeby-jeebies, speaking about their accomplishments in ways that completely separated their involvement from the effort. He used to feel that way in the Academy, and before then in college. There was mindfulness, and then there was whatever the hell this kind of self-critical affect was.

In response, he found himself playing up the happy-go-lucky Marcus Pike that he tended to have a reputation for in the Bureau. It didn't look like his plan was working too well, but when he made one of the analysts crack a smile and admit that they spent a lot of time working on their data compilation program, he took it as a small victory.

The polar opposites of those two strange interactions, Benson and the Quantico analysts, left Marcus in a contemplative mood. His therapist suggested to him that keeping track of his thoughts would help to better notice patterns of behavior that could be influential over time, and that scared him. He'd taken it as, did you know you and your brain are the only two things responsible for your sadness, control issues, impulsive decision-making, and the fact you don't know that is making those things worse? He'd suspected for a long while that his problems were his own doing, but what felt even worse was the acknowledgment to accept the fact, and rationalize the clueless disaster he'd been before, traipsing around Austin with a woman who screamed 'unavailable.'

He remained trapped in this melancholic holding pattern when he arrived at the apartment, pulling into his usual space and catching a glimpse of you packing up the hatchback. Months and months ago, after you'd both moved into this apartment together, free of any notions of attachment or territory, he would have still worried at the motion of you packing up alone while he was gone, assuming the worst. Now, he just greeted you by name and walked closer. "Need some help? I hope you didn't do all this by yourself."

You gave him a look that said I'm more than capable of opening doors, crossing streets, and opening the pickle jar by myself, Marcus, but broke into a smile that had his darker thoughts running for the hills. "There's just your things, figured you'd want to take them down yourself anyway."

The darker glint in your eyes, the promise of play later on, twisted pleasantly in Marcus' gut, and he felt his mouth water on instinct. The reminder of the camping gear only added to the fantasy. Call him cliché for saying it, but he loved playing outside when he was in his puppy-space. His heart raced excitedly at the thought of sinking down into that bliss beneath the stars, under the light of a full moon. By the smirk forming on the corners of your mouth, you knew this too, and had most likely factored all of that into planning this.

God, you must have planned this for weeks. He used to be saddened by your keeping of plans from him, used to let it curdle into insecure panic, but you knew Marcus loved surprises and often spoiled them for himself by accident. It's almost like you want to ruin surprises for yourself, Marcus' superego whispered. The words had disappeared like letters written in sand whenever your hand rested on the back of his neck. The effect was instantaneous, his eyes snapping to look at your mouth and his thoughts stilling, ready and awaiting orders.

"Go upstairs and shower. Change into what I set out for you and check over your box. If there's anything you want to bring with us, pick it out. Other than that, when you come back, we're hitting the road."

Marcus dashed up the steps like a man possessed, too restless and full of energy to wait for an elevator, to remember what an elevator was. His shower was messy, water flying all over and his hair left in a wet mop on his head that would dry in the car. The clothes you'd set out were just normal outdoorsy clothes, but you knew how much Marcus liked to run around in those shorts, that those shoes would let him feel the forest floor beneath his feet, the shirt could be replaced if it got too dirty or grimy. Make a mess, his mind urged, the id pressuring him to feel that primal connection to himself that he denied so staunchly during the day.

He hardly had to look into the box to know you'd chosen all his favorite toys and treats for the trip. The puppy-box was normally kept locked up and on the opposite end of the apartment from his gun safe. The two of you hardly ever took it out of the house except on extended vacations or work trips.

So this was exciting.

He locked the door after trying to get the key in for twenty seconds, his hands shaking with excitement. As soon as the bolt slid home, he was off to the races once more, a bright smile on his face that never left when he was around you. You were behind the wheel and picking out music when he came down, carefully placing his box in the footwell of the second row before taking the passenger seat.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

His past relationships never seemed to understand Marcus' need to drive. Marcus was able to stay fully-focused and on-task when he was behind the wheel. It stemmed from a sense of duty to ensure the safety of himself, his loved ones, and the others out on the road with him. Whenever he sat in the passenger seat, things were much, much different.

