#and THEN you realize that you don’t always need to fix every single issue as soon as it pops up

[mars-ipan]

i keep trying to find a reason for my weird mood i’m in and i just remembered that i don’t need a reason

[bunniesanddeer]

Hi! I hope you’re having a wonderful day or night.

I saw your asks are open and I had an idea. What if it’s a protective Alastor x Reader who is the daughter of a protective Lucifer? Maybe she kept in contact with her dad so they are closer and she is older than Charlie. When Lucifer comes to visit the hotel him and Alastor cause some drama

Thanks!

W.P💚

I hope this is what you were looking for? I am very new to doing things like this!

Daddy's Girl

Pairing: Alastor X Lucifer's Daughter! Reader

Tags: Sisterly love, some sexual connotations, spoilers, some angst maybe? idk, swearing, Mimzy.

SPOILERS FOR "DAD BEAT DAD"

Word Count: 1,775

The hotel was eerily quiet when you awoke, so you made your way downstairs to see if anyone was awake. All you could hear as you made your way down the stairs was your quiet footfalls and weird murmuring. As you turned towards the sitting area, you realized the muttering was coming from your younger sister, Charlie.

Charlie was pacing back and forth in front of a pin board covered in colorful papers, and strings. She tugged at her hair, her muttering growing more frantic. As you took in the scene, you realized there were a few people standing and watching her. Niffty was bouncing on the couch, her face full of a strange glee. Husk and Sir Pentious were watching with mixes of bafflement and curiosity.

“Hey, Char Char? Are you ok?” You asked, walking around the couch to get a better view. You saw Angel and Vaggie approach from your peripherals as Charlie whipped around frantically.

“Nope! No. Not really! Haha. Hah…” Her false smile falls as she rips a page off the board. “I have been up all night trying to figure out why the hotel isn’t working! We’ve done every single trust exercise and arts and crafts project I could find! We’ve talked about our feelings and… nothing is working!”

You frown. You knew that things taking so long would eventually get to her, but it was sad to see just how severely. She needed more help. 

You walk up to your sister, and set your hands on her shoulders. “I think…”

Her expression collapses. “Please don’t say it.”

“We should call dad. And ask for his help.”

She winces. She clearly doesn’t want your dad’s help. You can’t exactly blame her, either. The two of you were raised a little separate, and it had affected her relationship with Lucifer pretty badly. Although, you were older, and it had afforded you time with Lucifer before Lilith had started to separate herself from him. Charlie had only had a handful of years before their relationship went south. It showed in her anxiety with him, and Lucifer’s inability to talk to Charlie openly. It made you sad, but you weren’t sure how to fix that rift.

“He’s the reason the extermination happens to begin with! He just let it happen! He doesn’t even like sinners! Why would he help me?” Charlie hugs herself, looking off to the side. “He’s always preferred you anyway.”

You hear some audible winces from the audience by the couch, but you ignore them. You pull her into a tight hug, her taller frame putting you at her collarbones. “You know I would change that if I could, honey.” You squeeze her tightly and say, “We can at least see if he can get you a meeting. Anything to give you the advantage, Char Char.”

She sighs, and hugs you back. “Yeah. I guess we can at least try.”

You pull back. “I think you should call him. I bet he’s dying to hear from you, even though he sucks at showing it.”

Charlie rubs her arm and nods. “Alright. I’ll do it!”

As she struggles to start the phone call, Husk makes comments about her having ‘Daddy Issues’, and you blanch. How rude! (Even if it was true). The others make comments about meeting Lucifer, but you and Vaggie just keep your eyes on Charlie. She seems so nervous, and it makes your stomach twist in knots. 

She finally calls. It rings three times before a faint, “Heyyyy bitch!” rings out on the other end of the line. You facepalm. Good going Dad.

When all is said and done, Lucifer announces he is visiting within the hour, after much cajoling and guilt-tripping on Charlie’s part. Although, from what you could hear, he seemed excited.

Charlie is excited, and so is everyone else in the hotel. You cheer for her, and then the realization hits you. 

Alastor. Fuck.

As the final touches are finished, you sidle up to Alastor with a small grin.

“Please, please don’t start shit. Charlie needs this to work. And I need this to work for Charlie,” you murmur to him. 

He barely glances at you. “Worry not, sweetheart! You know I would never do anything to risk the reputation of the hotel! Charlie will get the help she needs!” His arm wraps around your shoulders, and he squeezes you into his side. For just a moment, his head ducks down, and he whispers into your ear. “Just need to make it clear whose little girl you are now.” Then he perks right back up like nothing happened.

Your face burns hot. How dare he! But you don’t get to do anything in retaliation, because Charlie is opening the door.

“Chaaaaarlie!” Lucifer exclaims, immediately pulling her into a tight embrace. Your sister’s face is full of shock, and you just want to laugh. Ha! You were right! He continues talking to her in the slightest baby voice, and you can’t help but let some giggles escape you. Your dad could be just so silly! “Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

He lets go of Charlie as she welcomes him to the hotel. He spots Keekee first, and pets her. Then greets Razzle and Dazzle. You watch from the sidelines with a small smile. It was nice seeing your dad outside the home. He had been holing himself up for so long… You look up at Alastor, who hasn’t moved an inch since your dad came in.

You elbow him gently. “You okay?”

Alasotr’s expression is tight. His eyes flicker to you for a moment, before landing back on your father. He merely hums in response, making you frown. How odd… You knew the two wouldn’t get along, but for Alastor to dislike him already?

 Then your dad spots the bar. “Oh! What in the unholy Hell is that?” 

Alastor immediately shadow-walks to the other side of the room, and you know it’s time to intervene.

“Oh! Just some of the renovations we’ve made.” Alastor gestures with his mic, before continuing. “Adds a bit of color, don’t you think?” 

You wince, and make your way to Alastor’s side. 

“Hey, Dad,” you say, trying to prevent your dad making any further comments on the decor. That's a good way to piss off Alastor.

“Sweetheart!” Your dad runs up to you, and tries picking you up. You laugh at the tights squeeze. “How’s my girl?” His hands squish your cheeks, making it hard to respond.

You giggle through the ministrations, and finally push his hands back so you can respond. “I’m doing great, Dad. Figured I should introduce you to Alastor here.” You gesture to Alastor, who looks the closest to not smiling that you have ever seen. It makes your stomach feel like lead, as you keep talking. “He’s our facilities' manager, and my…”

Your voice trails off, and you look at Alastor, as if hoping he has the word you are looking for.

“I’m her lover!” Alastor exclaims, quite loudly. His static drops for a moment and then bursts back up in volume, making you wince. Great. He just announced that to everyone in the room. The ‘everyone’ being everyone who didn’t know. You can hear Charlie ‘whoop!’ in the background, and several variations of ‘what the fuck’. “She’s quite the darling. I just couldn’t resist this sweet face!” Alastor grabs at your cheeks, similar to how your dad did, and squishes them. “See?”

You risk a glance at your dad. He looks ready to kill. Fuck. This is absolutely not how you wanted to tell your dad. He nearly killed the last partner you had for ghosting you. You can see your dad’s horns growing, and you push Alastor back.

“Haha! Yeah. Uh. Sorry. I would have told you before now, but we’re kind of new! We were trying to keep it on the down-low for now but…” You glare at Alastor, but he just has this shit-eating grin on his face, and you know he doesn’t care. 

“Right.” Your dad continues glaring at Alastor. You wince, and decide to go over by the snack table. Angel is just giving you this look, and you know he will be asking about Alastor’s dick, which you have not seen, later. Husk seems disappointed in you, and you absolutely know why. You just give him an apologetic shrug, and watch as Alastor and your dad seem to start a pissing match. 

It ends with Alastor in his face saying, “Fuck you,” and your knees nearly give out. Holy shit. 

Charlie finally intervenes, and Lucifer, after some more glaring at Alastor, get her to introduce him to the rest of the residents.

Alastor lays a hand on your shoulder as your dad greets both the guests and the staff. You can feel his thumb rubbing back and forth, and it sends shivers down your spine. You look up at Alastor, but his gaze is still locked on your dad. Annoyed, you roll your eyes with a huff, and look back to the meet-and-greet. Your dad is looking back at you, his frown deep, and a barely audible growl making its way to your ears. Your dad is fucking growling at Alastor. What the Hell?

A rumble builds up in Alastor’s chest, and you can feel it against your back. This one sets heat back up to your face. Gosh, this man needed to get his shit together. No need to start stuff with your dad! Alastor’s hand tightens on your shoulder, before he lets go and stalks back towards Charlie, who is trying to convince your dad to help her. 

And then they’re singing. Because of course. Alastor joins in, saying some things that seem to really piss off your dad, but you can't hear much over the blood rushing in your ears. Sometimes these two could be so embarrassing. When your dad pulls out the golden fiddle, you nearly die laughing. (He still wasn’t over losing that one time!) Everything comes to a head, with the two men yelling insults in each other's faces, when suddenly-

“It’s ME!” A woman barges in through the lobby doors, yelling and calling herself Mimzy. She’s blonde, and dressed like a flapper. Alastor seems to recognize her, so you don’t worry. 

Later that night, when your dad has finally agreed to help your sister get that meeting, you all settle onto the couches, making a game plan. Alastor sits beside you, one foot resting on the other knee. You lean over and ask softly, “What did you say during that song, anyway?”

Alastor’s grin sharpens, and he presses his lips near your ear, again. “Charlie calls me dad, and your eldest calls me Daddy.”

If you nearly choke on your own spit, you refuse to admit it. 

[happy74827]

Beyond Repair

[William Afton x Wife!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite everything he’s done, so far the only consequence he’s received is marriage counseling {GIF Creds: @bittwitchy// Tagging @moonbanana-library because I feel like you’ll enjoy this}

WC: 2595

Category: Slight Fluff, Slight Angst [TW — Afton, cursing, small mentions of 18+ content]

Don’t we love random sparks of inspiration at four in the morning? I sure do 💀

『••✎••』

You were always a clueless little thing.

You saw the world with rose-tinted glasses, and you believed in everyone. You saw the best in people, and you wanted to see the world like that.

And it wasn't a bad way to look at things; it kept you innocent and full of light. William, however, wasn't as good as you were. He had seen the world for what it was, and he knew how the world worked.

He'd lost his innocence, and he had seen bad things… done bad things. Sure, he was good with kids, but he had a secret side that he knew would completely crumble the way you saw the world, how you saw him.

So, despite everything, he made sure you'd never know. He kept the darker side of himself out of your view. And he did everything he could to be the husband you thought he was.

Soon, that husband's facade became a father's facade, and you had a beautiful daughter who had his eyes and your smile.

But he knew the truth.

He'd never been a good man. Not even close.

The moment his eyes landed on you, the day he'd met you, the years he got to spend with you, and the day he had asked you to be his wife. Every step in between, he knew that he didn't deserve any of it. He knew that he should have let you go.

But he was selfish.

He needed you. He loved you. Your innocence was refreshing. And your optimism was addicting.

William knew that he didn't deserve anything, except for maybe an early death. Yet, despite knowing all that, he was greedy. He was an ambitious man, and he took every opportunity that presented itself to him.

Even if that meant hurting the ones around him.

Because you see, the only thing in this world he wanted more than your love was the recognition he'd never gotten. And the respect.

So when he'd built his pizzeria and made his animatronics, he saw just how successful it became, and he saw just how many people knew him and just how much respect he was finally getting.

That's when he realized.

That's when the real William began to show himself. And that was his big mistake. That mentality led him to this grandma's couch, impatiently awaiting for hell to begin.

Marriage counseling.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head, trying to hold back a laugh. This was so pathetic. For years, he's crossed lines and done things that would put him on death row, and he'd never had a single issue. Yet, one small argument with you, and suddenly he's a man with a failing marriage?

What kind of joke was this?

Turns out the clueless little thing that you were had taken his little stunt a lot more seriously than he had anticipated.

"This is ridiculous," William groaned, slumping back into his seat as he stared up at the ceiling. "This is going to be a waste of time. All we need is a vacation, and it'll all work out just fine.”

You just stared at him with a look of disbelief and a small bit of disgust. Quite adorable, if he was honest.

"Really, William?" You said, rolling your eyes. "It's going to take a little more than a vacation to fix our relationship."

William turned to look at you, and he felt his heart twinge when he saw just how upset you were. His lips parted, and he felt a surge of regret wash over him.

He really hated seeing you like this.

You were the only person who ever seemed to make him feel remorse, and right now was no exception.

He opened his mouth, trying to find the words to tell you that he was sorry, but he stopped himself before he could say anything.

Because he wasn't sorry.

Not really.

“Ah, the Aftons, I presume?" A voice said, and William looked away from you, looking to the front of the room.

A man, most likely in his late 40's, was standing by the doorway. His dark hair had streaks of grey in it, and he had a few wrinkles. He was wearing a brown turtleneck and a pair of black pants.

His face was unreadable, and William couldn't tell what he was thinking. But he could tell that this was the same therapist he'd spoken with on the phone.

"I'm Doctor Miller. It's nice to finally meet you both." The therapist smiled and held his hand out.

William sighed, pushing himself off of the couch, and stood up. He shook his hand and forced a smile. "Likewise."

The Doctor nodded and glanced at you. He smiled and walked over to you, extending his hand.

You shook his hand and flashed a warm smile. The smile didn't meet your eyes, though. His smile was fake, and so was yours.

