#and me feeling like i have to stay in there or be abused. i feel the same way with my ex- if i dont act like ive been in the box they put

[leighsartworks216]

Yeah, 'Cause Maybe Then You'd Want Me Just As Much

Sylus x Mephisto!Reader

In the actual Nightplumes memory, Mephisto actually gets along with the dove but um fuck that, we want it to hurt. Also wanna say the "I'm busy right now" line is from the actual game, which inspired this tbh

Title from "Girl Crush" by Little Big Town

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, jealousy, self-esteem issues, self-worth issues, body dysphoria, shapeshifting, biting, fear of water, storms, pet names, crying, possibly ooc

Word Count: 3,699

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Ugh, doves. They think they're sooo perfect just because they're so round and cute and everyone loves them. Those pathetic little coos. A bird should make real noise, not just those dumb sounds.

So why is Sylus - a man whom you were led to believe had good tastes in avian creatures - giving it so much attention?

You bite his earlobe. His head jerks away on reflex, a soft hiss escaping through his teeth. "Behave," he chides. Doesn't even look at you.

You glare down at the pathetic dove again. Somehow it hurt its wing. And for some godforsaken reason Miss Hunter brought it to Sylus to look after. You know for a fact she has a doctor friend, why not foist it on him until she gets back from her trip? Yeah, Sylus is great with animals, but that's beside the point.

You bite his ear again. He sighs. "Do I have to send you on a mission?" You bristle at the question, feathers standing on end. His brow is furrowed as he gets back to examining the dove's wing. It's not even a bad break; it'll recover in no time.

So why can't he spare a second on you?

You try a different approach. With a more delicate touch, you preen the ends of his hair. He still doesn't glance your way. "I'm busy right now. Go entertain yourself for a bit."

Oh...

You step awkwardly on his shoulder, feeling suddenly too out of place there. Your wing almost clips his head as you take off for your perch. Even here, the wood just feels wrong under your feet. Your feathers are ruffled. They can't seem to relax. A chasm opens in your heart. Synthetic as it may be, you can still feel it. Like a black hole, sucking in all the light.

The dove coos. You can't stay in here. You slip out of an open window and fly off. Where to, you have no idea. Anywhere but here.

"Anywhere" lands you outside the window of a fourth floor hotel room. The light is still on, just a small lamp by the bed, but it's enough to see a familiar figure sitting against the headboard reading a mission brief. You tap on the glass.

Miss Hunter looks up with a start. The surprise quickly turns to a frown. She gets up in a huff and jerks the curtains closed.

You can hear a phone ringing inside a second later.

"Sylus! What have I told you about sending your bird to spy on me?!"

The faint crackle of Sylus's voice answers with a sharp scoff. "I haven't told Mephisto to do anything," he retorts.

"Then why is it outside my window right now, huh?!"

"Why don't you ask?" he teases dryly. "Maybe they missed picking fights with you."

"You-!"

"Goodnight, kitten."

The beep of an ended call. You tap on the glass again, softer this time.

Miss Hunter huffs inside. Moments pass, but the curtains remain drawn shut. You can't tell if the lamp has been turned off; you can't even hear her moving around. Maybe she's decided to take the "out of sight, out of mind" approach. Unsurprising, really. If she isn't ignoring you, she's shouting abuse at you.

A large crack of thunder rumbles through your circuits, stirring the air with electricity. You hadn't even noticed the weather - the clouds are dark, covering every sliver of sky for miles.

You tap on the glass more urgently.

The first droplets of rain begin to fall. Slow, random. And then more and more, all at once in a barrage of water. You press yourself tighter to the window and tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap-

The curtains are thrown open. The window lifts from its sill. Before she can angrily ask why you won't leave her alone, you fly in as quick as you can. Just in the nick of time, it seems, as the rain turns into a proper storm, lightning firing through the sky in a burst of light. You tumble onto the end of the bed, feathers ruffled.

She huffs as she slides the window shut, ready to tease you or yell at you, but another loud boom of thunder makes her flinch and close the curtains quickly, words stolen. "Fine! I guess you can... stay the night," she relents. She rounds the bed to sit back down where she was before. She picks up the tablet with her mission data and holds it up, pointing at you accusingly. "And no telling Sylus about anything you see here, got it?"

You caw back at her. You don't wanna tell Sylus anything right now. It might distract him from his sweet, precious dove...

Knees bent, she sets the tablet on her thighs and starts reading again. Rain hits against the window, picked up by a growing wind that slams it into the hotel building. Another shock of thunder. She curls slightly more into herself.

You preen your feathers. Align them all once more, clean them from the long flight here, soothe your nerves. All the while watching Miss Hunter's reactions to the storm. With every boom of thunder, she's startled from her reading. She does well trying to hide it. You can see the twitch in her eyes, the tension in her shoulders and hands as she holds tighter to the tablet, the way her knees pull in slightly more. It doesn't take a genius to see what's happening. The real question is why she's not doing anything to deal with it. Is it because she's trying to play it cool with you around? Not giving anything away so you'd have less to report back with?

You look around the room. It's nothing special. Certainly nothing as luxurious as the suites Sylus stays in. A suitcase is on the floor by the tv stand. A work bag is set on the desk. The perfect amount of stuff for a week-long work trip, you suppose.

You fly over to the desk, nails ticking against the wood.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

You poke your beak into a few of the pockets on the bag.

"Leave that alone! Don't go through my stuff!"

You wonder for a moment how soundproof these walls are, and just how confused someone listening in would be when she's answered by the caw of a crow.

You finally find what you're looking for in a side pocket and pull it out. It doesn't really fit well in your beak, but you make do. She's just tossed her tablet aside to jump up and bolt over to you, but she stops when you fly back over to the bed.

She blinks at you, confused. "What are you...?" You hop across the cheap bedding and hold out the item to her. She hesitantly accepts your offering, and you drop the earphone case in her hand. Understanding dawns on her. "Oh... thanks."

You walk to the other side of the bed, going around the tablet to roost on top of the untouched pillow. It's kinda hard and lumpy, but at least you're not outside. With that much water, you'd certainly shut down. You have no idea how Sylus would retrieve you if you had, way up here. A bitter part of you wonders if he would.

Miss Hunter watches as you tuck your beak under your wing. You don't really sleep during the night, but you'll manage. She slips the earphones in her ears and plays some music on her phone. The storm outside, the faint pulse of music, and her tapping on the tablet are the only sounds.

She opens the window for you in the morning, when the storm has passed. With one last warning not to follow her or report back to Sylus, she heads out for her mission and you take your time flying back home. She asked about the dove only once during your stay. A bandaid around her finger reminds her not to ask again.

-

"What time did you get back, pretty bird?" Sylus crosses the room from the doorway, fully dressed for the night and reaching out to scratch you under your chin.

You scoot away, further down your perch, glaring at the pretty white thing on his shoulder. He doesn't try to reach you. He lets you step away, hand dropping and eyebrow raised. "Are you going to be this feisty all week?"

You caw indignantly. Of course you are! That should be you perched up on his shoulder! You should be the one preening under his attention! Instead, Miss Hunter brings along a new, cute little thing, pestering him to take care of it "for her", and now it's the only bird around here he cares about.

He tsks. "You don't have to be jealous, sweetie. It's only for a week. As soon as she gets back, you'll never have to see it again."

The dove flies down from his shoulder to the perch. Your perch! You caw obscenities as you take its place on Sylus's shoulder - your rightful place. He winces at how loud you are directly in his ear, wings spread to give you a larger appearance as you speak your mind to the little dove that seems to only stare up blankly at you.