He knew the route to the highway out of D.C. fairly well, but there was a detour you had to take. Just before the on-ramp, he saw why: there was a farmers' market set up in one of the cross-streets. Marcus gasped when he saw all the bright colors of the tents and tarps, felt the vibrations that came from the faraway live music, and so many people enjoying themselves in the sunshine. "Look at that…" he whispered in awe.

He could never control his reactions to things that caught his eye whenever he sat in the passenger seat. Everything, every single thing, was just as (and more!) exciting than the last. You didn't chide him for the reasons he'd been scolded for before:

"You could have scared me off the road!"

"Could you stop talking for just five minutes? It's a three hour drive."

"Roll the window up, you're not an animal."

"Why don't you want to talk to me? You just keep pointing out the scenery."

Instead, you encouraged that playful, carefree behavior. It didn't hurt you, and it only made him happy.

"Hopefully it'll still be there when we come back tomorrow," you said, slowly driving forward away from the market. "You wanna check it out if it is?"

"Yes of course, remember the peaches we got at the farmer's market last August?"

"You have literally brought up those peaches whenever you can, almost as much as I have." He didn't have to see you to know you were smiling, he didn't have to wonder if you meant it. He was never unsure that you loved all his quirks and needs and preferences, because you promised to share that same trust with him.

The campgrounds were at the base of the mountain, with your reserved space sitting four miles up the trail. He waved to some of the groundskeepers talking to one another at the gatehouse, who then waved back, amused by his outgoing friendliness. Not a lot of people who come from the city tend to be as friendly when their cell service sputters out, he assumed they were thinking.

Marcus ended up carrying a greater amount of the supplies than you for the trek. He relished the burn in his calves and thighs, because it sated the frenetic thoughts buzzing around his skull from the strange day. You'd ask about it after catching your breath at the campsite.

He used to be highly regimented at the gym, needing to burn a specific amount of calories in a day just to feel like he could control his strangeness. He was still definitely in shape, but now he had a healthier, happier outlet that he could share with someone he loved.

The sun still shone brightly in the afternoon sky when you reached the trail that branched into the woods, leading to your designated campsite. It helped as you set up the tent and cooking area while he gathered firewood and cleared the ground of any pesky rocks or sticks. The forest was lively and green, a gentle breeze brushing against the top canopy that had him sighing in satisfaction. He loved art for the same reasons he loved everything: there was something for everyone, and he hoped everyone found that someday.

Looking back at you, he knew he did.

"Hey, let's talk about the plan for tonight."

"Alright."

"What's worrying you right now?"

"This has an AirTag in it, do not take it off." Your instructions were firm, quieting his mind and removing the weight of his worries as he sat at your feet, nearly naked. He looked like a piece of art in the half-moonlight, the other half of him lit by the small campfire that would keep you company tonight. The collar slipped around his neck, heavy and well-made. He preferred the distributed, heavy weight, for it served as a reminder that he didn't carry anything else with him in this headspace. "Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Good," you said, kissing his head before securing his little ears to the messy tresses atop his head. You used a truly obscene amount of bobby pins and clips, but had chosen a pair Marcus wasn't particularly attached to. You knew that Marcus could get a little rougher in his playtime outside, and things might get lost in the underbrush. He gave a short shake of his head to test their hold.

You attached a belt bag around his torso that held a short-wave radio in case he needed to call you, a protein bar, a water bottle, his phone, and a small first-aid kit. "There have been no dangerous animal sightings out in the woods all week, they think there may have been a fallen tree or something that blocked whatever natural bridge they normally use to get around the mountain. It'll just be you and the birds out there, probably." You knew he didn't need all this information while he was in a simplified headspace, but you wanted him to at least know subconsciously that there were no monsters lurking in the woods with him. The trail awaited, and you stepped away from his path.