Maybe you were more similar than William had first assumed.

The doctor let go of your hand and stepped back. "Let's get started then."

William sat down, slouching his posture and staring up at the ceiling. He thought about wrapping his arm around you, pulling you closer to him, and holding you tight, but he thought better of it.

You'd probably reject his affection anyway. For being a clingy wife, you were surprisingly good at pushing him away.

Doctor Miller grabbed a notepad and a pen, walked to the chair beside the couch, and sat down.

He smiled the first genuine one out of the three of you, and opened the notepad.

"Alright, Mrs. Afton, I'd like you to start off. Tell me what happened." He said, his gaze fixed on you. Of course, he was already taking your side.

William glanced at you and raised an eyebrow. This should be good.

You hesitated before speaking. "He’s… well, different lately. He's distant. And cold. I hardly see him anymore, and when I do, he doesn't talk to me. He spends all of his time either in the basement or his office."

Doctor Miller wrote something down and nodded his head. "Is there any particular reason you believe this is happening?"

“No, but he has been acting more aggressive lately. I tried to talk to him about it, and he just snapped. It was like he wasn't even listening. Like his mind was somewhere else."

William stared at you. You sounded so sincere. So hurt. If he had a heart, he's sure it would be aching.

Doctor Miller hummed, nodding his head, and turned to William.

"What was the argument about, Mr. Afton?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

William looked at the doctor, and two options popped into his mind. Option one is to tell the doctor his true feelings. You were being ridiculous and childish. He didn't need your bullshit. He had more important things to worry about. Or, option two, lie.

He was always good at lying.

William sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He glanced at you and started to speak.

"She's right; I've been a little cold recently. I've just been stressed out. My business has been a lot lately, and I've been dealing with a few other personal issues. Stress isn't a good look on me, I'm afraid."

He lied, flashing a small sad smile at the doctor.

Doctor Miller looked at him for a moment before writing something down.

"Well, it sounds to me like there are a few issues in your relationship." He said, putting his notepad on the table and resting his arms on his lap. “One of them is a communication issue, which is not uncommon in relationships like this. I believe I can help you, but I want to ask you both a question first."

"What's the question?" You asked, and the Doctor turned to you, a soft look in his eyes.

"Are you still in love with him?"

You and William both tensed up, and the room was silent for a moment. He couldn’t help but turn to look at you, genuinely curious to hear what you were going to say.

You hesitated, your eyes locked on the ground. William felt his stomach churning and his jaw clenched.

He was actually nervous.

For the first time in a long time, William was actually nervous.

You turned to look at him, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him.

"Yes. I still love him."

Doctor Miller nodded and turned to William. "What about you? Are you still in love with your wife?"

Truth be told, you were the only person who ever came close to making William feel love. Vanessa was a close second, but he wasn't sure if it was the same kind of love. At least, not in the way he felt about you.

If this was love, then he was still in love.

"Always.” He spoke without a moment of hesitation. He gave you a warm smile, pulling that facade back up again. “…That's why I'm here."

The doctor smiled, and William swore he saw the tiniest hint of pity in his eyes. "That's good. That means there's still hope for your relationship.”

With all the money this one therapy session was costing him, he damn well hoped so.

"So, here's my idea," the doctor said, sitting up in his seat and clearing his throat. "I'd like to start off with a few activities, some couples challenges, if you will. This will help me understand where the problem areas are, and hopefully, after a few sessions, we'll be able to fix them. If not, we'll find a solution together. Sound good?"

Activities? Challenges? What was this, summer camp?

William resisted the urge to roll his eyes and nodded. "Sounds great."

You nodded, smiling, and William swore he saw a bit of excitement in your eyes. He wondered how much this meant to you. Had you really thought you were losing him?

"Perfect," the doctor said and grabbed his notepad. He flipped the page and started writing something down.

With the amount of writing this guy was doing, you'd think this was a novel. It took a lot out of him to not get up and snap the damn pen in half.

"Now, this might seem a little strange, but I want to try an activity right now. Something small and easy, so we can gauge your relationship and see how you interact with each other."

"What kind of activity?" You asked, tilting your head slightly.

"Something simple, don't worry. Just a conversation."

Conversation. That sounded boring.

William was about to complain when the doctor cut him off.

"When was the last time you two were… intimate?"

William's eyebrows furrowed, and he stared at the Doctor, whose gaze was fixed on him.

Was he asking what he thought he was asking?

William felt his face heat up and his jaw clenched.

He had to be kidding.

"I'm sorry, but what does that have to do with anything?" He asked, forcing his voice to sound calm.

The doctor turned his head to you, and you just looked down at the ground.

William was going to lose it.

"Being… connected with your spouse in that way is an important aspect of a healthy relationship. Without that sincerity, that vulnerability, you'll start to grow apart."

"We're perfectly connected," William said through gritted teeth. “What do you think you're implying here?"

He knew you like the back of his hand. He could read you like a book, and he was confident to know what you were thinking, doing, or feeling at all times.

He knew that look.

Your eyes were downcast, your hands were fidgeting, and your bottom lip was slightly jutted out.

You were embarrassed, and he knew he had to act. Play the good husband role, and save you the humiliation.

He reached his arm over and wrapped it around your shoulder, pulling you gently upwards. Your body tensed at his touch, but you relaxed when you looked up and saw his warm smile.

"See? We're completely connected." William said, his arm squeezing your shoulder. “I believe this is where our time is up. If you'll excuse us, we have some… activities apparently to get to."

William stood up, grabbing your hand and pulling you up with him. You were quiet, and he could feel your stare on the side of his head.

He couldn't tell if you were upset or grateful.

William cleared his throat and gave the doctor a cold smile. One that he purposely made so that the Doctor would know how displeased he was.

"Thank you for your time, Doctor Miller. We'll be sure to contact you soon."

The doctor nodded, a blank expression on his face. He didn’t say a word as William took you by the arm and guided you out the door.

No way in hell was he doing this again.

"William-" You started, and he cut you off.

"No more therapy, sweetheart," William said, his hand tightening around your arm.

"I-"

"No more," he said, his voice low and stern. Still, he kept that warm smile on his face. It made you fall back into silence.

"We're done. We'll figure this out on our own. No more doctors or counselors or whatever the hell he was.”

Truth be told, he was absolutely livid. All that money wasted for a bum therapist to imply that their marriage was falling apart because you weren't communicating?

What a scam. This is exactly why he preferred to do things on his own.

William led you back to the car, opening the door for you and helping you in. He walked around the car and slid into the driver's seat.

He took a moment to breathe, his head falling back against the seat and his eyes closing.

God, he hated being here.

Hated it so much.

He needed a cigarette and maybe a stiff drink.

"I'm sorry." You said, your voice quiet.

William lifted his head and turned to you. He blinked, confused, and he couldn't help but chuckle.

"What for?"

"I… I thought maybe if we went to see a therapist, they could help. They could fix this. But… I think I messed it up. I'm sorry."

Your voice cracked, and he watched as tears started to form in your eyes.

His face softened, and he turned his body towards you, leaning his back against the door. Such a crybaby you were, emotionally connected and sensitive.

Just another reason why you worked so well with him. Blinded by emotion, you were easy to trick. Easy to manipulate.

You were naive, and it was adorable.

"No, no. Don't cry." William said, his hand lifting and cupping your cheek. He brushed away the tears with his thumb, and he forced a smile. "There's nothing to fix. We're fine, I promise. I’ll make sure of it. Okay?"

"Okay," you whimpered, nuzzling into his hand. It’s quite the contrast compared to the look of disgust on your face from earlier.

He didn't want to see that again.

William leaned forward and pressed his lips against your forehead. He could smell the shampoo and soap from your morning shower, and the smell calmed him down.

He could tell the action had calmed you down, too.

William pulled back, and his lips twitched upwards. "Don't worry about a thing. I'll fix this."

After all, he always got what he wanted. And what he wanted was his wife.

And no stupid, worthless therapist was going to guide him away from that.

[parentsday]

Hiii! Since you asked about headcanons/analysis stuff:

There's a common interpretation on the fandom about Max's treatment of David in the early episodes coming, at least partially, from trust issues regarding adults/authority figures. And I've seen push back against it, too. People who say it's just because David is annoyingly positive. Nothing else.

And sure, I can see that. But Nikki also acts in a cheerful manner and mostly enjoys camp, and Max doesn't treat her with the level of rudeness he treated David in season one. This could be due to her being his little partner in crime, but idk. I always interpreted it as him thinking that David is some fake nice adult who will just let him down if he allows it.

And, while I was thinking about this, I realized how this interpretation of Max's behaviour towards David adds another heartbreaking layer to Parents day.

Max's perception of David started changing after Order of the sparrow, specifically after the "Somebody fucking has to" moment. For just a moment, the annoying, overly positive persona drops, and Max is able to see a nuanced human being. And it's clear that he starts understanding David a little more, because in Cult camp (literally the next episode), he allows himself to be brainwashed and trusts that David will save the camp (btw, we as a fandom don’t talk about this aspect of this episode enough).

So yeah, his perception of David changes for the better.

But then, parents day happens.

And David spends most of the episode being an absolute jerk, even if he doesn't realize it.

He pushes SO HARD to try and make the day perfect, basically ignores Max when he states that his parents aren't coming, gets way too serious about playing the role of Max's dad for the day, forces Max into the activities and then, at the end of a day that was already shitty for Max, he yells at him.

I think the context of Max's opinion on David finnaly becoming more positive makes this episode so much sadder.

Because it ceases to be just about Max's neglectful parents.

Now it's also about the closest thing he has to a trustworthy adult making him uncomfortable, ignoring his feelings and then yelling at him and telling him that he "has a bad attitude" and "brings everyone else down instead of trying just a little bit to have fun".

(Which are things he must have heard from adults before, if he behaves the way he does at camp in school and other places)

Remember in Friends like these when he said "Life's just one dissapointment after another. I can't belive I let myself forget it"? I think he might have had the same train of thought here: "I can't believe I let myself forget David is an asshole that only cares about impressing Campbell and making this stupid camp look good". Or: "I can't believe I let myself forget that every single adult thinks I'm a bad kid and a lost cause."

And I know it gets fixed quickly, with David apologizing shortly after, but still. I think the idea of Max being dissapointed at David in Parents day, even if it was just for some moments, is so good.

I also think this is the episode that comfirms to Max that David is genuinely a good person trying his best. He spent the entire day having to think about the fact that his parents suck, and then there's David, who is kind, apologizes for upsetting him and takes him to eat pizza and have a little heartfelt talk.

When was the last time his parents apologized to him, or cared about what he wanted/needed, or talked to him so gently?

The contrast between his parents and David is so big, and I think that's what makes Max finnaly go "Yeah, this guy isn't actually that bad."

(Sorry for rambling, omg.)

hi first of all thank u for an ask and such insightful one at it too !! this was an incredibly pleasant read and a lot of the stuff you say i personally find very good analysis of the show and agree with, however i do have some stuff to say abt it soo here we go ^-^ (this will be a long one so sorry about this in advance)

as i said in some previous reply, max is an incredibly peculiar guy when it comes to the way this show treats his trauma and the way he himself behaves as a result of it, and that’s by design! a lot of the thing he says and does in the first two seasons when it comes to david are there for reasons of narrative set up, and are later masterfully recontextualized by parents day later, leaving very little room for interpretation when it comes to how and why he operates. im gonna go out on a limb and say that i don’t think it’s a stretch to assume that most of his actions towards david in the early show stem from the childish born-from-trauma need for attention and also from his need for societal reinforcement of his own ego’s right to exist. when it comes to the first one i see most people agree (bc it’s a basic child psychology fact), but turn their noses in reference to the second one.

contrary to popular belief, max being in need of constant affirmation that he, as a person with little self value, deserves to exist next to other people is something that we see examples of constantly and is not a terrible part of his character that needs to be ignored. max is a neglect victim who from our knowledge is given very little attention by his parents, as a result of it he is a pessimistic asshole kid whose ego suffers from the very thing that made it this way. its in his strained relationship with nikki and neil, its in him arguing with david to put himself in the position of an adult, its him putting himself above others when it’s not needed and its in him putting his own egos safety first when time comes to accept that things are moving forward (two final episodes from both s3 and s4 are good examples of this). its not an inherently positive trait, but it is one okay for him to have by the virtue of being a young abused child with no support system, and denying it will leave him devoid of this characterization. in freudian (ugh) terms, we cannot separate his character’s superego from his id in a way that won’t harm the way he was intentionally written. Id, ego and superego are all influenced by our relationship with our parents, the amount of nurturing of a child's emotional and psychological needs parents does will result in the child’s psychological state forming a certain way, max as a character who is heavily reliant of his lackluster relationship with his parents is not devoid of this and it affects his relationship with david too. and the reason i’m saying all of this is exactly due to this.

david, when put in most simple terms, is a character who’s an adult figure present and mature enough in max’s current social position that it allows him to treat max as a child, something max is not used to. not used to to such an extent that it puts a strain on his ego in the process. david feeds his need for any form of attention, positive or not, just as much as he clips away at max’s need to be seen as socially important and in a position of an adult. it’s arguable if both of these are good or not but the main thing they are in relation to is obvious: max feels that being an adult who meets both of his psychological needs in ways that are unfamiliar to him makes david an untrustworthy person, thats exactly where you interpretation comes in clutch.