He smoothes a hand down your back. For a moment you forget how angry you are with him, too, for indulging Miss Hunter with this stupid task. For pushing you away in favor of caring for the pretty little dove. For not saying more when she called him about you. For just that moment, the firing synapses of your circuitry tingle pleasantly where his fingers brush over your feathers and seeing the dove on your perch becomes bearable as you stand on his shoulder, your favorite perch of all.

"Easy, pretty bird. It knows this is your territory," he assures. "It's still young, that's all."

And then you remember that none of this would be happening if this damn bird wasn't here.

You caw one last time at the dove, nibble harshly at Sylus's ear, and retreat through the living room door. You follow the familiar twists and turns up into the tallest heights of the base, into an alcove full of your treasures and soft bedding. You don't come up here often anymore, but it feels safe. The one spot of the house that really is just yours; no matter what Sylus says, this is his territory, you're just given more allowances than other people. And thanks to the times in the past when the twins would try to toss things up as a competition, tossing pebbles and jewels and even bullets, you have the privilege of pulling shut a little door, fully isolating yourself in your sanctuary.

Small lights turn on at the flip of a switch that makes a pleasant click. They shine and shimmer against your piles of trinkets. Coins, jewels, jewelry, a shell casing or two - all in their respective piles.

You hop over to your nest: the finest twigs woven together into a bowl shape, with strips of soft fabric lining the inside. Laying in it is like resting in cupped hands. You imagine they're Sylus's hands, clean from ever having held any other bird in his lifetime. His thumbs smoothing down your sides until your feathers are fluffed and eyes are relaxed shut. Pressing soft kisses to your head as he talks to you. You want to be cared for like that. Is the dove getting that same attention?

You get up from your nest. You can't think about it. Can't allow yourself to linger on the thought for any longer than you already have. So you sort through your things. You begin dividing them up into new piles with a different organization system. One by one, everything is shifted over. You're not sure how long it takes. You don't care.

But once you've finished, it feels wrong. Settles uneasily in your gut. Everything is out of place, even though it's all organized. Everything isn't where it should be. You spend even longer sorting it all back.

-

You squeeze your eyes shut. Tighten your hands into fists. Dig your nails into your palm as you will your shape to change. Grit your teeth as metal panels try to shift in unusual ways. Synthetic feathers standing up along your head, neck, back and arms, shuttering with the strain.

You release a breath and everything comes back together; metal in place, feathers laying flat, body un-tensed. You pant softly. Inhale deeply, and try again.

It feels wrong. It's like trying to squeeze into a too-small shirt. It won't happen, and the more you try to force it, the more it hurts, the more uncomfortable you are, and the more the fabric strains at the seams.

You gasp deeply. You're lightheaded. You wobble where you sit on the roof, supporting yourself unsteadily against the snow-laden tiles. It takes a minute to pass. Your skin feels misaligned, like a twisted sock. You try to ignore it; it just means you're a little bit closer to succeeding.

"I thought I might find you up here."

You turn away from the voice. From the sound of Sylus's shoes against the roofing. He sits down a few feet away, eyes never giving up their gaze on you. You hate it. For all the time you've known him, his attention on you has never made you uncomfortable or unsettled. Now, you wish he'd just look anywhere else. Go anywhere else.

Secretly, deep down, you're glad he's finally looking at you again.

He tilts his head. Frowns at the strange way your feathers stick up, and the odd shift of the synthetic skin on your back. "The dove is gone," he says.

You nod. "I know."

Quiet.

"Do you want me to apologize?" he asks.

You shrug. "Doesn't matter. It's gone."

"But you're still upset."

You pull your knees to your chest, but you can't pull them up as far as you'd like to. It's like there's too much strain. A rubber band drawn too far out and waiting to snap or break under the tension. You try to ignore it. Play it off. Pretend everything is normal and that this is intentional.

He doesn't buy it for a second. It's the curse of growing up with him. Of being by his side most of your lives. Of course he knows something is wrong.

You listen to the shifting of fabric behind you. Nearly jump at the feeling of cloth placed on your shoulders. His heavy black coat, long and still warm from his body. You don't feel the falling snow. Yet you can't stop yourself from pulling the front closed around you.

His fingers skillfully brush along your feathers, soothing them down with ease. And yet they keep standing back up a moment after, revealing the distress of your thoughts. Before he can say anything, you do.

"Do you wish I was a dove?"

His hand stops, pausing mid pet. He reaches out to turn you toward him. One hand on your knee to face you to him, the other on your shoulder. You wince as he does. And he notices - of course he notices. He's frowning, brow furrowed, as he pulls aside his coat to expose your legs further. You don't meet his eyes, but you feel them.

"Is that what you've been trying to do up here?" he questions, voice tight with concern and gravity. "You can't force yourself into changing-"

"But if I could, would that make you happier?"

You meet his gaze. Imploring, begging him to tell you. Tell you that he's been distant this week because he realized just how much better doves are. Because he realized how much trouble you are, mechanized and synthetic and fake. Because you aren't enough now that you can't be anything more than you are.

His large hands rise to your face, holding your cheeks, keeping your attention on him. He leans forward slightly, foreheads not quite touching. "If you could change again, I would be happy to see you become anything you wanted. Whether that means becoming a dove, or a hawk, or a hummingbird. The shape you take doesn't matter to me, because I fell in love with you. Crow, or dove, or human. Just you."

You search his eyes. Those pretty garnet eyes. Searching for any hint of a lie. But you already know he means it. "You were so dismissive of me..."

He frowns, brow pinched, but he nods. He doesn't deny it. "I know. I'm sorry."

Emotion chokes up in your throat. "You didn't even ask Miss Hunter about me. Or- Or keep that dove from getting up on your shoulder." You hate that you can feel your face crumpling as tears bite your waterline. See the pain in his face as he diligently wipes away the ones that slip free. You hate that you're so emotional over this - over a stupid bird, but- "I don't want to be replaceable. I don't want to be just a pet to you."

"You're not-"

"Then act like it!" His eyes widen, shocked by your outburst. "Just stop pushing me away for Miss Hunter. Stop... stop waving me off and ignoring me. You're all I have, Sylus. I can't- I don't want to be replaced."

A sob tears its way out of you. Sylus can't recall a time he ever saw you crying - before or after the experiments. You were always happy, or curious, or angry. But never had you cried. Synthetic tears wash down your face, and it's his fault. An ache clenches his heart like a closed fist. He did this. He pushed you away, he made you feel unworthy, unimportant. Let a dove take liberties in your territory.

He draws you into his chest, arms wrapping tightly around you. You don't resist, even as he feels your feathers standing on end. They shudder with your cries. He smoothes his palms over them. Brushes them down, scratches the nape of your neck as he gently shushes you. You press your face into his collar. Your fingers curl tightly into his shirt. You hold on. Cling to him like he'll disappear if you loosen up for even a second.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs against your head. He means it. Deeply. "I should have acted differently. You are my closest friend. My beloved. And I ignored you."

He rubs your back overtop his coat, slowly. Feeling along your spine, your shoulder blades. It's still misaligned. Shifted out of place. You're in pain - because of him.

He's careful as he gathers you into his arms. He scoops you up, cradles you against him while doing his best not to hurt you further; he can't bear the thought of making things worse than he already has. Snow crunches beneath his feet as he stands on the tiles. He turns and begins carrying you inside.

"Let's take care of you now, pretty bird."

-

Just like trying to squeeze into a too-tight shirt, the removal can be tricky. Sylus makes it seem easy.

He rotates your legs until they pop back into the ball-joint, never lingering any longer than he has to. You lay on your stomach, quietly sniffling, while he seems to massage your back, slowly easing the metal into place. Each fix releases the strain. Each soft click eases your feathers back into a resting position.