"Thank you," he said suddenly, voice thick with emotion that had bubbled up in seconds. His temperament was little to none in his puppy-space, so he felt everything, all the time, and it was okay. "Thank you."

You looked nothing but happy for him as you kissed him softly. You followed it up with a short tug on the O-ring on his collar, pulling a wanton groan from his mouth. His eyes went a little hazy before refocusing at the sound of the clicker in your hand.

"When the radio says come back, take out your phone and follow the beacon back immediately. Immediately."

"Immediately."

"Immediately, Marcus."

"I promise."

"I know you do. Here's your flashlight. Go have fun, pup."

Marcus stopped sprinting through the trees when he felt his thoughts go from the familiar happy, instinctual assessment of his surroundings to somber recollections of the day. He shook his head hard and grounded himself back in the moment, back in the scene he had with himself.

No reason to bring that in here with me. No beasts but I.

His eyes caught on a moonbeam breaking through the treetops, pointing toward a rock ledge that held the vantage for a perfect view over most of the mountain. He climbed up it, letting his interests pull him back from whatever was pulling him away.

The moon was high, full and bright and almost tinted crystal blue, it was so clear. A part of him thought about how happy he was for you, happy that the night had come in dressed to the nines just for you. There wasn't a cloud above him, despite the cool air. Something about the moon's appearance had him falling to his knees and leaning back on his heels just to look up at it in awe. It was a good time for a rest, anyway.

Maybe his life wasn't meant for arguing the sins and virtues of actively choosing joy for oneself. Maybe he was allowed to see where to choose to be more compassionate and mindful, and not let expectations dictate his character. Maybe Marcus was avoiding the mental homework surrounding his thought patterns because the answer seemed too simple to be true: he'd accepted that he was finally, perfectly fine.

A sob broke out from his chest, loud and raw. His lunar audience watched dutifully as tears streamed down his face, his cries echoing and fading into the nature around him. He was alone but never lonely. He was fine company to keep. He would have never gained this kind of confidence had you not showed him that he was worth being proud of, and he would have never dreamed that he could find someone he trusted enough to choose joy around.

His cries grew into laughter, a signal of acceptance of his ridiculous happiness. The tears remained, wetting the fabric of his shirt, his pants, seeping in beneath the leather of his collar. Nothing but gratitude radiated from his soul, and it warmed him from his bones to his skin and beyond. The ache in his throat felt amazing, almost holy, and with a bubbling of pride and primal instinct, Marcus howled at the moon.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but his voice was gone by the time he heard the radio crackle to life, your voice coming down the line. "Time to come back, pup."

Marcus smiled, and returned back to where he belonged: by your side.

[awholelottayeehaw]

@novice-at-everything thank you!! I appreciate your insight! You bring up a good observation regarding their differing backgrounds that got me thinking hard in the shower just now!

You're right, Din's first experience with Mandalorians has him viewing them as honorable, noble protectors who he has awe and gratitude for. And I think that leads to him being vulnerable to blind loyalty to the wrong people. And that doesn't mean bad people, but rather people who can bring out the worst version of himself or erase his potential (like Ran's Crew and Xi'an). Because of how Din sees his covert, it means he's blind to how strict their honor code is. Despite the zealous nature they nurtured and "them vs us" mindset, Din grew up to be the most open minded and caring man. The speech Din gave to Bo about honor and character was ironic not just because Din has no idea how awful Bo has been to everyone in her life, but because those traits don't fit The Armorer or anyone in his cult, even Paz. Everything Din listed was conditional to them and I have no doubt that Paz or the Armorer would have gone above and beyond for others out of the goodness of their heart if they weren't Mandalorians or part of their specific sect. I just don't, and it's not an attack on either of their characters it's just an honest observation. I feel like Din's taken the worst aspects of his cult and made them into admirable traits recognized by not just himself but others as well, which is why Bo is both flabbergasted and awed by his reverence for his Creed and people even if she doesn't agree with it. And that's where I do think Din is vulnerable to unintentional manipulation from Bo who does want things to be the same as they were and have control due to birth right rather than craving genuine leadership for the right reasons.