max and his behavior towards david cannot be separated from david being an adult, that is made clear with the way he treats nikki as an equal just because she is a person his age, despite her sharing a lot of david’s traits. going through the episodes you mentioned, order of the sparrow episode lets max see david perspective for the very first time. max is allowed to peek into the reason why david acts the way he does, however it alone doesn’t make him see david in a good light, if anything it makes him appear genuine in his actions. it also lets max have something for david that he didn’t have before: trust. it ends up being used in cult camp as a confirmation of it being something david can live up to (you are absolutely right, we really don’t talk abt this episode and it’s narrative weight enough). all of this has been adding onto the way max himself perceives david, parents day, however, lets both of them internalize the sentiment of mutual understanding towards each other together. parents day does this by lampshading max and david parallelism, making this whole episode consist of max seeing his parents in david just as much as david sees himself in max through the whole show and putting them in each others shoes by the end of it. the episode ends with david choosing max as a priority, he is still acting selfishly (once again david is an asshole) but choosing to do so towards max because the situation allows him to understand max the way s1 finale let max understand him. and with the final turning point in their dynamic, max understands that both his ego and need for attention can exist without them being reinforced by an adult treating him like he is an adult too. max was chosen as a priority for the very first time and that alone made him feel of more value than the treatment he initially yearned for would have. above all else parents day makes max see david as someone he can look up to as a person in emotional way, not only in a life or death situations, the shot of david from his perspective in the end making sure that we don’t miss it.

most of this is not me disagreeing with you, on the opposite i think a lot of the arguments you make are nice and are mindful interaction with the media. gold star for enjoying meta analysis to both of us i guess ⭐️. my main problem is, however, the fact that using all of this to basically say ‘maxs parents suck so he has a distain for david because of it’ is a heavy oversimplification that you somehow go against in your initial statement too and that i, personally, just don’t enjoy. this alone does not make your interpretation wrong though, if anything just reinforces your general idea into a more concrete argument rather than a collection of bits and pieces of evidence pointing to it. hope all of this made sense

tldr; man idk no summing up this one as to not take away from the overall statement im making with this. read the post 🫶

[doll3tt33]

1 month till the new The Boys season starts coming out.

Have a yandere headcanon for celebration. 🤲

Yandere Hughie uses his pathetic meow meow powers to his advantage. He'll purposefully play up his fear and anxiety to lure the reader in. Reader just wants to help him. He seems so sad. Yandere Hughie clings onto you where ever you go.

Yandere Butcher nearly beats the boy senseless when he does this. However, you are the only thing that holds him back. He doesn't want to fuck up whatever relationship he has with you. People can tell that he is softer around you. A kind of softness people only saw in him when Becca was around.

The two are bickering even more than they did before. They have a lot of trouble sharing. Hughie wants to keep you safe from how Butcher is.... Butcher. Billy wants to keep you safe from Hughie's weakness. He doesn't need his doll getting killed because the kid decided to puss out again. (Billy's words, not mine.)

If yandere Annie got caught in the mix? 😶 She is keeping you safe from both of those idiots. She'll be like a super normal girlfriend who just kills people behind your back. She's open to being in a relationship with both you and Hughie at the same time. Butcher getting near you? Nuh the fuck uh.

Yandere Frenchie and Kimiko work together against all the others. Kimiko had such a hard time learning to trust Frenchie, but not you. Both always team up with you on missions. Frenchie helps to teach both you and Kimiko how to bake. To simply their yandere-ness— Frenchie is the overprotective boyfriend and Kimiko is the possessive girlfriend. Goddesses help whoever lays a hand on you. They either get a bomb up their ass or their neck snapped.

MM I feel would be the only non-yandere in this situation. He's the mediator who does his best to keep you safe.

If yandere Soldier Boy is there? Every yandere in The Boys agrees that you have to be protected from him. He's not shy about demeaning or crudely flirting with you. His stance on your boundaries... non-existent. Sooooooo yandere Soldier Boy is gonna have to work 4x time to get even a crumb of your affection. He could just try to kill everyone—but he suspects you might hate him for that.

+ Bonus: Yandere Homelander

This largely depends on if he knew you as a citizen, or after you became a part of The Boys. Either way, this mommy's boy will do anything for you. He realizes that your group is gonna try to use that against him. So it kind of becomes a back and forth where Homelander kidnaps you and plays house—and then The Boys get you back safely in their arms. Homelander has this genius idea that if he puts a baby in you, you'll belong to him forever. He would hate you having a baby... because it takes away attention from him. So he'd probably just give the baby away or 'accidentally' kill it after it's born. He is one fucked up man with issues that couldn't be solved by the most renowned psychiatrist.

OMGWHWJJW IM BACK AND I SEE THIS IN MY INBOX

Off the bat, I see the words ‘Hughie’ and ‘pathetic meow meow powers’, and I already know it’s gonna be some quality content right there!! 😭🙏

I also very much agree he’ll lure the reader in by making them want to ‘fix him’ - the nice guy™️ who has been wronged one too many times. He’ll probably be the most soggy pathetic yandere ever but yk, that’s the beauty of it 🤌

AND BUTCHERRRR. I agree with everything, especially the part where there’s a type of vulnerability that only Becca is accessible to, but instead of her now it’s reader. In a way, I feel like we can already see so much of that from the show, to the point I’d say we even witnessed what he looks like when he’s utterly obsessed with someone?? ((I know one can debate that he’s simply just in love, but mans was causing collateral damage left and right because of one. single. woman.

Anyways, back on topic, but I love how the girls are fighting over reader!! As if those two don’t already have enough to fight about in the first place 😂

I gotta say tho, this part: “He doesn't need his doll getting killed because the kid decided to puss out again.” That is peak characterization! Something Butcher and Hughie would argue about for the life of them.

As for Annie!! Definitely with you on the ‘normal gf on the surface while killing more than she actually should behind the scenes’, but I feel like she’d rationalize it, because we know how empathetic she is and how she feels about senseless violence. She’ll try to come up with a reason to justify her actions and even gaslight herself into believing them to minimize the guilt.

For Frenchie and Kimiko, I LOVE this dynamic. I’d add that because Kimiko is the possessive gf, she’ll even out-yandere Frenchie?? For the reason being she’s a supe and wouldn’t hesitate to decapitate him if it came to that. At the same time tho, Frenchie, like you said, would be overprotective, even putting his life out on the line for reader (cuz have we seen how impulsive this mf can be? 🤦‍♀️). However, he just wouldn’t “win” the competition when it comes to reader if that makes sense?

AND YES MM WOULD NOT BE A YANDERE, BIG AGREE. As strict and assertive as he can be, he’d be respectful of boundaries. Just like how it was described in the show: he has a moral compass like Hughie, but is courageous like Butcher. Simply put, MM is a chill guy.

With soldier boy, YES TO EVERYTHING. But I wanna add that personally I think it’ll be a bit tricky for reader to even realize his obsession with them at the beginning. It’s like, wait- is he sniffing my unwashed socks rn or is he just being Solider Boy?… 😳

when it comes to a certain time and place, reader will catch a glimpse of his not-so-ordinary fixation he has with them ((tho emphasis on time and place, since idk maybe it’s just me but he’s alr a lil freaky in general

and my favorite, HOMELANDER AS A YANDERE WJKWWKWK. I love how plausible all of this is, cuz we already seen his behavior with Stillwell and hints of it with Maeve (not sure about Stormfront. Maybe not so much since they were in their honeymoon phase?)

But yeah, it’s so Homelander to get someone pregnant, only to probably laser the baby into smithereens when the man-child within him feels particularly “unnoticed” one certain day

it’s okay tho cuz he’s just a (42 year old) boy with a deeply wounded inner-child/j 😢😢

[queenburd]

okay that post already has 3 votes for “one now, one later” so here’s part one of “the narrator is taking forever on this surprise”

warning for some existentialism, spiraling thoughts. this is a heavier chapter overall, confronting issues of putting your own needs aside for other people. there are references to my Zending fic as well.

i genuinely can’t think of a catchy title for this one. i’ll figure it out when it goes on ao3.

-

Stanley is feeling… unhappy. No, out of sorts. Upset?

It’s complicated.

His narrator hums gently as the protagonist folds his elbows onto his desk and rests his head on his forearms. “Stanley? Anything I can do?”

No. No, he doesn’t think so. He can’t even necessarily place what’s wrong. He’s just come back from the Museum, after quietly sitting in the small dark room with the narrator’s voice, and the room with emails flicking by.

(He’s done that ending loads of times. Every time he tries to tell the narrator about it, the fellow expresses confusion. He knows Stanley isn’t lying, he’s even taken a peek at the memories with Stanley’s consent, but try as he might he can’t find its map or codes. It’s another mystery of the parable.)

“You always seem a little, well, morose after we reset from that ending. Is—is it the crusher? Because, I would change it, if I didn’t worry it would make that aspect of the game inaccessible to you. I don’t know if it would figure out how to compensate. Sorry.”

No. It’s not the crusher. Stanley’s died in plenty of ways, all fairly quick and painless. The crusher isn’t the problem.

The narrator is quiet. There’s the strange sound of fingers fidgeting on a desk. He has such fascinating sound cues, for not having a form.

“I—if you figure out what’s wrong, will you tell me? I want to fix it.”

Stanley inhales sharply. That’s what it is.

“What?” Anxiety creeps into the fellow’s voice. “What is it?”

Stanley would offer him the memory, if it wasn’t one that they both had. As it is, all he needs to do is think of a single, ugly word. The narrator’s breath hitches.

Villain.

-

then

Stanley stumbles out of his office, paler than the voice has seen him. Half of the narration spills out on autopilot before he catches himself at the sight of Stanley, leaning back hard against door 430 and sliding down to the floor, arm curling around his knees and a hand shielding the back of his neck. He hides his face against his kneecaps. His breathing is unsteady.

“Stanley? Stanley, what’s wrong?”

It only catches traces of Stanley’s thought patterns—they are scattered, disorganized and stained with a dawning horror and a deeper, ugly hue of shame. It hasn’t—

The narrator hasn’t seen a reaction like this since he bloody yanked out the memory of the Zending from Stanley’s head.

God, please let it not be another Zending. They weren’t anywhere near that room!

“Stanley please, you’re scaring me.”

He—he doesn’t think he can take it if Stanley begs him not to hurt him. After everything they’ve been through and after the narrator’s own attempts to change, he can’t bear it again.

Something fundamentally changed in him, that run. He’s looked over it many, many times, trying to understand the shift in dynamic. It wasn’t a rapid onset that he was aware of, but that was the run that the narrator… realized something about himself. About Stanley.

He didn’t want Stanley to be scared of him.

He’s not a good person. Of course not, he’s not even a person, really. He’s a god, a creator, and he made a story with a simple protagonist and a happy ending. And then, when his protagonist suddenly became more than a simple puppet, but a person, convinced he was trapped and desperate to rebel and escape, the god that made him became vengeful. Sent a flood to kill all the world, but there was no rainbow afterwards, no promise to not do it again.

So Stanley struggled, and the narrator looked at his creation that had somehow eaten the fruit of knowledge, and he punished him. He demanded the protagonist fulfill the role he’d been given, play the story the narrator had lovingly crafted for him.

Somewhere along the way, far too soon after this game of tug of war began, the narrator forgot that the whole point of his story was to give the man a happy ending. Stanley’s happiness, the original goal, was lost under the anger and the pride and the offense that his story wasn’t appreciated.

He’d been an idiot. He’d been cruel. He’d waved his power around over the man and abused it, and Stanley had done all he could in the face of it to get some kind of retribution, but in the moments he found he could hurt the narrator, he despised himself.

Stanley was a good person, and the narrator was not, and this knowledge had plagued the voice since then.

He’s tried to be better. He knows he can’t make Stanley trust him, he knows the scales are tipped so much more in his favor. He controls this parable and that in itself means they can never be equals.

That—

It—

It’s okay that Stanley will never trust him, he doesn’t deserve it. He just wants Stanley to know that the narrator doesn’t want him to suffer. That this was all supposed to be about his happiness. The narrator did all of this for him, and is going to try to make it right.

If Stanley only ever sees him as the jailer, that’s… fine. Better a jailer than a torturer.

The narrator is afraid to touch his thoughts again, he can’t bear the thought that Stanley’s mind will be pleading [ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me too badly ] again.

So he drops his voice to a near whisper.

“Stanley? I’m not going to hurt you. I promised, remember? I told you I wouldn’t. Whatever it is, we can figure it out together.”

This, more than anything, distresses Stanley more—his breath hitches into a sob.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

He only ever makes things worse, doesn’t he?

Stanley shakes his head rapidly. He places a curled fist on his chest, over where his heart would be. Presses circles into his shirt.

[ sorry, sorry, sorry ]

The protagonist scrubs his eyes, trying to control himself. The narrator hears himself swallow.

“It’s… it’s okay, it’s going to be okay. We’ll get through it, whatever it is.”

Stanley grimaces hard. Rests the back of his head against the door. Sniffs angrily.

He tries to sign, but his hands are shaky. Fiercely, he gestures to his head, flicking his fingers towards his temple, as though to say [ just look, just look at my thoughts ].

“I… you’re sure?”

Stanley nods.

The narrator brushes over it again, gentle as a breeze. He’s not sorting through the memories, he’s just touching at the surface information Stanley offers him, in Stanley’s own words.