When he's finished, he helps you sit up. Your legs overhang the table, dangling in the air. He doesn't look at you at first. Busies himself with grabbing a cloth. But then he looks you in the eye as he wipes away the watery formula of your tears. His brow is tight. Lips pulled down into a frown. His eyes, filled with remorse. You can almost see the plan formulating: all the auctions he could go to to buy the shiniest, most interesting things you love to cheer you up; of all the jewels in his treasuries, which would you like the most, if he doesn't just give them all to you; where will Miss Hunter be and when to give you the perfect opportunity to play tricks on her.

You don't want any of them right now. After a week of being pushed aside, of being distant, all you want is right here in front of you.

You nudge his hand away. He obeys without hesitation, dropping the cloth to the table and holding it there, restraining himself. He watches, slightly bewildered, as you reach out for him. You wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him down to your height, and hold him there.

He stands still. Doesn't do anything.

You squeeze him around his shoulders and he finally moves. Arms circle your waist, hands resting open against your back. You breathe him in, soak in his warmth. Your feathers finally relax. You finally relax.

"I don't hate you," you whisper beside his ear.

He releases a long breath, shoulders sagging under your arms. He's still tentative, still careful as he brushes his nose against your temple. "How can I make it up to you?"

A thousand diamonds. A million. No amount is too much. Nothing too far for him to reach. He would bake in the sun for a week if you said. Fly across the globe in search of the perfect pebble. Give you a whole new set of feathers, darker than midnight and softer than a kiss. He's prepared to give it all - what lengths will you have him go to absolve himself? What would it take for you to forgive him? How can he fix the damage he caused?

"Stay with me."

"You can ask for anything."

You shake your head. Turn your head to bury your face solidly in his neck. "I just want you again."

'Again' tears his heart to shreds. He scoops you up once more, trading places so he sits on the edge of the table with you in his lap. Your territory. "You'll always have me," he swears. "And I will spend lifetimes making sure you never doubt that ever again."

---

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[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part thirty-four: so close, yet so far

word count: 5.0k

warnings: this chapter includes descriptions of unhealthy behavior and alcohol abuse. reader discretion is advised.

thirty-three | thirty-four | thirty-five

They sat outside the little bakery, elbows brushing on the cramped metal table, half-eaten pastries between them. The hot chocolate here was decent — she wouldn’t go so far as to say good — and she teased him for it with a smile and a glint in her eye that made something in his chest warm a little.

They spent their time passing wordless judgement on the terrible playlist overhead, debating whether almond croissants were overrated, flicking stray crumbs at one another. Liam was unusually quiet, but she tried to let it be.

The two of them sat in the corner by the windows, sharing a perfectly toasted almond croissant and a pair of mismatched mugs. She furrowed her brows at how much of his drink still remained in his cup, likely gone. When she looked up at him, she found his eyes already on her.

He tilted his head with a knowing smirk. “What, have I got powder sugar on my face again?”

She smiled around the rim of her coffee cup. “Maybe.”

He chuckled, low and short. Then his eyes flickered back to the street outside, distant for a breath. It was then that she brought it up, all tentative and careful. “You mentioned your brothers. Um, the other night.”

The words felt like skipping stones — light on the surface, hiding how deep they wanted to go.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, drawing out the word like he was stalling. He stirred his coffee absentmindedly, though it didn’t need it. “I did. I mean, I do.”

“Will I…. ever get to meet them?” she asked, aiming for lightness but hearing her hesitation betray her.

The man across from her shrugged, casual but too quick about it. “Eh, they’re all usually pretty busy.”

It was a bad excuse. She knew it. He knew she knew it.

“They sound pretty important to you,” she said instead, trying again, busying her fingers by folding and unfolding her paper napkin.

You’re important to me too, she didn’t say.

Lando's posture shifted, barely, but enough. There was a slight stiffening of his shoulders, and a tension in his jaw. He still held the coffee, but he wasn’t drinking anymore.

It hit her then—that twitchy, haunted kind of defensiveness he slipped into when something precious was threatened. Like if he admitted it mattered, the world would hear it and take it away.

The wave of vulnerability had apparently passed, and she’d have to wait patiently until the tide rolled in again. That seemed to be a pattern with him, she’d noticed – sometimes he’d unknowingly show her a glimpse of his heart, holding it out with careful, trembling hands like it was something precious to be held. But moments later he’d retreat within himself once again as soon as he was aware of what he’d done. That’s when he’d put the soft parts of himself away where no one could reject or abandon them like he had once been.

Her gaze traced over his silhouette against the soft light that emanated through the murky sky outside, the passing clouds casting flickering shadows over the contours of his face.  

“Don’t leave me.”

“Just… please. Stay.”

“Last night… it shouldn't have happened.”

She breathed deeply and gave him a sad little smile, the kind that didn’t ask for anything back.

“It’s okay,” Y/N said softly. “I didn’t mean to push.”

I just wanted to be part of your world. I wanted to meet the people that matter most to you. I wanted to be part of your world the way you are part of mine.

He said nothing.

She set the napkin down. Even though it was soundless, it still felt loud to her somehow. “I was only curious. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

A beat of silence passed. Then another. She could just feel herself flushing with the awkwardness of it, a hot undercurrent of regret crawling up her spine as her face grew hot unpleasantly. 

Stupid, stupid, you always want too much—

But then he spoke, voice low and rough around the edges.

“I… Just…”

He seemed to struggle to find the words. 

“Give me a little time, yeah?”

She blinked, startled.

He wasn’t looking directly at her anymore — his thumb brushed over the rim of the mug like he needed something to do with his hands — but even she could tell that his words were real, earnest in a way that almost hurt to hear.

Her heart twisted, traitorous and tender all at once.

“Okay,” she whispered, smiling at him through it, even when it hurt. “Take all the time you need.”

I’ll wait as long as it takes.

The awkwardness didn’t quite leave after that, shifting and swirling between them like smoke. But there was something else beneath it too. It was a sincerity – a thread tying them together, thin and invisible, tugging a little tighter with every truth shared.

Outside, the clouds floated between all the shades of grey, like even the sky couldn't decide whether it was going to storm. Y/N watch people stroll past the windows, deep in conversation and huddled together, wearing their sweaters and light coats.

Inside, she watched Liam stir his coffee too many times and thought:

I’ll wait. As long as it takes.

Meanwhile, Lando’s thoughts had already drifted well beyond the cold coffee in front of him. Being reminded of his ‘brothers’ made a pang of guilt go through his chest. Even the image of his parents grave didn’t fail to remind him of a different one — the solid granite headstone that he placed with his own two hands after he buried his friend. 

He needed to be more careful if he wanted to make sure he didn’t make a mistake again. He would die before he let anyone lay a hand on them again. He’d die before he let anyone lay a hand on her. It would be a cold day in hell before he let them take someone else away from him again.

No matter how much he wished he could continue to live in these half-delusions of stolen moments of peace that lived far away from the blood running down the back alleys of Monte Carlo, he knew that he was also the one who would have to put his gloves on and get his hands dirty. 

After all, there was dirty work to be done, and there was no man in all of Monaco who was better at what he did than Lando Norris. 

It was a few days later when the large door to Lando’s office creaked open hesitantly.

When Carlos stepped through the heavy oak doors to the boss’s office, he half-expected to find it empty, like it had been most nights lately. Truth be told, the rest of the Circle still hadn’t quite gotten used to Lando being gone so much now, to him haunting someone else’s walls instead of his own more often than not.

But tonight, the old desk lamp was the only thing lighting the room, throwing warped shadows across the mess inside. Carlos stopped short.

When he looked inside, he froze.

Papers carpeted almost everything in sight – the desk, the floor, even pinned to the walls. The walls were littered with a hodgepodge of photos, CCTV stills, maps, receipts, scraps of connection that barely held together. A timeline snaked across the length of the room, erratic and angry with time stamps circled in red pen several times over. Eleven from where he stood, he could distinguish certain images in the sea of evidence. 