Now Bo? Bo was raised in that honor with a sister whose character was saintlike and yet she turned out to be insanely bigoted, hateful, and morally gray. I do want to mention that I don't think it was necessarily just Bo wanting things to go back to how she remembered Mandalorian as a child, but rather disagreeing with Sabine's way of handling democracy. She approached everything as a pacifist which was controversial for Mandalorian culture but all of her choices were for her people and ensuring peace during the time of the Clone Wars and the rise of Dooku, Mal, and Palpatine. Bo thought they needed to go back to their warrior roots and that peace was a naive option to go after which pushed her to joining extremist groups that held her views as strongly as she did and didn't care who was hurt in that process as long as her vision of Mandalore was achievable. And that's where I do disagree with you, I think Bo's memories of Mandalore even before Satine's rule was always muddled and I think Bo would be dissatisfied with establishing what she thought she had remembered of her childhood home when you can't recreate memories without viewing them through an adult lens. And she has decades of guilt, sins, and ill choices that have jaded her and will only make that more bittersweet and unsatisfactory than not.

It's just interesting how the environment they were raised in as Mandalorians somehow pushed them to be the opposite of what they were taught in childhood. I obviously agree with you about Din's leadership and how forced Bo's is. I really do think it's because we've had history with her character that we can't shake or forgive just yet and with how easy things have been for her it just makes any attempt at something else doesn't feel organic. Bo has too much history for it to not feel forced, cause we've seen this story 3 times now for her and it's just gotten old and she's too familiar and selfish to have that reluctant leader trope placed on her. She's always wanted power and to rule the Mandlorians/Mandalore so there's nothing natural about her suddenly being the fallen, reluctant hero that the planet and other Mandos need to redeem herself of her war crimes and be a true leader. I'd follow Din into Mordore but Bo? I wouldn't follow her into a police station. She has a long way to go before she can be the leader of anyone or thing and I really hope she realizes that in the next episode and that her ego regarding this and refusing to be fully honest to Din and the others about the awful things she's done won't get her killed cause that also just feels cheap.

Din vs Bo as a Leader

I've seen people say that Bo is the rightful ruler of Mandalore and owner of the darksaber and deserves to lead and I'm genuinely curious to hear from others as to why that is because I'm having a very hard time seeing that point of view. Semi-spoilerish for people who aren't up to date but I kept it vague enough to not be a problem I don't think.

Since CW and Rebels, Bo has continually made choices that negatively impact the people around her. She's a morally gray character who has a list of war crimes on her rep sheet that honestly makes some real life bad guys look green and it baffles me that people want her redemption to be easy. I'm not saying she should never be redeemed, I genuinely believe people should have the chance to turn over a new leaf cause being human is hard, but how she's acting and being treated in Mando feels like a middle finger to those her actions caused harm to. Like she can be sad about her sister all she wants but she willingly joined a terrorist group who spelt it out for her that they planned on publicly executing Satine and followed the orders of two Sith lords, and she didn't see that as a deal breaker. Being sad over that is like being upset that you got shot in the foot when you fired the gun yourself when you continue to make choices that negatively impact others. And this season alone Bo hasn't tried to be a leader to her people, she cared more about the title and the weapon it comes with than actual democracy. She wields it well, yes, but so did Sabine who taught her how and gave her the weapon despite not knowing how badly Bo has fucked up with it in the past. The moment the darksaber was in Din's hands and she lost her crew, she didn't try to scout Mandalore and find other Mandalorians to help her with her decades long failed plan. She didn't try to put any plans together with outside help to achieve her goal or even try to establish a new territory for her people to be safe on until they can find a way to make Mandalore a livable again. She was never an active leader, just someone who craved leadership and believed was owed it because of her birth right and that reflects in the selfish choices she's made while in a leadership position, which include harming Din and Paz. She didn't lead her people into the siege and trap that awaited them, Din did. He shouldered and strong armed his way through and was willingly going to sacrifice himself if it meant a safe planet for his people and foundling. And she wasn't the last out, Paz was, and for that his clan suffered major losses. She had focused more on weapons and supplies for her fleet and siege than the actual people who would help her achieve her goal, and not once has she discussed what she planned on doing once Mandalore was safe for all Mandalorians again. Reuniting and rebuilding isn't the same as establishing a political system that benefits the well being of her people with the promise of a stable economy, fair societal roles, establishing an intergalactic democracy to avoid what Nevarro went through, and combining the differing traditions/beliefs the remaining Mandalorians have to not favor one over the other and unintentionally cause a civil war. Each time she's gained leadership it's always met with mixed support, often not universally, and has led to her downfall three times now for a reason.