Stanley had gone down that hall with the word escape pointed at it—the one that leads to the crusher. He’s gone there many times before, though the narrator doesn’t understand why. If he wants death, there are quicker routes for certain.

Now, he turns over the simple explanation that there’s a secret ending there, one he did not make, one which houses a different voice. The information unsettles him deeply. How did something like that get into his creation?

And then, the true horror.

It isn’t his creation at all. It never was. He’s just a piece of a creation, designed to believe—

He’s not the god of this world; he’s simply a piece of code. All he ever claimed Stanley was, and the narrator is no different. Just a character in someone else’s story.

He doesn’t realize that he’s been muttering “no, no, no, no,” for a near minute until Stanley cringes again. He forces himself to stop.

Stanley’s shame rolls off of him in waves, and the narrator cannot for the life of him understand why. He touches the man’s mind again, feather-light.

[ trapped in here with me and there’s no freedom for either of us and I just kept blaming him and I knew he was alone and I knew it scared him and I kept trying to leave but I can’t leave we’ll never leave this is forever this is forever the end is never the end is never the end and he was trying to be better and I didn’t care and I didn’t listen and why did I do that why did I do that? What sick person sees someone trying and just keeps taking their frustration out on him, what’s wrong with me? Maybe it’s built in hahaha coded in I’m not even really a person he wasn’t lying she was right Stanley was already dead ]

No. That—that’s not acceptable.

The narrator has a lot to process here. He has the distinct feeling that if he thinks too hard about this, he will spiral just as badly as Stanley is. His whole worldview has tilted almost 180, and he knows if he tries to deal with it right now, right this second, it might break him.

But Stanley is already breaking, and worse, Stanley is—is blaming himself, for fighting back after all the narrator has put him through.

His Stanley, his good, mischievous, gentle Stanley, is calling himself all sorts of terrible things. That takes precedent.

The narrator does what he does best.

He performs.

“Right,” he snarls, “that’s enough.”

Stanley looks up with an audible gasp. It hurts to hear. He pushes on.

“Do you really think I’m so simple as to be so easily manipulated by your actions? Think what you want, Stanley, but don’t think I’m so weak-willed and dependent on you for my own happiness. This is my story,” he continues, unable to hold back the slightest waver. “This is my world. I exist here to tell you where to go and what to do, I hold the power here. That hasn’t changed, do you understand me?”

Stanley is… staring at his knees with a furrowed brow. The narrator caresses his thoughts in the way one might tuck an errant curl behind an ear. He shapes his next words with care in response to what he finds.

“You decided a long time ago you were the hero of this little narrative, hero of my parable, and I was the villain. Have you forgotten that? I am the villain, Stanley. I am the enemy, the unyielding force which you rage against to no avail.” He chuckles in a manner he hopes sounds cruel and contemptuous, and not desperate. “Did you really think that would change? No, no, not at all, Stanley. In this world, I am the villain. You focus all that loathing towards me, and you remember that I hold all the cards, and that so long as I am here, you cannot give up.”

He’ll be the antagonist, he’ll be the monster that needs to be slain, if that’s what it takes. If that keeps Stanley from taking all that hurt and frustration and fear and pointing inwards at himself.

Not his good, stubborn, Stanley.

Stanley rests his forearms on his knees and stares into the middle distance. His face has flashed through confusion, resentment, realization. Now he is deep in thought. The voice doesn’t dare peek this time. It finds it is afraid to.

All this work trying to show Stanley it's been trying to make amends, and now it has to go back to how things were before. So the one person it cares about has someone to aim all his hurt at.

Just bury the distress deep, deep down. It will be his cross to bear, the fact that he only wants this man’s happiness and yet he can never share it with him. He will have to be the opposing force forever. Forever.

Stanley looks up.

[ No. ]

The narrator scoffs a bit. “No? What do you mean, no?”

Stanley signs slowly. There’s a determination in his eyes, one the voice hadn’t realized it was missing very badly. Now it shines, his mouth set in a firm line.

[ You’re not the villain. You don’t want to be the villain. You just want me to think that. Why? ]

Damn. He really thought he’d put on a good show there.

“Don’t you want something to strive against? Some nefarious force that you can blame for your suffering?” He tries to keep the harsh tone, spitting the words as condescendingly as he can.

Stanley shakes his head.

“You… don’t?”

[ Tired. Done fighting. No point. Want… ] He trails off, unsure how to complete the statement. Inhales deeply. Lifts his hands.

[ Want to tell a new story. Like you talk about in Confusion ending. ]

“The confusion ending…?”

[ New path, new story. Just me and Stanley. ]

It doesn’t make sense that Stanley would talk about himself as a different entity—oh! Oh, Stanley is trying to quote him!

[ We’re in the journey. ]

He hears himself inhale sharply. Asks the next question with trepidation.

“What do you want our story to be?”

Stanley—smiles.

-

now

He hears the narrator clear his throat nervously. “That was quite a long time ago, Stanley. Does it still bother you that much?”

No. He’s grown resigned to the fact that this place is his eternal home. It’s small, limited, but the companionship is fine and even after thousands of runs they keep managing to find new things to do and new ways to entertain each other. Resignation has long since turned to acceptance.

No, it’s—

Stanley’s mind reaches out and grasps at the whisper of frustration. He tries to hold it up to the light.

“I want to fix it.”

That’s what the narrator had said, when he realized Stanley was not happy. For years, he’s done everything in his power to make Stanley happy.

Once upon a time, the voice only cared about its perfect story, and they were enemies. Once upon a time, it hurt Stanley again and again for disobeying.

Sometimes it feels like the narrator has spent all this time trying to make up for it. Stanley knows it’s more than that, that there’s care between them, but it’s always about what Stanley needs, what Stanley wants, Stanley’s well-being.

He remembers coming back from the Museum that run, shaken and disgusted with his own behavior, and wanting to become so small that he would cease to exist, because how could he still be hurting someone who was trying to be better? How could he call himself a decent human being? Well, he couldn’t, he wasn’t even human.

He remembers feeling so completely off-center that it felt like the laws of gravity had twisted completely around him, and feeling like he would never find his footing again. There had been no way to ground himself.

And still, the voice had tried. First with overwhelming tenderness Stanley didn’t deserve, and then with faux antagonism in the hopes it would be a familiar enough enemy that he could find his balance.

He could hear the crack and waver in the words. The words themselves, little clues, little ways to read between the lines. Lines like “focus all that loathing towards me” and “you cannot give up” and “don’t you want something to blame for your suffering?”

Even then, even with the logic of the world shifting monumentally for both of them, the voice was worrying for him. Trying to give him solid ground.

“Yes,” the narrator says, a touchy huffy and sheepish, “you saw right through me, I know.”

Doesn’t the fellow get it? Doesn’t he see what Stanley is trying to get at?

“I dare say I don’t.”

Fine. Another example. The skip button.

The narrator inhales sharply. Stanley feels, for a fleeting instant, vindicated.

“Wh—why? What about it?”

He. Had left. The narrator. Alone. For eons.

“But—we’ve been over this, you didn’t have any options—“

And the moment they got back the narrator focused entirely on comforting Stanley! Calming him down, trying to forgive him, again and again giving him so much care and attention—

“You needed—“

But the narrator never let himself process it! Stanley had never been able to return the favor, not really, not truly! Not ever!

“But—I told you, I’m fine—“

How could Stanley even know? For all his narrator is dramatic, expressive, he doesn’t talk about these things! He avoids them!

“There’s nothing to discuss! Clearly it doesn’t bother me as much! Why are we arguing about this, Stanley, what have I done wrong?”

Nothing, but that was the problem!

“I don’t understand!”

Stanley tugs at his hair a little in frustration. How can he be more clear?

It’s not an equal exchange. Stanley can’t do things for the narrator the way the narrator does things for him, and part of that is because of his limitations on what he can control.

But part of it is the fact that the narrator still thinks he has more power than Stanley does, and so he must dedicate everything to him. He thinks only ever about Stanley, at the expense of himself.

The narrator sniffles. “What am I supposed to do? You’re my friend, and—and I do have more control over this place than you, so why is it a problem that I shape it to do things for you?”

But what about the narrator’s wants?

“I don’t—“

He absolutely has wants! He has feelings, desires, he cares about his story!

“The story doesn’t matter!”

It does! Why does he think Stanley still does it? It’s the only thing Stanley can ever do to try to really make him happy!

“You… you don’t do it for yourself?”

The voice sounds utterly heartbroken. Stanley’s heart sinks.

Fuck. This is getting out of control.

“You don’t like it? You don’t have to do it—“

Listen to himself! Listen to the things he’s saying, please!

The fellow is just… giving up pieces of himself for Stanley. He puts all of his own feelings aside. Stanley knows he feels emotions deeply, they both do, but the narrator never actually—

He never expresses any of it. He never processes his own trauma, his own sadness or fear or hurt. He just puts it all aside for Stanley. He won’t let Stanley return the favor.

He’s not human, he’s further from real humanity than Stanley is, but the narrator is still a person. He still has experienced terrible things. He still needs to confront it. Process it. He’s still allowed to want things for himself.

How can Stanley ever show him how much he really, truly cares, if the narrator won’t treat him like an equal on this?

Ah, damn. He’s crying a bit. He hadn’t realized. Stanley scrubs at his eyes.

It isn’t that he’s sad, at least he’s not sad for himself. He just… this is important. It worries him. It frustrates him. And he’s trying so hard to not make it about himself, because that’s the trap!

The narrator—whimpers. Just a small noise, hurt and distraught, a sound lodged deep in a throat. Stanley sniffs hard to try to collect himself.

“Do you want me to go?”

No, that’s—

Stanley takes a deep, deep breath, and reshapes the thought.

What does the narrator want? Does the narrator want space? What can Stanley give him to show that the protagonist cares about his happiness?

“I…” It’s said very quietly, full of uncertainty. “I don’t know. Can I have a minute to think?”

He can take as much time as he needs. Whatever he needs. Stanley wants to be there for him.

Quiet. The room seems to hold its breath. Stanley takes deep breaths and rubs his hands over his face, finding his calm. His heartbeat slows. He keeps his thoughts quiet, on the off-chance the fellow is still trying to see if Stanley wants or expects a certain reaction.

“I… I think… Stanley, can you step out into the hall?”

Yes, absolutely. He stands by the divider next to the copy machine and waits patiently.

“Thank you. Can—“ a swallow. The narrator composes himself. “Would you please close your eyes?”

Stanley does so, obedient, if a bit confused.

“Okay. Now, I need you to promise me something. Promise me you will keep your eyes closed, and not open them, no matter what. I’m going to be very, very quiet for a few minutes. Just be patient with me, and don’t open them until I say you can. Okay?”

He sounds frightfully nervous. It leaks into Stanley a bit, because—because what is this about?

The voice hesitates, then says very softly, almost shy, but absolutely certain.

“This is something I need.”

Stanley takes a deep breath. He puts a hand over his heart.

He will keep his eyes closed. He promises.

“Okay. Just… just give me a few minutes.”

Stanley waits.

He slouches where he stands. Lets his head drop a bit, leans against the divider. Silence creeps in around him, which makes him a little nervous, but he was warned and he made a promise. The narrator is not going to leave him. He wouldn’t. He knows how it makes both of them feel.

So Stanley waits. And waits.

[PART 2 TOMORROW]

[muzzlemouths]

two times Moon apologizes, and one time he doesn’t

Ever wonder what it was like before the virus took control? What if you were there when it happened? What if you had the chance to help?

What if you were still just a little too late?

Moon centric // Wordcount: 5292  // AO3 Vers.

It’s not every day you find yourself here.

There was never a dull moment at the pizzeria, and hardly time for rest. Each department had its fair share of employees to keep the enormous crowds appeased each day, fixing drinks and machines, handing out prizes, offering the Glamrocks a helping hand between shows, and the Everything Else needing done in between.

Superstar Daycare was different. In all your years with Faz co., you had been sent to assist the attendants few enough times to count on one hand. Your presence simply wasn’t necessary.  Unlike the Glamrocks, who required an entire team of support to get from one stage to another, the Daycare attendants performed their duties with flawless efficiency all on their own accord.

From sunrise to sunset, Sundrop cheerfully kept the children busy with shows, games, and crafts galore, hardly ever showing signs of fatigue, even when his wires were run ragged each day.

And at night, there was Moon, whose soft-spoken nature put the children at ease when it was time to rest. He read them stories, waiting forgivingly through the interruptions. He tucked them in one by one – even the runners and hiders, those who didn’t want playtime to end, the giggling voices and playfully defiant – those, too, were treated with a patient voice and gentle hand on their way back to bed.

The Daycare ran smoothly without your help. It always had.

Management wasn’t so sure.

They explained your presence as a matter of caution; The attendants were exhibiting odd behaviors lately. Not enough to warrant concern, but enough to send you in for a closer look. If the new behaviors stemmed from an unseen frayed wire or, worse, a hole in the programming, management wanted to be the first to hear about it. Better to solve the little issue before it became a big problem, they told you.

“Maybe they’re just tired,” you’d offered, “a break may be all they need.”

But animatronics didn’t need breaks. They didn’t need rest. They weren’t built with the need - that’s what made them perfect, the company insisted. And that’s why you needed to figure out what was wrong with them.