Grainy street cam images of a blurred figure moving past the caféA printed photograph of the type of knife used on DanielCross-references between the Leclercs and Gasly’s crew, the names scrawled with a furious hand. Points of contact. Suspected hideouts.

It looked like the inside of a man’s unraveling mind.

In the center of it all, Lando Norris stood like a statue, pale under the dim light, staring at it with the hollow-eyed intensity of a man who hadn’t slept right in days. Maybe longer.

One hand raked through his messy curls, his other hand drumming against a photo of the front of Brews & Books hard enough that the edge bent under his fingers. Lando didn’t look up when he spoke. His voice was low and scratchy, raw from misuse.

"Y’need something?"

Carlos swallowed thickly. "No, boss. Just… erm, I am just checking in."

For a long moment, the only sound was the relentless tap of Lando’s fingers. Carlos carefully stepped closer, unsure whether approaching was the right thing to do. It was only when came near that he was able to notice that the room wasn’t the only thing unusual. Lando wore an unfamiliar expression on his face, dark circles under his eyes and he seemed to be muttering something under his breath until Carlos came to stand beside him.

“There’s something missing," he said, voice low but shaking with fury. "I keep going over it. In my head, in the street cams, Logan’s pictures, the data—"

He turned around, his hand suddenly slamming down and sweeping across the desk, sending papers, pens, an old coffee mug crashing to the floor. Even the Spaniard flinched back, caught off guard.

"It doesn’t make any fucking sense!" he bellowed, chest heaving. Lando leaned over the desk, his hands gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles went bloodless. For a second, it looked like he might tear the whole thing apart with his bare hands.

Lando ran his hands through his hair yet again, standing up only to begin pacing his office back and forth like some caged animal. He spoke again then, but this time quieter, his voice colder than ice.

"I’ll kill them."

His dark eyes were wild, glittering in the dim light.

 "I’ll hunt ‘em down like dogs," he whispered. "Corner them like the fuckin’ rats they are.”

“Mate, what are you saying? If–”

It was like the Brit didn’t even hear him.

“I’ll break his fingers one by one so he can’t ever hold a weapon again. I’ll cut his tongue out before he can even think of fucking lying to me. I'll– I’ll find something he loves and rip it apart right in front of him so he knows what it feels like."

His voice dropped even lower to something more sinister. He stood, pacing the room, hands running through his hair, eyes wild as he rambled like a madman.

“What they took…” His voice trembled as if he could hardly speak the words, fury rising in his chest. “What they took from us, from me, from– from her…”

He froze, as if suddenly realizing something. His gaze darkened. “How dare they try to fuckin’ touch her? How fucking dare they?”

He turned abruptly, fixing Carlos with a look that made his blood run cold. “They made a mistake. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure they pay for it. I’ll teach them a lesson, alright. I’ll find their weakness because everyone has one. And when I do…”

He clenched his fists, teeth grinding together, his voice now dripping with malevolence. “I’ll find Leclerc. I’ll– I’ll rip him apart if I have to. I’ll leave him on the floor, gutted, so everyone will know. So everyone will see what happens when you try to take what’s mine!”

Carlos, still standing in the doorway, took a deep breath, forcing himself to swallow the knot in his throat. “Lando…” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “We need to talk about this, hermano. You are not thinking straight.”

But Lando didn’t answer him. He was already back at the desk, his eyes locked on the screens, desperately searching for something that would make everything fall into place, a last missing piece.

He wouldn’t rest until he found it.

Lando’s hands shook as he sifted through the files again, muttering to himself. He was practically stumbling now, so consumed by the need to find answers, to pinpoint the one thing that would make all of this make sense. His eyes were wide, dark with frustration, and the bottle of whiskey had already been cracked open, half-gone, and yet he kept reaching for it.

“Alright, no more drinks tonight,” Carlos grimaced, scrunching his nose at the pungent smell of alcohol from Lando’s breath. He took a half glass that Lando seemed to have forgotten about for the time being and poured it into a potted plant nearby instead. “And when is the last time you slept, eh?”

Carlos moved to the other side of the desk as he watched Lando focus intently on pouring himself a new glass. He gently plucked it from his hand and set it down far out of his rech, hoping he was too inebriated by now to go after it. He wasn’t too far off, it seemed, as Lando just went on, lost in his thoughts.

“Fuckin’ gunman was too smart,” Lando muttered, eyes glazed over. He didn’t even notice Carlos moving the glass. “He avoids all the cameras, didn’t leave a trace. Look, see? He uses the hat. I hate hats like that.”

Carlos turned his attention to where Lando was rapidly pointing between a series of photos, snapshots of the gunman leaving the scene of the shooting that killed that old lady. 

Lando continued, undeterred by the lack of audible response. “S’not… messy, y’know? He’s not– not arrogant like Gasly or Leclerc. They would’ve been more sloppy. They don’t give a shit No, this guy’s... this guy’s different. He’s, uh, tall. Tall and fast. Maybe… Maybe it could be Esteban? Yeah, yeah... but Esteban doesn’t have the cause…”

Carlos bit back a sigh, sitting down across from him. He didn’t want to interrupt, but he couldn’t let Lando keep spiraling like this.

“But if it’s not Esteban,” Lando continued, his voice rising in pitch, the frustration clear, and he stumbled over his words, “then who the fuck is it? Who’s fast enough, who’s quick enough to get in and out like that? The little one? What his fuckin’ name, the little Leclerc… Him, maybe?”

Carlos didn’t even get a chance to butt in, before lando cut himself off, mind whirling faster than even he could keep up. “It could, he’s fast, but–” He growled in frustration. “But– No, no, he’s too young, too dumb. Fuck! I don’t know.”

He slammed his fist onto the desk again, hard enough to make the bookshelves tremble against the walls.

Carlos’s voice was calm, soothing, though the older man was struggling to keep his own anxiety in check. “Lando, you need to take it easy, mate. You are not going to figure this out in one night. You need to sleep. You need to rest.”

But of course, Lando was well beyond hearing him. His mind was running a thousand miles a minute, trying to piece together the jumbled mess of thoughts that never seemed to fit. He was a man unraveling at the seams, and all Carlos could do was watch, powerless.

“Charles — no, it’s not him, not his height,” Lando muttered, shaking his head violently, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk. “It has to be someone on his fucking behalf. Someone quick, young, someone who could’ve gotten in and out fast... but who? Fucking who, Carlos?”

Carlos leaned forward, trying his best to keep his voice level yet again. “We don’t know, hermano. Let’s slow down, alright? We’ll figure it out, but you need to take a step back.”

But Lando’s eyes were wild, unfocused. He wasn’t listening. “It’s Pierre,” he hissed, almost to himself. “It’s Pierre who would’ve known about her shift—Kika works with her. He could’ve... he could’ve known when she was there.”

Carlos knew there was no use in trying to reason with him right now. Lando had worked himself into a frenzy, and the more Carlos tried to calm him down, the more agitated he became. It was like watching a man fighting himself, and Carlos wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up.

He couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Lando,” Carlos said, his voice sharp. “Stop! Just— stop it. You are not thinking straight. This isn’t right.”

But Lando wasn’t listening. He wasn’t even aware that Carlos had been speaking. He grabbed another file, tossing it across the desk, frustrated. “I’ve got the CCTV, I’ve got Logan’s pictures, I’ve got the bullet shells—what the fuck am I missing? What is it?” His voice cracked, barely audible now. “I’m so fucking close.”

That’s it.

Carlos sat back, his mind racing. He couldn’t let Lando keep going like this. It was clear he wasn’t going to listen to reason, not like this. The younger man was running on empty, and the all the liquor he’d consumed wasn’t helping. The man needed rest, not more whiskey. He needed someone to help him see past the blur.