Just the same, I've seen people argue that Din doesn't want to lead/rule and isn't the kind of man who'd be a good leader and I strongly disagree. Since the first episode, Din established himself as a selfless character even if it irritated him to be accommodating. He still tried to compromise with the Jawas, didn't turn his back to Frog Lady needing a ride, was willingly going to sacrifice himself to a Krayt Dragon for people he had just met and entrusted with Grogu, went head first into every battle even for people who didn't deserve it (Ran's Crew), was everyone's Ride or Die at least once, became multilingual which was used more to keep the peace than to gain information on his quarries, and has united and mediated more unlikely foes to friends than anyone else in the SW universe. Even if his actions originated with a selfish need (gaining Boba's armor back for Mandalorians, exchanging his services for info on where Mandalorians/Jedi are for Grogu, etc) he still went above and beyond because it's the honorable and right thing to do and his compassion has earned him friendships across the galaxy and allyship on every planet he's visited whereas Bo can't get even her own people behind her without a legendary sword in her hand. You can't tell me all the people Din met on his journey WOULDN'T lay down their lives for him if he asked?? Paz already did despite Din's choice to rescue Grogu despite unintentionally causing a massacre because Paz recognized the selflessness behind Din's choice that carried over to Paz's own foundling and that is what gained his respect and allyship. Din hadn't asked for anything in return, and his own motive for moving the covert was so that their children could play in the sun and the future generations can flourish. I'm fairly certain even Sorgon would join forces whether it's to take care of Din if he had a bad head cold or taking back a whole planet for him. Same with Peli and her droids, Tusken Raider survivors, Freetown, Boba and his syndicates, Frog Lady and her hoard of warrior toddlers, Karga and the grateful people of Nevarro, Ahsoka, and Miggs Mayfield. We've made jokes about Din accidentally making friends all over the galaxy for a reason. He's so selfless that he never saw himself worthy of his Creed, of being Grogu's father, of being a leader when everyone else has told him otherwise. Din's view on leadership reflects his own self esteem wrecked by his cult and it would take everyone he's ever helped to make him see that he is the leader that the galaxy needs to reunite not just The Mandalorians, but all the people and their planets I mentioned. Leadership comes with a burden for Bo, but for Din, it comes with the strength and camaraderie Bo has only ever dreamed of having and that The Armorer overlooked because of her narrow, traditional views. And this is a side comment, but Din mastered riding the stubborn Blurgg after Kuill made fun of him for not being able to conquer it when Mandalorians rode Mythosaurs into battle. Din riding a Mythosaur would be a great call back to that and would gain more respect as a leader than just having the darksaber. In my opinion.