The issue being…you didn’t know yourself. Sun performed his duties without missing a single beat, doing so single handedly despite your occasional offer of help. The children arrived in the morning, and were well tuckered out and happy by evening, leaving you with scarce notes to come back to. There were minor instances, of course; a couple moments where Sun appeared distracted - as though daydreaming, or perhaps listening - but beyond that, nothing. Surely not enough to justify bringing you in.

But there being nothing of note was a good thing. The best case scenario, even, and you enjoyed your time in the Daycare despite your shift here turning out to be fruitless. It was nice to spend time with the attendants even if you had to share that time with a dozen or so children.

You occupied yourself with little tasks as time passed between shifts of day and night, all the while, Sun’s rays began to recede. One by one, they disappeared over the course of the hour, and at the 8pm mark there was a hat instead. The lights had dimmed, the Daycare gone dark, save for the glow of the stars.

Moon’s shift is just as uneventful - mostly.

He reads them a story about castles and kingdoms. He sings them a song, the music box fitted behind his heart offering its gentle tune. He tucks each child away with a hug and a quiet goodnight.

And then he disappears.

You don’t notice at first. Not for a while. It isn’t a noise that finally alerts you, but rather the absence of any, only when the soothing notes of his music box no longer reach your ears do you stand to realize he isn’t there.

Glancing over the room, you spot nothing out of the ordinary. Each child lay dreaming on their mats, every one of them accounted for. No toy or book or bin is out of its place. Everything is where it should be…save for the attendant himself.

So you go looking, and thankfully the search isn’t a long one. Soon enough, you pass the distant lull of music again and follow its path to where he sits; cross legged, hunched over, mumbling to himself at a volume that nearly rivals the winding box behind his frame.

“Moon?”

His faceplate spins around to greet you, “Stars, you scared me,” he tells you behind a tender smile, “Did you need something? Oh, are the little constellations alright?”

It’s absolutely nauseating when he does that – that head thing – but you say nothing of it, approaching him instead and settling into the spot at his side, “Everyone is still asleep,” you reassure, “I just wasn’t sure where you went, so I came looking. What are you…”

Your eyes drift to his lap, a myriad of moondrop candies piled there. Upon closer inspection, it’s mostly formless wrappers. He’s evidently unwrapped dozens already, from what you can see, and it appears you caught him in the middle of it.

This, for certain, constitutes odd behavior.

Doubly so when it becomes obvious that he sees no consequence with what he’s doing. Right before your eyes he takes a candy and twists, retrieving the drop and holding it to his eyes. Then, wordlessly, there’s a crunch, and the hard candy becomes dust between his fingers.

He reaches for another.

“What, um,” you bite the inside of your cheek and watch as he repeats the process, uninhibited, “can I ask what you’re up to?”

As though briefly resurfacing into reality, he pauses, the next candy going still in his hand. “They’re wrong,” he supplies - offering you more questions than answers - again, the drop is ground into pieces as easy as crushing dry pasta, “Trying to find ones that aren’t.”

“Aren’t…wrong?” You ask.

He nods.

“What’s wrong about them?”

Another shatters, shards of berry blue falling loosely into the rug. It goes against his clean-and-tidy programming (among others) to be doing this. He stops, looks up at you like you’re the one performing baseless rituals, not him, “I…” his fingers tighten around the next candy, but it doesn’t snap. He pauses there. Then, quietly so, he slips it back into the wrapper and re-twists the edges, setting it aside. “I don’t…I don’t know.” His eyes follow the two piles he’s made, then drift to his lap where his hands rest, open palm, coated in debris.

This time it’s you who nods, not knowing how exactly to answer. “Oh, well, um…“ you reach for a candy, “maybe I could help–”

“No!” Blue dusted fingers surround your wrist and squeeze. The bone shifts. Both of you feel it.

Moon recoils immediately. It happens fast, a blink of the eye movement from one place to the other. He looks to you, mortified, then to your wrist, a band of red that will be purple by morning. “Oh, starlight, I’m so sorry,” his words so faint, you hardly hear them, “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I– I–”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” you reach for him - he flinches, shrinking back - your hand instantly stills, “I’m okay, really. I know it was an accident. I think maybe I just startled you.”

That wasn’t true and you damn well knew it. But then, you didn’t have the answers, and making a big deal out of it would only make matters worse. Had it hurt? Of course. But you had been shocked by loose arcade wiring, had things thrown at you by entitled parents, and have worked with Monty on at least one occasion. This was a fluke, entirely out of character for Moon - and nothing you couldn’t handle.

He’s nodding, but you can tell he doesn’t hear, or believe, a word you’re saying. There’s a distance to his gaze that makes you certain he’s worlds away by the time you try making for him again.

This time he moves entirely out of your reach, flattening his knees to the carpet then rolling his heels into a stand, his hands wringing with guilt, “I should check on the kids,” he manages to get out, “Go and have your wrist seen to. I can clean this up and finish the shift alone.”

You stand yourself, beginning to follow, “But–”

“Please.”

You stop. His music box continues to play between the stretch of awkward silence. Moon won’t look you in the eyes, and it’s for the very first time. But it won’t be the last.

“If you’re sure…” you say, still unconvinced. He doesn’t reply.

You don’t stick around to argue, or to clean up the shards of powder blue. He looks uncomfortable with your presence, strained within your line of site for all of the five minutes it takes you to gather your things and head for the door.

When you leave the Daycare that night it’s two hours too early, and only a few days too late.

Your report on the situation is vague at best, and Management wants answers.

Obviously, breaking a few (dozen) candies isn’t worth your boss’ time, nor concern, but it’s enough of an oddity to send you back in a second time. The executive decision is made that you’re to be scheduled for Moon’s shift, and only that. Management wants your full attention on the attendant.

It drags a spotlight over Moon, and he can tell. You know he can. Whenever your boss’ boss comes to the store you don’t take anything for chance, you do your job with twice the efficiency and three times the pressure. You suspect it was the same for the attendants, because despite Moon’s impressive proof of capability performed day in and day out, he’s visibly nervous.

It isn’t noticeable to the untrained eye. His sings with the same sweetness, guides with the same gentle hands, but there’s tension in his posture like a wired doll winding ever tighter - that metaphorical wire inside him coiling further with each passing day. Three times, already, have you caught him glancing over his shoulder. Then rigidly paused in the corner, fidgeting, second guessing his decisions. Each entry to your notes has him standing straighter, moving faster, talking quieter. Anything to get your eyes off of him. Anything to prove he doesn’t need to be watched to do his job.

Something is wrong with Moon. You know this for certain. He knows it, too, and he’s willing to do anything to be proven wrong.

Things would be different if there was a known source for these behaviors. They’d sent in a tech, of course, electing for a home-visit type of situation rather than waste time bringing him downstairs. Moon sat awkwardly in a Daycare beanbag while they poked and prodded at the wiring behind his faceplate. They didn’t bother looking deeper; hours spent here were then spent in management’s budget, and nobody had the pockets to cash out for someone that wasn’t human.

He’d been compliant for it. Moon obeyed every command, his patience a valuable trait both in and out of work hours. He held perfectly still and didn’t make a fuss over being poked and prodded. Still, there was nothing to show for his efforts. The tech came back emptyhanded.

Just a fluke, it was decided. But parents were beginning to complain - he was acting out, getting loud - it scared the kids.

Where most were quick to criticize, you found only concern. It felt like only you could see how much he was struggling. Like he was teetering on an invisible edge, and while the others scolded him for his imbalance, you saw the drop. It couldn’t continue like this.

If he fell, there was no one to catch him.

You do what no one else has the courage to: offer him the same compassion you would any other coworker, human or not. If wires weren’t the issue and they found nothing in his code, surely it was a matter of spirit. Exhaustion or something on his mind, keeping him distracted. Maybe it was impossible to simply talk out such things, but you had to try. He was owed that much.

You find him by the jungle gyms, sitting on the bridge with his legs dangling over. It takes you a minute to climb up to where he’s at and take a seat beside him. When you do, he says nothing, a notion that immediately strikes you as concerning. Sure, he wasn’t nearly as talkative as his counterpart, but a simple ‘hello’ had never before been missed. It hurt to be ignored.

He sits with his arms crossed and resting over the rope hold, his chin settled atop. The position ought to be casual - it’s anything but. His body is wound tight like a rubber band with more tension between the joints than you’ve ever seen, replicating an animal waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Again, that wire comes to mind, pulled taught, stretching thinner. His gaze doesn’t leave the kids who all sleep on their mats only a few yards away.

“Quiet tonight,” you’re sure to keep your voice low, merely a whisper, to keep from waking the kids, yes, but also as a precaution. With him like this, you don’t know how he’ll react if you’re any louder than this, or if he’ll react at all. “What are you doing up here by yourself?”

He doesn’t answer you. This, too, is a first. There’s been times where he hesitates - mostly this week, to be honest - but he always answers. He’s polite like that. This time, however, he makes no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Hello, earth to Moon, can you hear me?”

Still, nothing. He stares openly down the Daycare, eyes fixed on the children. It isn’t until you place a hand on his outer thigh that he realizes, coming to with a start. He doesn’t adjust his position to look at you, but rather, keeps his eyes trained on the floor, “What a stupid question,” he mumbles, evidently having heard your words the whole time, “I’m always by myself. Your presence is what’s new.”

Your hand pulls back. Something in his tone sends a chill down your spine and has you tucking the injured wrist into your hand. Your thumb sways over the bruises there, still fresh and plumb purple. ���Moon…?” It wasn’t quite a snap that was received, but more of a statement, blunt and cold shouldered. Admittedly, it did scare you. He had never acted such a way around you - or anyone for that matter - before now.

His eyes flicker to meet yours, head lulling to the side with a certain weight to it. He reads the discomfort on your face and appears to soften if only slightly, “Oh, starlight, I hadn’t meant it like that,” he says, “don’t look at me that way. It’s true.”

“You…you have Sun,” you insist, grasping for a way to move forward with the conversation. Moon stares with an expression that makes you draw in on yourself, perfectly still and entirely silent. Your eyes fall into your lap and stay there. “You’ve been acting strange lately,” you approach the topic like you’re defusing a bomb, stepping carefully, talking in whispers, “are you okay?” You don’t dare raise your eyes for his answer.

It takes him a minute, too. He hesitates. It’s brief, only for a moment, but it makes your heart race. “It’s sweet of you to worry,” is what finally fills the silence, “though, the persistent set of eyes on my back tells me it isn’t you who cares.”

Again, his tone is chilling, careless like he’s talking to a stranger. Your fingers still against the bruise. He notices.

“How’s your wrist?”

“You didn’t answer the question.” Boldly, you raise your chin to look him in the eyes, only to find him fixated on the kids again, glancing your way only for a time. Talking to you like your conversation is on the back burner. A distraction from his real priority. In a way, it is - the kids are his job, after all - but the focus he’s exhibiting has you nervous.

“The question?” His gaze doesn’t move, “What question?”

The Daycare Attendants were not programmed to lie. It went against their nature, much less the very coding that ran through their veins – ahem, wires – and the act of it immediately makes alarm bells ring in your head. It wasn’t a genuine question, that you are certain of. His tone is flat. Rhetorical. He wants you to drop the subject.

You don’t.

“I know you heard me, Moon,” you catch his subtle shift, the way his fingers tighten on the rope. This behavior is entirely foreign for him. You aren’t annoyed with the way he’s acting so much as you are concerned, and so, patiently, you repeat yourself, “Are you okay?”

Again, he doesn’t respond, not right away. He’s transfixed on the children. One in particular - a tyke just old enough to age out of the Daycare any day now - detangling themselves from the covers and sneaking away from bedtime.

“Naughty,” whispers Moon, voice thick with an unfamiliar ire.

Your gaze follows, squinting into the dark room to try and get a better look in hopes that what you see will explain his tone, “What, the kid? He’s a little old for naptime, Moon, he probably just–”

Moon doesn’t wait for you to finish. He ducks between the ropes and makes his way across the Daycare with a speed that has you scrambling to catch up, and he’s completely out of sight before you even manage to land on solid ground again.

You speedwalk around the jungle gyms, cursing how dark the place is during naptime – a child shrieks mere feet away – your walk turns into a run. When you swivel around the corner it’s to the sight of him dragging the child back towards the mats, his hand wound tight around their forearm with a grip that’s bruising.

“What are you doing!” All sense of courtesy drops instantaneously. You fail to keep yourself quiet and in doing so wake several children, but your voice is overwhelmed by the shrills of the boy himself, who jerks wildly within Moon’s vice hold in an attempt to get away. You cross the remaining distance in an instant and reach forward to wrench the kid free yourself, “Moon, let him go!”

He catches you before you have a chance, pulling you in close, only to toss you outward a moment later with a force that lands you square on your ass. Almost a full throw. Almost enough to do real damage. Almost. He meets you with a gaze so hollow it makes you nauseous.

There is a split second of time where you do nothing but panic. The situation is entirely alien, an issue that makes you question what to do – calling security was an option, but would that escalate things? Would he get in trouble? Should he? – it feels like hours that you’re bent on the floor, paralyzed without knowing what to do, but it’s only a second. And it’s over as soon as it began.

The child gives one last tug, a final shriek, “You’re hurting me!”

That’s what does it.