With a deep breath, Carlos made the call.

“Max,” he said quietly, into the phone. “Lando’s... not alright. Can you come get him? He’s not in a good place right now.”

As the conversation ended, Lando continued to ramble, his words barely making sense, his movements jerky. “I’ll get them, Carlos,” he muttered, his voice lower, darker. “I’ll fucking get them for what they did. To her. To me. To Daniel.”

Carlos stood up, his hand on Lando’s shoulder, trying to guide him away from the desk. “Come on, mate. You’ve been at this for almost two days. You need rest. You’re not gonna get answers like this.”

Lando didn’t respond. He just stared at the wall, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes dull and bloodshot.

Max Fewtrell arrived moments later, his face taut with worry. He looked at Carlos and then at Lando, who had fallen silent, his body sagging as if the fight had been drained out of him.

“Take him home,” Carlos said, his voice resigned. “He needs sleep. He needs... something.”

Max nodded, walking over to Lando and gently taking hold of his arm. “Come on, mate,” he said softly. “Let’s get you out of here.”

There was an odd knock at the door. Not urgent or rhythmic, just... offbeat and uneven.

Unfamiliar.

Carefully, she opened it to find a stranger standing there, slightly out of breath, his arm slung firmly around a half-conscious Liam. Liam, who looked like he’d been poured into the shape of a man and then left out to dry, his form rumpled, sagging, his eyes glazed.

“Hi,” the stranger said, awkwardly clearing his throat. He appeared young, likely around Liam’s age, if she had to guess. He seemed well kept, so she could probably rule out him being one of those weirdos that lived down the block. “I— I’m Max. He’s, uh...” He gestured down to the weight dragging on his side. “He’s drunk. I think he could use some company tonight.”

She nodded once, her hand already reaching out for Lando’s weight. “Thank you for bringing him home, Max.”

Max gave a small smile, half-gratitude and half-apology. “Yeah. Of course.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more, but Lando groaned and shifted, and that was cue enough. 

Instead, what he said was, “He’s heavier than he looks. Good luck.”

With a nod, Max turned and disappeared down the hallway and into the night.

She eased Liam inside, his full weight slumping into her side until he was half-carried, half-dragged to the couch. He mumbled something that might’ve been her name, or perhaps it was a string of consonants meant to sound like it. Lando leaned more of his weight against her. “Smells like you,” he mumbled, somewhere between recognition and comfort, and she huffed a laugh, guiding him inside.

“Yeah, well. That tends to happen when you’re in my apartment.”

“Mm,” he hummed.

When she dropped him gently onto the cushions, he sighed as if he’d been holding tension in for hours.

Then, he blinked up at her.

“You were reading,” he slurred, his eyes falling on the book still splayed open on the armrest. “You always read.”

“Well, yes. I like reading,” she replied with a soft smile, moving to tidy up the blanket he’d bunched with his elbow.

He reached out suddenly, his fingers catching a lock of her hair between them. “I like your hair.”

Her breath caught, half-amused. “You told me that last week.”

“I did?” He frowned, like the thought surprised him. Then his face relaxed into a crooked smile. “Smart me.”

Once she got him settled on the couch, she helped him out of his jacket one sleeve at a time. He flopped back with a groan, arm over his face like the light hurt.

“You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. His hand dropped to the side, head turning until his gaze settled on the book she’d set face down on the coffee table.

Her fingers brushed the hair back from his forehead, and he sighed like the tension was melting from his spine. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The TV flickered quietly in the background, the only sound in the room besides the rhythm of his breathing.

“I don’t like being drunk,” he admitted softly, voice slurred but honest.

“Then why’d you drink?”

He paused at that. She leaned back to look at him , waiting patiently to listen to his answer like it mattered.

“Because if I stopped thinking tonight, I thought maybe I’d stop feeling too.”

She didn’t respond right away. Truthfully, she didn’t know what to say – so she settled for saying nothing. Instead, she just ran her thumb along his temple, slow and steady.

He looked up at her then — not smiling, not joking, just watching her like he needed to memorize the shape of her kindness.

“I like it here,” he said, voice quiet as if he was sharing a secret someone else might accidently overhear. “With you.”

She could’ve said something witty, or maybe even deflected like she always did. But tonight, she just whispered, “Good. You know you’re always welcome to stay.”

He smiled again, sleepier this time and let his eyes fall closed for a long blink as he leaned his head back against the couch.

“Don’t disappear, yeah?” he mumbled.

“I won’t,” she promised, soft and sincere. “I’m not going anywhere.”

After Y/N returned from the kitchen with some electrolytes and pain medication for the inevitable hangover he’d suffer tomorrow, she returned to find him sitting up again, halfway between sleep and consciousness. His eyelids were fluttering, barely hanging on. 

He reached for her before he could stop himself, one of his hands curling itself loosely around her wrist, the pad of his thumb tracing absent, slow circles against her skin. There was nothing sexual or even intentional about it – just a kind of tethering, like he didn’t want to drift too far.

“You’re good t’me,” he mumbled, barely comprehensible. “Don’t get it. But I like it.”

Her heart fluttered so rapidly that it felt like her breath had escaped her, and took anything she could have thought to say along with it. She focused on the only thing she still could, just brushing his hair back from his face with her, feeling something soft and stupid settle in her chest.

Finally, the soothing motion of her hand stopped, causing him to blink  groggily. “Alright, buddy,” she murmured, “let’s get you horizontal. You should probably get some proper rest.”

He blinked owlishly, looking up at her as if it was his first time ever seeing her. “But you were readin’.” he slurred.

She glanced at the book she’d put aside when she heard Max knock on the door. “Yeah, I was.”

“That’s nice. You read nice things.”

“I try to,” she laughed. “Come on, lay back before you fall over, stupid.”

“Nice,” he said, genuinely. “You’ve got the kind of face that should always be near a book. Or in a paintin’. Or…” He swayed. “In my lap. Wait—no. Me? My head. In your lap.”

She couldn’t help it — she snorted. “You’re so articulate when you’re drunk.”

“Mm, yes, ’m very talented,” he replied solemnly, then immediately missed the couch by a few inches and collapsed half-on, half-off it with a dull thump.

She rolled her eyes, crouching beside him to help maneuver his limbs. “Alright, Casanova, come on.” She guided him up and onto the cushions, and when she finally sat down, he immediately curled onto his side and nudged his head into her lap like it was where he belonged.

She froze for just a second — surprised at how naturally he did it, how much he seemed to trust her this way. Her fingers hovered over his curls, indecisive, before she allowed them to settle there gently, simply resting their comfortable weight.

Oh, Liam. Why do you do this to me?

It took what was probably a concerning amount of effort for her to try and breath very, very slowly in hopes that it would quiet the way her heart was hammering against her ribs. It would be quite embarrassing if he could hear it.

Mortifying, really.

Just as soon as she’d deemed her efforts mostly successful, his eyes fluttered closed before opening again slowly, like he was afraid he’d miss something if he blinked too long. 

His fingers brushed her wrist again, then lazily trailed to the hem of her sleeve. He smiled up at her, squinting like she was glowing under a sun only he could see.

“So pretty, you are,” he murmured, words thick and slow. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

Oh, fuck me.

You can’t just say things like that.

To his credit, however, it was hard to distinguish of he was even aware he’d said that aloud, or if he simply thought he was talking to himself. She raised an eyebrow, amused. “I’m, uh, I am very real, I assure you.”

Apparently satisfied with her answer, his eyes fluttered closed. “Mm. Dunno, you feel like a dream. Like, the good kind. One of the good ones. The ones you wake up from and try to fall back asleep for.”

She swallowed, heart tripping over itself.

“Liam…”

Her heart gave a quiet, reluctant thud.