I genuinely hope Bo comes to these conclusions herself and recognizes that Din is more deserving of the role than anyone else and passes the darksaber back to him and helps him see his potential than just saving the day yet again from the very gun she shot everyone with. Redemption for her starts with letting go of the very thing that's plagued her her whole life and leadership is recognizing when you need more time before you can be the example people need to be the best versions of themselves. This isn't a Bo hate post or any stan post, this is a fan post who wants a fair redemption arc for Bo and a chance for Din to rise up to the best version of himself he's capable of being. So yes, I want to hear everyone's thoughts whether you agree or disagree that doesn't involve Bo being the rightful heir or wanting her redemption cause you like her as a character. I want to hear deeper reasons than surface level motives, cause as I said, your favorite hurting over the consequences of her decades long actions she never learns from isn't a good enough reason for her to lead or have the darksaber but I'm down for any other explanations people have regardless if you're a casual fan of the show or lifelong SW fans like myself.

[angstymdzsthoughts]

Divorce au where LSZ initially sided w the Lans, but then he got to experience the Lan environment w/o wwx shielding him from it.

The Lans aren't bad, but they're fit for exactly one type of behavior. The quiet, polite, rule obeying one. The one LSZ could fake for an evening, not for a life

LWJ doesn't see anything wrong with it, why would he. LQR wants to beat the corruption out of him.

LSZ runs.

He lives on the streets for a while, looking for his father.

Wwx finds him one night and bears no resentment. LSZ lives with his father and the Wens and starts to untangle the emotional mess that is.

And then LWJ starts looking for them

(I really cant remember how old LSZ is when the divorce happened in this version of the au, so let's go with young child)

The changes start immediately. Childcare was always a job Wei Wuxian had insisted he take the majority of. He would make jokes about being a stay at home mom. Lan Wangji doesnt know the routine he had established with their son so he falls back onto his own childhood as guidance.

Lan Yuan is woken up so early that the sun hadn't even risen. He is not woken up by his Baba's loud singing and tickling, but by his father shaking his shoulder and telling him to wake up. Breakfast is not the pancakes and fruit shaped like butterflies and bunnies and Mickey Mouse, but a plain bowl of congee that he hardly eats. Instead of his Baba driving him to elementary school while playing music and chattering about his lessons and friends he is taken by one of the Lan families drivers- a man who Yuan doesn't know and is silent the entire drive.

These things, while minor, are upsetting to Lan Yuan. It just gets worse when school ends and instead of being taken home the driver takes him to his Grand Uncle's house. Grand Uncle does not look happy to see him. He doesn't smile or hug him or ask about how his day at school went. He has a lot of rules that Lan Yuan doesn't know and he yells at him when he breaks them.

He doesn't like going to Grand Uncles house and he tells Father this when he comes to pick him up in the evening. He asks his father when Baba was coming back and doesn't get an answer.

Even though he told Father that he doesn't like going to Grand Uncles, he is taken there everyday after school. It doesn't take long for him to burst into tears and cry that he wants his Baba. That makes Grand Uncle angry.

He cries when his father comes to pick him up and tells him that Grand Uncle hurt him. Baba always told him that he needs to tell one of them if someone hurts him so they know who to protect him from. He expects his father to protect him from Grand Uncle. His heart breaks when Father tells him that he needs to follow the rules Grand Uncle has and it won't happen again. The fit he throws at that is unlike any he had ever thrown before. He cries and screams that he wants his baba. He gets sent to his room until he calms down.

For the next week he does nothing but ask for his Baba. He asks Ftaher where Baba is, if he can go visit him, if he can call him, anything. Father tells him they cannot. One day when Father leaves his phone unlocked and leaves to use the restroom, Yuan steals it. He goes through the contacts on Father's phone calling them one by one hoping that one of them will be his Baba, but Father finds him before he can find him. He is scolded and sent to his room without dinner.

After almost two months, Lan Yuan has enough. He cries every day for his Baba and Grand Uncles punishments have just gotten worse and worse and Father doesn't stop them. When the driver drops him off at school he runs away.