The grip loosens, then pulls away entirely. Moon tucks both hands to his chest and stares outwardly at the child with eyes as big as saucers, aghast as reality hits and he realizes what he’s done, queasy as his gaze finds the bruise, worse than yours by a mile.

“I–”

The boy’s eyes fill with tears. He cradles his bruised arm against his chest and openly weeps, waking the rest, but says nothing. Moon looks like he wants to answer - like he’s desperate to - but he doesn’t immediately find the words.

Instead, he dips onto one knee and reaches out - the movement is meant to comfort, but the boy recoils, and Moon freezes where he’s at. “Oh, little star,” his voicebox crackles faintly, like he’s fighting through a cold, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you–”

“Get away from me!” Shrieks the child, driving Moon back an even greater distance, “I want to go home, I want to go home!” they look to you, pleading, then back to Moon with a vengeance, “I hate you!”

Moon’s entire body goes still. His gaze only briefly flickers to look your way and just past you, where the other children watch with horrified little eyes. “I’m sorry,” it’s only a whisper, this time, barely audible and spoke with a tremble. He reaches for his pockets and scrambles with renewed desperation for what’s inside, eventually wrestling a small Moondrop doll away from the fabric. When he outstretches it - a peace offering - his hand is shaking. “It’s all better now, see? I won’t do it again,” he doesn’t come any closer, even as the offer goes ignored, “I’m so sorry, starlight, it was an accident. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry. Let’s get you fixed up–”

You stop his hand before it reaches the boy.

The look on Moon’s face makes your stomach turn, like you’ve betrayed him, like you’re just as disgusted by his actions – and you are – so you stand firm in your decision to not let him assist further. You have to do what’s best for the children’s safety even if it stings. Your throat clears uncomfortably.

“Moon, I’m going to turn on the lights,” you watch him flinch and recoil, “we can talk about this later.”

He says nothing. Not to your words, and not even when the child scurries to hide behind you before being shuffled towards the exit, but when you reach the light, he again finds his voice. Barely.

“I can fix this,” it’s a whimper, imploring you to offer him another chance, “please, let me fix it.”

Your chest throbs, aching and nauseous, and it’s all you can do to steel yourself against it. You don’t look him in the eye as your hand finds the lightswitch.

The mechanics are cruel. They take him apart, piece by piece, metal frames strewn about and wires unraveled. He’s awake for it. A necessary decision, management tells you, because they were looking for a reaction. Anything to work off of that might tell them what was wrong.

Moon is different when he comes out of Parts and Services.

Not different as in better. Not different as in fixed. He is quiet, voiceless, and he doesn’t look at you for longer than he has to when you’re sent in for the third time.

In fact, he avoids you entirely. The pizzaplex is closed for cleaning and management sees it as the perfect time to give him some one-on-one attention, a final attempt at discovering the source of his behavior before they resort to worse decisions. Without the kids around it’s just you and him, but within ten minutes of your arrival, it’s just you. Moon disappears while you’re not looking. You can’t say you blame him.

If it were up to you, there wouldn’t be an issue with any of that. You would give him all the space he needed - especially after what they had put him through the night prior - but it’s not up to you. It’s up to management. And you can’t afford to lose your job over this.

It’s nearly impossible to find him again. Normally, the soft lull of the music box guides you right to him, but tonight he is silent. No music catches your ears. No hum, no whispers. The Daycare feels empty like this. Dark and quiet, only the faint glow of ceiling stars to light your path, you search every nook and cranny. It takes an hour.

You find him upstairs, in the lobby, hunched over and mumbling to himself incoherently. He isn’t supposed to be up here. Like most of the pizzaplex, it’s off limits - he’s meant to stay in the Daycare. Coded to remain there. Another bad sign on top of the rest.

For the longest time all you do is observe. It’s a frightening image, seeing him like this, slouched and wringing his hands like a cornered animal. He doesn’t immediately notice you, but when he does, it’s with a snarl. He pivots, and only then do you see what he’s bowed over.

In his hand is a chunk of frayed wire, and beneath him is a staff bot - rather, what’s left of it. The limbs have been strewn and tossed aside, the metal around its chest dented and grotesquely forced open, offering a space only large enough to wedge nimble fingers into. The remnants of what he’s torn splay across the opening, severed towards the middle, several wires still sparking.

His eyes are a sweet crimson.

Your feet remain firmly planted where they are, willing now more than ever to give him his space. “Hey there, buddy…” your hands raise in a show of peace, slow and careful, “do you want to tell me how you got up here?”

His gaze is locked onto you, eyes following your every movement, no matter how small, the rigid posture of his own body contorting to face you one limb at a time until he approaches, closing in. You’re backed into the wall.

“Moon, hey – come on,” you try again, reaching desperately for what remained of him past the behavior, “it’s me. You recognize me, don’t you?” You do your best to keep the tremble out of your voice, but it’s impossible not to be frightened, being cornered like this - impossible not to think about your own body dug into, your ribcage torn open and shredded like the bot that lay on the floor across from you.

His lack of an answer is what scares you most.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, desperation, maybe it’s trust; your hand outstretches to cradle his face. He winces, going still beneath it, like he expects your touch to hurt. “Please,” you whine, “I can help you. Let me help you.”

His eyes are hungry. Starving. Dangerous. They are red, and then blue. “It’s wrong,” he finally croaks, “it’s all wrong.”

You stare back, scrambling for the answers. “Wrong - like the candies?” He doesn’t answer, not even a nod, “Moon, nothing is wrong, you’re going to be fine, we can figure this out–”

He shrinks away from you with a quickness that leaves you cold. “No!” He growls, “Didn’t you hear me? It’s wrong, all wrong. Need it to stop. Need to get it out.” His hand rushes to his own chest, fingers digging into metal.

Your body moves on its own accord to stop him - images of Moon tearing himself apart flashing before you - and you grab for his hand, move to keep it tucked within yours. It’s a comfort, you think. Or it’s meant to be. But something is, indeed, wrong, and he’s too far gone for the fondness to do its trick.

He detangles your fingers from his own and backs himself into one of the plastic chairs, nearly falling backwards from the collision. In one moment you’re moving to catch him, and in the next you’re ducking, arms protectively shielding your head as he swirves around and takes the chair by its leg, and swings it violently into the wall. He’s angry. Or scared. Dangerous, at the very least. You can’t understand no matter how hard you try, and he’s beyond having the words to tell you.

“Hey, you’re alright,” you risk another step forward, hands raised. It’s crucial that he calms down. If security hears all the commotion and comes running before you can defuse the situation it won’t end well. “It’s okay, you’re okay–”

“Liar, liar, liar!” Moon clutches frantically at the edges of his faceplate, the ugly sound of crunching metal erupting from beneath his fingers where cracks form like spiderwebs, “Something is wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong! Why aren’t you listening?” His voicebox crackles, the frequency too high. It comes undone with a clean pop and ends up somewhere between a plead and a growl, “Something is wrong with me.”

You inhale sharply between your teeth. Decisively, it’s time to switch methods. “You’re right, something is wrong,” you tell him, “We’re going to figure out what it is, I promise, but I need you to calm down first. Can you do that for me?”

Red again, his eyes stare you down with the same hollowed expression as before. The air grows heavy, bearing down, and you realize it’s fruitless. You need to go. You need to get out of there.

“Can’t do that,” he mumbles. Frantic, still. “You’re lying. Lying to me. Can’t fix it.”

“No, no, we can, you just–” your back slides against the wall, inching closer to the door, “–you have to trust me, Moon. We’re friends, right?”

“You tattled!” He’s hulking, an enormous mass of pure metal that towers closer to you, bit by bit, “Won’t fix me. You’ll tell, and I’ll be picked apart. Won’t fix anything.”

Guilt floods you. It sits like a weight on your chest, suffocating. You swallow around it, reach for the door handle, “I won’t let them,” your hand finds it, “I promise.”

Something changes. Something shifts. His head tilts completely to the side and his eyes appear to focus. You think maybe it’s over, that he’s finally wound himself too tight and now he’ll calm down, but that’s not it.

Your hand tries the doorknob. It’s locked.

“No…no…won’t tell,” he echoes you with a nod, “I’ll make sure of it.”

The wire snaps.

Moon barrels you against the door, hands winding around your throat. You see stars and taste blood. The fight is in vain, but you give it your all, anyway, using every part of your strength to kick at his frame and drag his hands away. He is relentless, vacant eyed, “Nighty night,” he purrs, and your world grows dark.

This is it. Your final breath. Your last goodbye. Trapped between a door and seven feet of animatronic, you’ll be discovered far too late - just as you were too late to save him - a fitting death. A fair one.

…

..

.

Air returns to your lungs with such speed that it burns. You land on your knees with a sound like choking back spit, swallowing oxygen until the room straightens out and your head no longer feels like it’s going to burst. You vision clears - mostly. You don’t see Moon. You don’t look for him long, either.

As soon as feeling returns to your limbs you’re up and across the lobby, full-body sprinting to the slide. Ducking in head first, haphazardly quick, you’re driven into the ballpit, and just as soon you’re out of it, breaching with another gasp of air and dragging yourself onto the carpet, collapsing onto your back. You’re short of breath, your body wracked with spasms as it attempts to recover.

Moon watches from the lobby, peering down at you with an expression you can’t read. He makes no move to come after you. He doesn’t help you, either. He shows no sign of regret or remorse, even as you lay there, wheezing, purple blooming across your throat.

It doesn’t matter. You’re lucky to be alive. As soon as you’re able to, you force weight onto shaking knees and drag yourself across the Daycare to the exit doors - these ones thankfully still unlocked - and bring yourself to look one last time.

The lobby is empty. Moon is gone, and you don’t know if he’ll be back. If the Moon you know will ever truly be back. 

You don’t stick around to find out.

[chicspo]

I’m so devastated. There’s this girl at my job (almost 30) and me (23) and she hates me so much and sees me less than her which is insane bc I’m always minding my own business. She keeps saying stuff like “Ew why do we have people who are [my position in the company) with us” even tho she literally just got promoted from the same position that I’m currently in?? I’m new in this company and everyone say I’m the best so I think that what makes her hate me even more because I’m younger than her and already busting my a$$ to get promoted. I talked to my manager about it and he 100% agreed with me that she has “people management issues” that’s what he called it and he agreed that she’s toxic and in the wrong but wants me to “help her get out of it” and I told him directly, “I’m not here to fix people and I’m not obligated to help anyone. I’m here to do my job and thats it” and he was like it’s up to you if you wanna help her or if you wanna ignore her. but.. He doesn’t do anything about it and he let her control everything. She literally drives him home after work and gets him his coffee every morning and ???? This is a whole different story lol. It’s been weeks now so I decided to take the next step and talk to my coach in the company and he was like “talk to the director, he knows her and can judge better than me but heyyyy don’t forget to mention -if you want to of course- that you wanted to quit your job because of her and I was the one who told you not to do it, and let me know how it goes” and I PAUSED. At this point, I realized that every single one of them is literally just using me for their advantage and I don’t know if it’s even worth it to tell the director because there’s 99% he won’t do anything because he has worked with her before and she’s the kind of person who goes out of their way to please people in higher positions to get what she wants and I’m the complete opposite of that. I don’t kiss no one a$$ lol. Do you think it’s wroth it to tell him especially if he doesn’t have a strong connection with me but I was told before that he tells people that I’m smart..? or should I just stfu and apply for different jobs and run from them as fast as I can? It’s destroying me mentally and I feel like I’m gonna explode. It sucks because she did something terrible to someone who was there before me and he left the company.

u cant change the way a person is or acts. and telling someone else above her to help u is useless. no one will care for u the way u do. if u can endure it then push thru. is it worth it? or is it more worth it to apply for new jobs? u weigh out ur options. there will always be people everywhere who are jealous of you and who want to see you fail. who will tear you down in hopes of getting a reaction out of u. so be strong no matter what and be self sufficient. u dont need anyones help. maybe take this as an opportunity and look for other possibilities in other places if its too hard on you

[anjuschiffer]

Do We Dare to Dream? - Chapter 4

...didn’t realize i didn’t post this before sleeping...I got work in like 6 hours...enjoy :D

-

P.Tag: @toodaloo-kangaroo @vixen-uchiha @elijahcrevan

Tag: @hammalammadamdam

-

MASTERLIST | PREV | AO3

The invasion of the League’s headquarters quickly made Ra’s reconsider the security and loyalty of his men, Ra’s quickly worked to fix that issue…even if it meant killing every person who showed even the slightest bit of uncertainty.

As for Jason, after being dipped into the Lazarus Pit, he was put to work, being given his first solo mission in a long while.

“Meet Damian.” Talia introduced, Jason simply looking at the 7 year old boy staring back at him.  

He had seen the boy a few times, having always been ushered away whenever Damian would want to use the library or training grounds for his own. He was never allowed to interact with the boy…not that he would have cared if it weren’t for the reactions the others would have around them.

He would hear the murmurs and whispers that would follow when instructors would look at Damian and then at him. Stares that judged and compared Jason to Ra’s grandson…

Something was up, but he didn’t dare to try and figure it out. After all, he didn’t want to die again.

“I don’t trust him.” Damian told his mother as he started to fumble with the handle of his newly gifted dagger.

“Damian.” Talia warned, turning back to Jason. “For your next assignment, you are in charge of my son’s safety.”

”Safety?” Jason dared to ask, earning a glare from Ra’s. 