“You should sleep,” she said gently, brushing a few stray curls from his forehead. It was like she couldn’t help it – hopefully, he’d be too hungover in the morning to remember any of this.

“But you were reading.” He blinked up at her, almost pouting. “Read to me?”

“I’m not reading that to you,” she laughed, nodding at the very nonfiction-looking book. “You’ll have nightmares about European history.”

He hummed like that was a genuine concern. “You’ll protect me?”

She smiled despite herself. “From Napoleon?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Of course. Always.”

A beat passed. He blinked slowly, his long lashes brushing his cheeks. Y/N had always found it remarkably unfair how he naturally had such long beautiful lashes, ne that framed his eyes so perfectly it was like God personally wanted her to suffer knowing how beautiful his eyes were 

“I like your laugh,” he murmured, already drifting. “And your hands. And your whole… you-ness.”

She didn’t answer. She just kept brushing his hair back, slower now. His breathing evened out, lips slightly parted, finally quiet in a way she hadn’t seen him all week.

“Can you still read to me? I just… I like hearing your voice.”

She couldn’t help but smile at the way he asked, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Hm? Y- yeah, of course. Just relax, you can close your eyes too, if you want to.”

Lando’s lips twitched in a sleepy grin, and he gave her a slow nod, letting his body go limp. She wasn’t sure if he’d heard her last words, but he wasn’t fighting it anymore — his tiredness was taking over. She turned to the book, brushing a few stray hairs away from his forehead as she began reading lowly in the quiet room.

He shifted a bit, restless at first, but she kept going, her voice steady and warm as she read. It wasn’t anything special, really — just the hum of her voice and the rustle of pages. But then he shifted again, and again, clearly unable to get comfortable.

She paused, glancing down at him. “Hey, something wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand, tentative and slow, stretched up from his side and reached for her free one. She blinked, unsure at first, but then she let him take her hand. He pulled it gently to his head, bringing her fingers to lightly brush against the soft strands of his hair, as if seeking permission.

This boy will be the death of me.

She didn’t question it. She just let him, sensing the need for something more than what words could give him right now.

A small smile tugged at her lips as she began to play with his hair, the soft, rhythmic motion easing into something natural. His head tilted slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he leaned into her touch.

Without saying anything else, she resumed reading. It was a slow, gentle ebb of words, her voice falling into a soothing lull as the minutes passed. By the time she reached the end of the page, his breathing had already deepened, soft and steady. 

He was out like a light — his face relaxed like’d never known anything but sleep as restful as this. Like he’d never known stress, or fear, or grief. Like those things would never be able to reach him again.

Even once she stopped reading out loud, she couldn’t help but smile to herself, continuing to run her fingers through his hair as he slept. Something in the quiet comfort of that moment made her chest tighten, but in the best way — like she was finally allowed to just be, without the weight of the world pressing down on her, or him. Like she was allowed one more glimpse of him, another sliver of this dream she’d begun to crave so deeply.

It was a pocket of peace, the two of them in this bubble. The last thought she remembered having as her own eyelids began to drift close was how much she wished she could freeze this moment in time, a snow globe capturing the sweetest of dreams.

a/n: i'm so sorry this wasn't out when promised. yesterday was a shit day. sorry if this is shit.

[mirrored-muse]

How about this req?

You want to break up things with Shauna but she won't let you. Or you do break up but she legit make your life a hell so you have no other choice but to come back to her. Love abuser Strapman.

Can you make something with it?

ᴘʀᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ | ꜱ.ꜱ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1076

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱʜᴀᴜɴᴀ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴀꜱʏ ᴘᴀʀᴛ; ꜱᴜʀᴠɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ ɪꜱ ɪᴍᴘᴏꜱꜱɪʙʟᴇ.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ꜱʜᴀᴜɴᴀ ꜱʜɪᴘᴍᴀɴ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴛᴡ: ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴛᴏxɪᴄ-ɪꜱʜ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴꜰʀᴏɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

ᴀ/ɴ: ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ɪꜰ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪʀʟ ɢᴇᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ᴀꜱᴀᴘ.

The breakup doesn’t happen quietly.

You’re in the middle of your shared hut, words loud and messy, your voice shaking more from exhaustion than fear. Shauna stands like a statue while you say it. “It’s over, I can’t do this anymore.” for a second, it almost feels like she understands, like it worked like maybe she’ll let you go.

She doesn’t and she won’t.

Her jaw twitches. She doesn’t raise her voice. Just stares at you like you’ve personally insulted her with the thought of leaving. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.” She steps closer, slow, like a wild animal assessing a threat. Her voice stays flat, eerily calm. “You’re tired. Or pissed off. Or trying to prove something. But this, us, you’re not walking away from it.”

“I already did,” you snap, backing away, your heel brushing the side of your shared bedroll. “I can’t be with someone who acts like I’m their property.”

Shauna’s eyes narrow. “You are mine.”

You flinch, just slightly, but she notices.

“I mean it,” you say, softer now. “We can’t be together. I need—space. Something normal.”

Shauna scoffs. “Normal? Out here?” She gestures to the woods beyond the thin walls of the hut. “You think anything about this is normal?”

“I just want peace.”

“You don’t get to have peace without me.”

You swallow hard. There’s no yelling. No dramatic blowup. Just the unbearable pressure of her presence, the certainty in her eyes that says she’s already decided this isn’t something she’s going to take seriously. That your words are something she can erase with time or pressure you into taking back.

“I’m sleeping in the storage cabin tonight,” you say, grabbing your coat.

Shauna doesn’t stop you. Not with her hands, at least. But as you push past her and step outside, she murmurs low enough that only you hear:

“You’ll come back. You always do.”

⸻

It starts the next morning.

Your boots are gone. Van claims she hasn’t seen them. Akilah avoids eye contact. When you finally find them tucked behind the meat shed, soaked and half-frozen, you know it wasn’t an accident.

Meals get portioned out without your share. Taissa “forgets” to mention the firewood schedule. Misty, always watching, gives you tight smiles but no real help.

Shauna doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t need to.

She still sleeps in your hut alone. Leaves your spot untouched, the blanket neatly folded. You see it when you sneak glances. You see her too, quiet in the mornings, scribbling in that little journal of hers with a furious intensity, gripping her pen so hard you think she might break it.

You think about confronting her. You don’t. You know what she’ll say.

You made your choice.

She’s just making sure you regret it.

⸻

The real fallout happens three days later when you speak up during dinner.

“We’re running out of dried meat,” you say, trying to keep your voice neutral. “We should set up another hunt.”

“We already did,” Gen says without looking up.

“Well, it’s not enough.”

Misty snorts softly. “Maybe if you were still helping Shauna, we’d have more.”

Your head snaps toward her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just think it’s funny,” she says, with that wide-eyed innocence she wears like a mask. “You used to be so useful.”

You’re on your feet before you realize it, your tray clattering to the floor. “Say that again.”

“Misty,” Taissa warns. “Cool it.”

But Shauna’s already standing.

She hasn’t looked at you all night, hasn’t acknowledged you in days, but now she turns, deliberate and slow. The clearing goes quiet. Even the fire seems to still.

“If you have something to say,” she murmurs, “say it to me.”

Your chest burns. “Why don’t you say it? Tell them why they’re treating me like shit. Tell them why you told them to.”

Shauna raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I didn’t tell anyone to do anything.”

“You didn’t have to!”

The silence is heavy. The whole camp stares.

Shauna steps forward, and the crowd parts like they’ve been trained to move when she does. She doesn’t stop until she’s standing in front of you, too close again, like she’s testing if you’ll flinch this time.

You don’t.

“You walked away,” she says, voice quiet enough to make people lean in. “You didn’t want me anymore, remember?”

“I didn’t say I wanted everyone to turn against me.”