“You will be escorting him to his father’s place.” Talia finished, watching as Damian looked at her wide eyed.

His father?

“We will be providing transport up until you get to Gotham.” At that name, Jason felt his mind muddle. “From there on, you will go to this address. That is where you will find Damian’s father.”

Jason accepted the package Talia handed him, which judging by its weight, was probably filled with a letter and some currency. 

“Upon arriving there, you will keep a close eye on him until Talia or I come back to get him.” Ra’s clarified.

“Understood.” Jason said, accepting the assignment with no further questions, knowing what would happen should he ask any other question.

“You leave in an hour.” With that, Jason left to prepare to head to Gotham, with an odd feeling looming over his head and heart.

- 

“We should’ve already reached the bay by now.” Damian scolded, a deep scowl on his face. 

He fought the urge to tap his foot as he kept staring at Jason’s back. “Grandfather said-“

“I know what Ra’s said, brat.” Jason sneered, blocking a flying dart the brat threw at him as he got up. 

“Watch your to-“

“Save it.” Jason cut him off, throwing the dart over the cliff, holding himself back to stay as he took one last look at the boulder within his barracks, wrapping the red ribbon tighter on his wrist. 

A single narcissus bloomed near the edge of the boulder, Jason knowing how off it belonged within the walls of the League. The pure white flower swayed in the breeze, a ladybug perched on one of the petals. “I just wanted to say goodbye to-” Jason bit his tongue. “Let’s go.” 

With one last glance, Jason picked up his things, feeling himself dragging his feet as he left the place he had to call home for the past three years. 

Where he met her. 

See you on the other side, Marinette. 

-

“I thought you said you’ve never been here before.” Damian quipped, glancing at Jason before going back to trying to take off the tracker on his wrist.

Ever since they got dropped off at the airport, Jason took it upon himself to place a tracker on him. Or rather, strap it onto him. Something about preventing child trafficking or something along those lines. 

He didn’t need it. 

He was born and raised to be the perfect assassin. 

He didn’t need to be protected, nonetheless by this pitied orphan. 

The audacity of this street rat to-

“Shut it.” Jason warned, wondering if Damian always muttered or if it was a recent thing. Not that it mattered. 

He had bigger things to worry about. 

His mind had been going haywire at every street the bus turned since they set foot in Gotham. His guard was always up and would worsen as a person came into his field of view…which made him ponder about Damian’s statement. 

Has he ever been to Gotham before? As in…before Ra’s took him in? 

Even though Jason never remembered being in Gotham before, his body certainly did, taking control the moment they got there. As if it's been there before.

As if it remembered. 

Despite Ra’s clear instructions on what to take and how to get to Wayne Manor, Jason disregarded it and went his own way, which is how they boarded a bus to get across Gotham and got off the first stop after Queens Bridge. 

“You don’t expect me to walk the rest of the way, do you?” Damian asked him as they got off at the very first stop once out of the tunnel, pulling his hood over his head. 

After all, if Jason was covering himself up…there had to be a reason for it…

“I thought you said you were trained to be the perfect assassin. Is a bit of hiking too much for-“

“I’ve hiked longer treks than this city. Survived in numerous jungles filled with creatures that would tear the average man apart.” Damian scoffed. “This is nothing.”

“Then you better keep up.” Jason said, putting on the mask Ra’s gave him, tracking Damian as they headed to Wayne Manor. 

-

Jason woke up as soon as the first beam of sun rose from the horizon, causing him to grunt and turn to the other side, making sure to not shift too much. Once there was no escaping the rising sun, Jason sat up straight, his back leaning against the tree trunk as he stretched, the oversized sleeves of his jacket falling to his elbow.

It’s been a bit over a week since he got to Gotham and just a few days since Damian was safely snug inside Wayne Manor, although that didn’t relieve Jason from his duties. 

As instructed, Jason led Damian to Wayne Manor and once Damian was at the gate, Jason left him with nothing but the small bag that held his clothing and a letter of introduction Talia wrote for the boy.

Jason watched as Damian was welcomed with open arms, Jason feeling something in his stomach twist and turn when a sleek black car took Damian from the entrance to the heart of the Estate, to the manor itself. To a safe haven from the elements of the world.

A place where he was watched around the clock, where an elderly gentleman came to escort him to his meals, a place with a bed, with running warm water meaning nice warm baths and clothing that kept him warm and that perfectly fit him.

And that was only based on the amount of times Jason was able to peer into the room Damian was staying at. Because yes, he was well aware that other things happened past the door, but thanks to the distance between the two, Jason couldn’t exactly open up the curtains whenever Damian would close them up for privacy. 

Then again, Jason could care less to what happens to the brat as long as he was in one piece. He had other things to worry about, like his survival. 

While Damian was able to live the spoiled life he had in the League almost instantly, Jason had to sneak into the estate like a rat, hiding into the nearest thing in sight: a tree. 

A tree that luckily shielded him from the sun but didn’t exactly protect him from yesterday’s rain. A tree where he had almost fallen off of twice and which owls resided and watched him in the middle of the night. 

Their hooting last night almost caused him to have one for breakfast, but not having the necessary tools to successfully gut them prevented him from doing so. 

Hours passed by, the sun finally started to set, Jason deciding to move to a new tree with a denser canopy. 

After settling into a new tree, he grabbed some binoculars and peered into Damian’s room, watching the brat practicing his form with his katana before turning to where Jason was. 

“Creepy kid.” Jason muttered, taking out a few dried figs before taking his time savoring each bite. His stomach rumbled after he finished it, begging for another bite of the sweet fruit. But even if gave in to the demand, he found himself with only two more rations left and not knowing how long this supervision was to last, Jason needed to spread these two rations for at least three days until he could secure more food.

And knowing Damian and the little shit he was, Jason knew better than to rely on the kid for any food, meaning he had to find his own.

Perhaps he should raid the kitchen…

Of course, that meant having to risk leaving his post and essentially his duty, of prioritizing his life over his mission…

His mission…

Mission…

“It’s always for the mission, isn’t it, Bruce?” Jason caught himself saying, freezing once he processed those words.

Who was Bruce?

As if to answer his question, a man stepped into Damian’s room, a man Jason hadn’t seen until that day…a man who-

Jason groaned as his head began to throb, grasping at his chest as memories flooded his mind, Jason pathetically shutting his eyes tighter in hopes of getting rid of them. 

“This will be your new home Jason. And this will be your new room.”

“Why not? I heard waffles are a good way to start the day.”

“How would you like to enroll back into school?”

“Jason, we can’t keep eating burgers every night. Otherwise you won’t be able to develop a diverse palate.”

“I still can’t believe you’ve never read Pride and Prejudice. Remind me to get you a copy from the library.”

“Jason, let’s go home.”

“Jason.” 

“Jaylad.”

“Jay.”

Bruce…the name of the man who adopted him…his name was Bruce…Bruce Wayne! But…he was also Damian’s father…

But…did he have a right to keep calling him his father?

Did he even know he was alive?

Jason could feel his chest churn at the questions that continued to plague his mind, the growling emerging from his stomach not helping one bit.  

His thoughts were finally snapped when he saw something move from the corner of his eyes.

There, on one of the manor’s skylights, a lone figure stood there, Jason grabbing his binoculars to get a better look at them.

He didn’t expect to see a person -who could easily be mistaken for a kid- to be standing on top of one of the most highly secured manors in all of Gotham. Wait…how were they standing there without tripping any alarms off?

Who were they?

The perpetrator was on the small side, wearing all black attire -save for the pink hoodie with detachable sleeves- and had pink pouches attached to their legs…

Out of the list he had to memorize from Ra’s about the groups and individuals who were his enemies, Jason couldn't pick out a single name to pin onto the person on the roof.

As he kept watching the person attempt to get into the manor, Jason caught a glimpse of their face…or at least where there was supposed to be a face.

A mask hid under the hood.

Something about their mask started to turn gears in his head...Jason wondering why their half black, half pink mask reminded him of-

“Deathstroke.” He found himself whispering. There was no way…

There was no way he already found them…he had made sure to make their traces were, well, untraceable…

But now that he has a theory, he couldn’t help but realize this person had to be working with Deathstroke of all people if their attire meant anything. While it was pink, it held a bit of resemblance to the one who caused Ra’s to send his heir to the manor.

And as if to read his mind and confirm his theory, he watched as a panel of the skylight was lifted up, Jason watching as the person turned over to his direction and gave him a peace sign below slipping into the manor with grace…

Seconds past until Jason realized what happened…

Without a second thought, he got off the tree and ran.

NEXT

[joshriku]

I WILL GET YOU STARTED /pos

David!!!!!! :D

ok you know what i was thinking about i was thinking about the use of 'your father's people' and 'my people' all across david's story, and just this clear distinction like a line david traces that very rarely overlaps. essentially his 'father's people' is always the x-men, anything associated to the x-men (and eventually krakoa). really starts off with xmen legacy 1 for the first time

except the xmen dont do that for him and it furthers this line even more in a 'them vs him' mentality. to david, 'my people' refers to mutantkind, but xmen legacy 3 shows pretty much what he's thinking when he defines 'my people':

he continues with '‘not because of dad. not because of the bloody dream. but…because you’ve had a crappy deal outta life and it’s about time someone fixed it. / children should have childhoods. people should have choices. and nobody should ever be forced to fight if they don’t want to.' which goes exactly as the antithesis to what he thinks the x-men were built for, aka the whole 'child soldiers who just react to danger when it hits the fan and never prevent or change anything'. to david, 'my people' encompasses everything that isn't centered around the x-men or the casual mutant heroes, but every single corner where mutants might go ignored and hated and discriminated. that's where he wants to act. but what's really fascinating is that it's not just charles' people, but also his world. gabby remarks that she lost david the second charles realized he was his son, because david belongs to his world, and here's the kicker - just like david makes the 'my father's people / my people' distinction and rejects it, he also rejects his world:

(STILL ONE OF MY FAVE LINES IN THE RUN AGHH)

but the problem is david's self-belief goes through the it's so over we're so back chart so often that 'my people' oftentimes gets tainted--he starts referring to 'his people' more often to point out how badly he's fucking something up, despite how much he craves mutantkind to be a family, he just can't help but fuck it up. there's no future for 'his people' because he thinks he's not the right one to give it to them.

and this idea of 'his people' seemingly end with him at the end of xmen legacy, EXCEPTTTTT in legion of x 6 where the ol debacle comes back to haunt david once more:

it's funny bc the way uranos words it goes exactly the way david believes charles treats his people, and therefore it's not the way he'd do it. krakoa david emphasizes over and over to not be like charles, not in the way it used to be in xmen legacy, but to be better than him and to not make the mistakes he does. so uranos provoking him like this? straight up saying would you die for your father's people? He's nasty. he hit david where it hurt most--previous to this moment, i think there's no mention of david saying anything like 'my people' again since he started the altar. he talks about leading but he doesn't allude to it. he's no longer jealous of the x-men like he used to be, probably knowing better, but he's trying to lead with empathy and with care like he did in legacy 23, but he's almost avoiding mentioning this line on the sand between him and charles again.

but this happens :)

and 'your people' turn out to not just be the people in the altar, but the rest of mutantkind, too--it turns out to be magneto, someone he's definitely thought of as 'his father's people', and it's this impossibly big figure he somewhat respects that needs him, and it's not just him needing david but everyone else - kurt relied on david the whole issue, so did ruth, so did vox ignis, so did every mutant fighting during AXE. they needed someone to hold the line so they could finish the battle. mutantkind needed david. it's finally that distinction being gone.

like in xmen legacy 4:

funnily enough after that scene, the end of legion of x 6 finally has david referring to his people without thinking of himself as a disappointment for once (but also wishing he had died so really we have a long way to go):

happy endings :) his people :) character writing babey!!!!! such a good theme running across so many issues!!!!!!!!!!!

[rootvegetableboy]

cm dev log #2 - december 2023

woah, 2024 already? how the time flies! december is a really busy time and i honestly felt like i didn’t get that much progress on the game done this month, but now looking over all my notes, i’m feeling really good about the direction i’m heading in.

astute readers will recall that in november i built a dialogue system. in december, i took this a step further, making an in-game menu available for accessing your stuff/status/saves/etc! creating an inventory also meant creating my very first items, which, well…

you can only carry 8 items. here, alda chose to make every single one beef jerky.

i had to fix a lot of infinite beef jerky glitches during this stage. at one point i had a really weird issue where you could consume an item but only if it was the most recent item picked up… any item consumed in the middle of the list would crash the game…

eventually it all worked out, though. there’s even special text if you try to cram too many things into your pockets:

yeah there’s too much beef jerky in here. sorry

the other “big” thing i did this month was start etching out the barest beginnings of a combat system!! (i say “big” because let’s be real it is game dev. it is all big. i also got a bunch of the script/story done this month and that is HUGE, even if i cant show it off as easily)

i started with some light testing of bullet properties and physics, getting used to handling objects in this way, and then followed that with establishing how player movement and direction works in combat. in retrospect i probably should’ve flipped the order of these, but i stopped working on the bullets pretty quickly when i realized where my attention was needed, and everything is working out ok so far!

the bouncing bullets get stuck on the wall a lot more than you’d think…

aiming with the cursor! this would probably feel a lot more natural with joysticks.

so i haven’t actually combined the bullets + aiming into actual shooting mechanics yet. this is a big goal for january, i’m trying to whip up some combat prototypes asap so i can make sure the game is Engaging and Juicy and Fun 2 Play.

i really like how the aiming looks and feels with a mouse, but there is some amount of awkwardness when moving from a non-combat area (where WASD dictates your direction) into a combat area (where you suddenly have your direction dictated by your cursor coordinates). maybe it’s because i use a trackpad but i am always thrown off when moving from non-combat to combat… interestingly enough, combat to non-combat doesn't stand out so much. as always the list of things to continue testing is ever-growing!

this next month i really want to start focusing in on the combat. previously i have been tackling systems that scared me less—something about coding combat interactions is just insanely intimidating to me lmao. i’m feeling a lot more confident now that i have a dialogue and an inventory system under my belt, so i want to tackle this next challenge asap. i don’t want to get too deep into the art or sound until i’m certain i have a good mechanical foundation in place!

maybe next month i’ll have some extremely rough playtests…? but who knows!

see you in february! <3

[padawansuggest]

Okay so here is the deal: I wasn’t going to get in to get this actually extracted till the 24th, but, I have been distressed because the antibiotics weren’t reducing the swelling as well as they were supposed to and it was distressing. Thing is, this extraction is on a 3 root tooth, which means it might come out in pieces and it’ll be harder to get out, but it’ll work. They originally said a root canal could fix it, but I said I would rather have a bone graft so I have a possibility of an implant later. So they said they can fit me in today in 3 hours to do the extraction and bone graft.