“But that’s what happens,” she murmurs, “when you break something important. People get… upset.”

“I broke you, is that it?”

Shauna smiles. It’s not kind. “You never had the power to break me.”

You grit your teeth. “Then why does it feel like you’re punishing me?”

“Because I trusted you,” she snaps, finally letting the anger bleed through. “And you left. Like it meant nothing.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then she turns to the others.

“You all want to know why I’ve been so pissed off?” she says, addressing the group now. “Why I haven’t slept right in days?”

Everyone watches, frozen still.

She looks back at you. “Because they left me.”

You feel every set of eyes on you. But Shauna’s are the ones that hurt the most.

“I didn’t stop loving you,” she says, softer now. “You just stopped wanting me. And I’m not the one who should be ashamed of that.”

You breathe in through your nose. “You don’t get to act like the victim when you made me afraid to stay.”

Shauna leans in until her forehead nearly touches yours. Her voice drops low again, private. “And yet here you are looking at me like you want me to fix this.”

You hate that she’s right.

You hate that you want her anyway.

⸻

That night, you don’t sleep in the storage cabin.

You sit on the edge of your old bedroll, cold and quiet. Shauna doesn’t speak. She just passes you a spare blanket, sets her journal down, and lies beside you like nothing ever changed.

You don’t touch.

But when you finally lie down, your back to her, she whispers, “I missed you.”

You close your eyes. “You made them hate me.”

“I didn’t have to try very hard.”

Then her hand slips under the blanket, resting on your waist.

You let it.

Not because she’s won, but because fighting her feels like trying to fight gravity.

Because loving her still feels like the only thing that makes sense out here.

[cosmicmoonwhisperer]

i know and understand why a lot of people are or will be so annoyed by Jeff not telling Alan what’s going on or by Charlie and Babe not talking things out, and the general lack of communication between these couples and some of the others too, but it makes a lot of sense to me. i like how they’re showing that even a whole year might not be enough to change mindsets and behaviours that stem from toxic/abusive/traumatic childhood environments.

of course Jeff will only rely on Charlie at first. of course Charlie won’t rely back on Jeff. of course Babe won’t talk to Charlie (or anyone) about his feelings. of course Charlie won’t push Babe to talk about anything he doesn’t want to talk about.

they’ve all already grown quite a bit from season 1 and those changes are really visible. but yeah they still have their issues which they may overcome this season or might even stay with them forever because that’s just how things are sometimes.

[jaderabb7t]

I do agree with this post, but if the people around you gaslight you into thinking that it wasnt actually happening you will start to feel a deep sense of hopelessness.

i Always find myself crying hoping that they would have left more bruises, or in a way permanent physical scars, i do Remember having them or other types of physical damage (for example me limping was kind of common) but it was never straight up in my face (besides slaps) and even when i had "proof " no one gave a fuck about my situation, because they are really complicate and messed up and most people would rather not bother honestly, they did not bother.

So i do think that physical abuse is more recognized, but it also makes you feel a deep sense of solitude, knowing that you are alone in this and that everyone sees what is happening but they all choose to stay silent, and you start to think that no one will actually ever help you or bother that much, that you actually only have you and therefore you shouldnt trust people, also (at least in my case) most of my family never recognized it fully, because Who wants to admit that you son/brother hit their child? So i think that we are left in the shadow, and to deal with our immense scarring alone, like the mental abuse was BAD but the fear of being beaten to death is something that i will carry with me to the grave.

The physical abuse Just blurred the mental for me, as of now i can only recognize physical abuse as that and therefore think that people can treat me as however they please, because its not something to worry about as long as they dont get violent.

Please check on your friends in similar situations!!! Especially in families the line between yelling and hitting or chasing can get blurry really quickly!!!

In a perversely ironic way, my parents' physical abuse of me was a blessing, for it was so blatant that my attempts to suppress, rationalize, make light of and laugh it off lost their power in adolescence and I was able to see my father for the bully that he was.

This is so relatable. It's weird to be, in a way, thankful you were physically abused. But it's the most clear cut, most recognised form of abuse in our society, and it did make it easier for me to understand what was happening to me was wrong. Which in turn helped me not internalise as much of the emotional abuse and verbal abuse, even though those always felt more painful than the physical stuff.

If you were physically abused and you feel like this too, please know it's natural and understandable. There's nothing wrong with it.

If you weren't physically abused and your abuse was primarily emotional and verbal, please know there's nothing wrong with you if you find yourself ever wishing you were physically abused too, so things felt more clear cut and obvious. That's natural and understandable too. What you went through was bad enough though, it counts, and it was just as wrong.

[sturnboos]

KIDNAPPED BY CHRIS PART TWO

CURRENT WARNINGS: sadistic!chris & matt, physical abuse, mental abuse, swearing, blood, read at your OWN risk

STARING: Chris x Matt x Delilah

The door opens again. The masked man comes in. He kneels down behind me and grabs the rope that my hands are tied together with. "If you run, I will hurt you, if you try to hurt me, I will slit your throat and if you touch matt or nick, I will kill you" he whispers as he begins to cut the rope.

"Doesn't sound like I'm getting out of this shit hole anyway" I whisper.

"Don't talk back" he snaps and lets my hands free. I brush the hair out of my face. He pulls me up by my shirt.

I quickly run to a door that hopefully leads out of this place. My foot kicks something and I trip over and land on my face, my nose hitting the ground hard. The mystery man kneels down and grabs my hair. "You're very stupid you know" he pulls my head up with slams it into the ground.

I groan and roll over on the ground. "Now you're just gonna get blood everywhere" he says. He pulls me up, I taste my own blood in my mouth. I cough and accidentally dribble some saliva on the ground. "Hmmm" Chris hums. He pushes me out the room and into a kitchen like place. He grabs a clothe and runs water on it.

The other 2 men walk in. "She tried to run then?" One of them laugh. "You know, I'd be careful, Chris could kill you with one click" the other one of them click there fingers.

I roll my eyes, "i'd rather die then be here for the next who knows" I whisper.

Chris places his hand on my cheek then slaps me hardly in the face. "I said don't fucking talk back" he whispers. I hold my cheek in my hand. I go to reach for his mask with my other hand. He grabs my arm. "You fucking touch me I'll fucking fuck you up" he says angrily.

"You said that I'd have to stay here if I saw your face and it already loo-" he slaps me in the face again harder. I groan and hold my cheek in my hand then stay quiet as he puts the wet cloth under my nose and pinches the top of my nose. "Why-" he raised his hand so I cut myself off not wanting to be hit again. When my nose has stopped bleeding Chris states "You get to sleep on the couch".

"Why the cou-"

"Be fucking grateful I'm not making you sleep tied up" Chris says and pushes me on the couch. "Ok ok" I say and roll my eyes.

"I swear to fuck if you roll your eyes at me one more time i will hur-"

"So do it" I say sitting up and staring into his eyes, our faces inches apart. He wouldn't actually right? If he wanted he would have killed me by now. "Don't say that otherwise I will" he whispers, "so do it" I whisper. He grabs my arm and pins it to the couch and punches me in the face. He lets go of me and walks away and up a hallway.

"Matt?! Nick?! I'm not watching her!!" Chris yells seemingly having a mood swing, "you'd probably end up killing her" Matt laughs.

"Chris I'm not- I need to sleep" Nick answers.

I lean back on the couch. Then all the lights turn off and the only light coming through is the moonlight. "You think you're so smart" I hear Matt's voice. "You're messing with the wrong person Delilah" he adds on.

"I'm not messing with him" I whisper.

"He will kill you, you think hes to scared too, I've seen what he can do Delilah, you have no idea" Matt explains.

"I know he's only threatening me, I know the only thing he'll do to me is hurt me... he wouldn't kill me, i would already be dead" I whisper.