Now. A bone graft is around 600 and the extraction itself is around 400 and the examination today was around 100. So. That’s a lot of money for out of pocket. And I had to have all of it ready by 4pm. So I started phone calls, I called dad and he said he’d ask grandpa (I would like you to know now that if none of this was possible I would still get the tooth extracted today cause it’s that upsetting to me but the graft for an implant later was the goal here) but with grandpa he couldn’t send money for a few hours and even then he sends through credit union which takes a bit.

So he’s still sending 300 or so because he’s amazing and I love him, but that means that that 300 is going to pay back my gf who is putting down her card to make up the difference here. So I’ve got around 400 in PayPal and maybe 200 in cash and 300 from grandpa, so babe is making up the difference here. Which isn’t too much thankfully.

I just. Needed someone who immediately could help but also trust me to pay back. Either way. God this would be so much easier if I could get on disability already I could save up myself for things like this every couple of months. Ugh.

Anyways. Once more, saying that the emergency will be taken care of but if anyone’s genuinely invested in helping I will accept that, PayPal link in bio in all that, but I also want to be transparent about costs and stuff, and also that if my fics or funny posts can inspire donations I will never turn that down because at least I do something in this world that brings a smile and that makes me so happy, but I also don’t really have much going for me because of disability so it’s nice when I can get help like that. Pretty much everything I have goes to medical or an occasional switch game if it’s cheap enough to justify it lmao I’m not gonna lie about that but I’m still cheap and get them on sale, usually for under 10$.

So like. Writing and crochet and gaming is my life rn and if I can get past some of these issues I got, exercise can be a huge part of my life again, I miss it so much. But constant head infections this year has made me realize that exercise sucks when you feel bad.

So. Um. I love you guys and you all have made this journey so much easier and I’m so happy to have every single one of you. I’m happy that some of you could help and it’s honestly made a massive difference in this whole situation, and, again, not asking because I can scrape by, it’s just, any help you guys give is always appreciated and used to it’s fullest, like now.

Uh. Yeah. I’m still nervous but way less nervous now that I have a plan, and the graft situation was a bonus that is coming to me from family which is so nice of them to help look out for my future here too. Love them.

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hi, reading your posts made me realize I’m likely an INFJ in a terrible loop. For the last 6 months i’ve been reading about mbti I thought I was INTJ, and every test i tried said it too, but i didnt and still don’t understand Fe vs Te, even after reading your posts. But INFJ in a loop sounds a lot like me. So let’s go with that.

My auxiliary function is suffering. When I’m outside I have this tendency to observe people, the room, their behavior and enjoy dwelling in it, as if I’m reading a novel. It bothers me when someone says or acts rude, when a man bothers a woman like a creep.

In my head i’m so criticizing of other people. And if i’m not criticizing, im acting as if i can read everything about another person. I know this sounds horrible and very narcissistic, but i want to be honest to fix myself. And I know i’m doing this overthinking in social situations to defend myself by acting as if im superior.

But i just observe, i never interact. I havent talked to a single person in my class in university, since im a few years older (24 in a room of 21yo people). Even though i know if i want to socialize thats the right place. I start thinking: if i talk to them, they will get to know me, they will find that i failed or that i dont have a lot of my shit together, and then i will be judged. So why bother. And i know that its so flimsy and stupid. I only made one friend in my old uni before changing courses.

This is not only at university btw. I dont go out in the evenings, or try to meet new people, because i literally have no fucking idea of how to do it without looking like a misfit. My old friends are all very distant now, and while I know many people everything I never really dated, and while i have this insane void of emotional intimacy, i keep rationalising every attempt of experiencing life. I live in a shell.

And the fact i haven’t dated and i’m 24, is so scary. I’m not even ugly or that uninteresting or without hobbies, because people told me the opposite many times, but i dont know why i cant come out of my shell. This is not only about dating, but in general. Im always distant emotionally and end up thinking about it instead of living it. Because im a grown man scared of being judged for my smiles,tears and my love.

I think i have some trauma issues from my teens, when i talked to a girl on facebook for 2 years listening to her problems because i liked her, without ever approaching her irl (because i was a scared teenager idk why). It was a one way thing. I was basically her diary in human form. When i told her my feelings it was too late. After that i ended in a 1 yr depression, and it definitely marked me as a person. I never really opened myself emotionally with anyone else after. Maybe this is not even trauma, it actually feels demeaning to call it as such when other people have suffered more.

This post is a mess. Maybe im just overthinking, and you’ll probably read this and think i need therapy and/or im mistyped . But I really want to break these chains, and hearing an insight from someone who understand people very well could help.

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

If I understand correctly, the main problem is you are closed off and unable to open up. It sounds like you are very afraid of socializing, most likely because you are afraid of being hurt by other people's negative judgments of you (it is a common problem related to unhealthy Fe). There are several factors that may be contributing to this problem:

- Low Self-Worth: You exhibit oversensitivity that arises from using other people's judgments to define your identity and/or determine your personal worth. If you're always worried about how you're being perceived, then you will of course feel anxious about interacting with anyone you're unsure about. This makes it very difficult to meet new people and expand your social circle.

- "Mindreading": You presume to know what others think, without any evidence, easily jumping straight to the worst case scenario. This is a defense mechanism that gives you a false sense of control, as though you're preparing yourself for the worst to happen. As such, you manage to talk yourself out of socializing, losing every opportunity to learn and grow socially.

- Unresolved Past: You've had negative relationship experiences in the past. When you don't resolve negative feelings, learn the right lessons from them, and consciously put the past behind you, you will take the past and project it into the future, expecting it to happen again. This means you are out of touch with reality because you never treat people as NEW people and give them the benefit of the doubt. You assume that people are out to hurt you and you build walls of protection, which conveniently prevents anyone from knowing you and getting close enough to want a relationship with you.

- Lack of Social Skills: It's hard to feel confident when you're incompetent. Even if you were to work up the courage to meet new people, it sounds like you would still lack the skills required to develop the relationship. Immature INFJs often suffer in relationships because of unrealistic ideas and/or unreasonable expectations, which is often related to faulty reasoning patterns (Ti loop). Social skills are called "skills" because anyone can learn and improve them. If you care about being a better version of yourself, you have to be honest about your deficits and apply yourself to learn the knowledge and skills that you need to move forward in life. See the recommended books on the resources page.

While it's possible to work on these issues on your own, it's the more difficult path to take. When you have a serious problem like social anxiety that prevents you from living the life you hope to live, then, yes, it is best to reach out for professional expertise and assistance. People aren't born knowing everything, so everyone needs help at some point and there is no shame in getting it. As long as you keep trying to convince yourself that your needs don't matter or that your problems aren't as serious or serious enough to warrant attention, you will continue to dig your own grave of unhappiness. How long do you want to go through life with these problems weighing you down and holding you back?

[wallisninety-six]

I wish people really understood how freaking openly hostile social media and internet spaces are for neurodivergent folks (ASD & OCD in my case) because people just seem absolutely *wired* to be as hostile as humanly possible about the most mundane shit ever it seems like, everything needs to be a sweeping moral statement and every single person seemingly wants you to be on the exact same page as them for some drama you don’t know/care about and get openly hostile when you don’t know what tf they’re talking about because you don’t know the exact intricacies of 5 billion other people on the internet

it’s like 100% the worst tendencies of society against neurodivergent folks magnified 10 times over on a place that’s supposed to be some kind of sanctuary away from it- yeah nothing can be perfect in this world but people can try *not* being sociopathic and *on* at all times for no reason at all

like between having trouble reading emotions and having crippling intrusive thoughts making me wonder who i can trust or not (and whether I’m somehow evil for not being on the same page/having any sort of inherent human flaw that all people have turning people away) it’s legitimately making me not want to be around anyone- i realize I’m screaming into the void and i really can’t fix anything but all I can do is vent Like, yes, things are tense and bad now- ***but things have ALWAYS been bad and tense**** we’ve been through 2 world wars, threat of nuclear annihilation and social issues/conflict has never gone away in all of human existence- Bad times is no excuse to be bad to other people, can you all chill tf out a lil bit and try to like, be nicer to people?? Would it *kill* you?

[neoriots]

are you still gonna consume dteam content while taking a step back from the fandom or are you completely breaking with it? just out of interest

im gonna be honest, this is a really hard question to answer. im gonna drop a cut bc i’ll probably ramble for a moment.

okay so i think for dream specifically, i don’t think i could go back to consuming his content to the level i was before like, ever. i think this was a rude slap of the rose colored glasses off my face that i can just.. never reconcile with, at least for like.. many years. i think i could stand to see him around, i think i could look at smth he’s posted and see it as i see Any person on the internet but i think that Connection with him is personally severed. i think most of that is less what Happened and more his reaction. i think it was irresponsible at best, gross and manipulative at worst.

i unfollowed his accounts, his notifications are off, i just cant let myself be part of His community that allowed a situation like this to even happen in the first place yknow? especially the reaction from the twt community at large, i just cannot support that. it disgusted me and it still Does disgust me. i think he needs to either completely step back from his community or massively rework it to fix some of the glaring issues in it because the way it runs is not healthy or normal at all anymore and i only realized that truly once i stepped back myself. i think a big part of being in his fandom Is defending him, justified or not, and i just can’t look at the past two years and the past week and do that anymore. i cant.

i think for snf i still have an attachment to them, that unless something drastically changed (god forbid.) i think i will continue to consume them but more casually than i did before. they are, as always, tied to him and its delusional to think i could completely support them and be in their fandom without being tied into dreams fandom as well. so i think i will consume their content and whatever else they do, but i wont be engaging in the fandom aspect as i did before publicly. it just seems irresponsible for me and i stand by that still.

i’ve been in the mcyt / gaming creator scene for over a decade now and it would be silly of me to act like i haven’t watched creators who did bad things in the past or even were friends with ones who did (not to drag him but markiplier is my boy and his relationship with pdp Still weighs on me sometimes—and im a rtah watcher and have been for a long time, have you seen the shit thats come out abt them every couple years? yeah.)

the truth is we don’t know these people, they are people on our screens making entertainment and you can never truly know whats going on behind the scenes and as a single person i know my opinions will never change anything so it’s stupid for me to pretend i have some moral high ground for being aware of glaring issues when theres millions who will move on in ignorant bliss of anything going on with their faves, but were watching it just the same. and its always been this way, its just easier to see the problems now with the connection social media gives us.

tldr; yes i will to an extent, but that could change as things change and develop and id be a hypocrite to act as if i wasn’t going to.

[ao3feed-hitoshi-shinsou]

One Day I Realized You were Too Good for Me

One day I realized you were too good for me by Sariana May

"I feel so, so useless and I'm sick of it! I feel so guilty every single time I can't do shit. I make all these messes that you always fix. Without complaint! Honestly I doubt I've ever seen you express a complaint ever!" He roughly wipes at his face. "It really really sucks being me and you just make it worse. You do so much stuff for me and I do nothing for you back." "That isn't true." Hitoshi cuts in Izuku swivels his head around "Oh really? Name one instance, where I wasn't freaking defective!" "You don't need to do anything for me." "So it's zero." He says blankly "You didn't let me finish." “You don't have to do anything now because you've done so much for me before and I'm just returning the favor.” Izuku's eyes bore into Hitoshi's “Still useless.”

Words: 4340, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Shinsou Hitoshi

Relationships: Midoriya Izuku/Shinsou Hitoshi

Additional Tags: Quirkless Midoriya Izuku, Quirkless Discrimination, Pro Hero Shinsou Hitoshi, General Education Department Midoriya Izuku, Aged-Up Character(s), Quirkless People with Extra Toe Joints Wear Custom Sneakers | Red Shoe Theory, Dead Midoriya Inko, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Fluff, i think, Miscommunication, Self-Worth Issues, Insecurity, Depressed Midoriya Izuku, Crying, loads of crying, like the amount of time I wrote 'tears'

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45401554