"Are you sure about that?" Matt whispers. I lay down on the couch and don't answer.

It's been about an hour. I can't sleep. I sit up, Matt has been asleep for the past half an hour. One light turns on in the hallway, my curiosity gets the best of me. I get of the couch quietly and walk to the entrance of the hallway. I peek my head down the hall. I see no one, I slowly walk down to the end of the hall, I peek my head around a corner away from the light. The light suddenly turns off. I turn around quickly but it's pitch black.

Shit.

“What are you doing?" I feel Chris's deep voice whisper in my ear from behind, his hot breath hitting my ear. His mask... it's off? I wouldn't be able to feel his breath if he had his mask on. I turn around quickly but it's pitch black and I can't see his face.

"I can't sleep" I whisper, "and you thought you would come down here?" He asks.

"I don't know" I whisper, "please don't hit me" I quickly whisper.

"What happened to the confidence Delilah?" He whispers. I don't answer.

"Why aren't you showing me your face?" I ask

"isn't that obvious?" He whispers.

"You aren't taking me back anyway" I shrug.

"Hmmm" he hums.

"Chris where's Delilah!?" I hear Matt yell.

"I'll leave Matt to hurt you" Chris whispers. "Over here" Chris yells back. I no longer feel Chris's presence anymore.

TAGLIST: @mattsfavho @sturniolobananas1 @courta13 @alexisa78 @chrisissos3xy @blushsturns @blahbel668 @riasturns @iloveduckssm @cl1tlover3000 @emmaweasley comment here to be added

[werosmyss]

ok i feel like were well on the cusp of getting more hazbin news, so i wanna finalize my predictions for s2 going forward (mostly vox/radiostatic focused). i also haven't seen any of the leaks so a) don't talk about them and b) they may outright confirm or deny any of this but i don't want to hear it either way

okay, predictions below the cut since this got longer than i liked

we know vox (and luci) will both be more present due to vivs tweets

vox & alastor backstory episode, it'll either be the full episode or the a/b plot with some sort of dramatic foil

in said episode we will get canon radiosilence (not copium not copium)

i really dont want to say this but i think the most common fallout theory (vox made an unwanted advance that broke the camel's back, whether that was the partnership proposal or something romantic/sexual) is probably going to be canon. i really hope that it will be nuanced, though, and not just come out of nowhere

radiostatic and radioapple fans will be eating very well this season

by extension the applemedia content will blow up for sure

this is more copium but i want staticmoth to be confirmed as a fwb/fuckbuddies situation. i think they work better as found family/friends who fuck each other rather than as a relationship, because i personally have a hard time seeing staticmoth as anything other than toxic.

velmilla will be real (not copium not copium) (this one is mostly a joke, but...)

another rap battle or musical duel of sorts between vox and alastor just because i like stayed gone and i love old news more

the first hazbin/helluva crossover will probably be a minor cameo and not a major role, and it will be in hazbin before helluva.

my vote for crossover (which i dont know how well this works given the animation timelines) is to see some of the mastermind fallout and headlines and newsreels and such

radiostatic has no chance in hell of happening in canon (and neither does radioapple, sorry guys)

season will either end with the vees being permanantly disposed of (unlikely), neutered as villains (most likely) or on the path to redemption (also unlikely, though i see them taking this path with valentino, whether or not it succeeds or fails, to drive the "everyone deserves a chance at redemption" point home. would be crass to put canon val in the hotel with angel, though, and i don't see a good way of doing this (maybe reedeemed valentino is endgame for s4?)

by the end of season 3 (i know these are s2 predictions but..) alastor will do something to betray the hotel and be cast out, whether that is a misunderstanding, intentional, or a result of his deal, i don't know. i desperately need alastor to betray them because i just re-read that one tuesday and im coping.

please dont let vox be pookie. im begging you

^^ by this i mean don't let vox take the easy road out by claiming abuse at valentino's hands. ties in with my earlier hope about them just being fwb, but i want vox to be a proper villain. i love making him pookie but the show should keep him evil

alastor's power will be significantly diminished over the course of the season. lucifer will be begrudgingly helping mend the would from adam at charlies request. radioapple shippers will go feral for this

radiostatic fight scene. proper fight scene, anime fight scene, anything to take advantage of the amazon budget. let me see them really go all out against each other (second to last or last episode of the season)

okay this one is more for me but i want a recreation of the pilot scene where alastor first shows up at the hotel, but with vox.

also, this season will see the people who make those radiostatic similarities gifsets eating VERY well. like we will see back to back shots of them doing the exact same behaviors. never forget who raised you, vox.

we will get radiostatic merch finally because the radioapple shippers got their hoodie and damn it i want one too

vox will be taller than alastor (not including hat, ears, antlers, poofy hair) despite what the announcement video shows. i am a tall vox truther and there is no way that man isn't exactly 1 inch taller than alastor just to spite him.

please let baxter be voiced by richard horvitz please he is so zim coded

if any of the vees are getting 'redeemed' (not fully, but starting on the path) at the end of this season, its velvette. she really seems to have no problem with anyone at the hotel, and would be easiest to fold into the main cast as a neutral/anti-hero sort of character. vox obviously has his shit with alastor, and val has his shit with angel. there is no way either of them would survive at the hotel for more than an hour. velvette actually has a chance (and i am a velvette simp sorry)

give me domestic found family vees not because i want to undercut their role as the villains but just because i love them and need to see them being silly like in the finale

GARDENER VALENTINO how could i forget omg we NEED to see val just being so obsessed and in love with his plants. if redeemed val is endgame then we need to start sowing those seeds now

i do NOT want to see any sort of valentino backstory excuse shit this season. if we get anything like that, it needs to be in s3 or 4. i don't want to see any 'oh he used to be in the same position as angel' 'hurt people hurt people' etc etc etc. if that's the way they take this storyline, okay, but it would be too much at this point in the plot and feel more like an excuse than an explanation. i love valentino as a villain, but his character needs to be handled carefully if they want to actually try and redeem him and not make him a stella-type 'completely evil' character.

if val is going to be stella please dont make vox stolas. vox can be andrealphus, they can both be comically evil. vox is not the stolas in this relationship.

i know i said radiostatic will never be canon but a small part of me wants the show to end with them being friends at least, or at least not outright hating each other.

also!!!!!!!! make the static communication canon! i dont know HOW they would visualize it, but i need to believe that vox and alastor can communicate through the ariwaves and im really not taking no for an answer here

also also we need at least one more overlord meeting and it has to go like that one story from the radiostatic zine (this one, which may be my favorite from the whole thing) in the sense that the entire thing gets completely derailed by alastor and vox fighting across the table. literally my favorite thing to see whenever it pops up in a story.

okay i want to hesitantly say that thats it. its 12:40am, i just had a delicious coffee from my fuck alastor mug, and now im going to go re-read more of my bookmarks and pine for the tv man

[blacksheepoftheblackfamily]

Tw: family abuse, drug usage and abuse, mental health struggles, suicidal tendencies.

ooc: @iwillmoonyou I think you should know about all this. You don't have to respond, but if you want to feel free.

"James, I didn't have people as a kid, telling me that drugs were bad for me. Hell, I started late compared to others I knew; I was encouraged to try shit at age 9. The only reason I didn't was because cigarettes and blunts just reminded me of the burns my dad gave me when he was annoyed."

"I didn't get PSA's that told you about the damages of drugs in middle school. I was homeschooled until my sophomore year of highschool, and by then it had been 3 years of addiction. And plenty of people were doing drugs in school; I was a plug for a lot of people. I had no reason to stop, other than my own health; and regardless of drugs, I didn't care if I didn't wake up the next morning, so who cared if I did drugs and hurt myself or died doing it." As he says this, he's stumbling over his words, clearly struggling to talk about his problems.

"I started caring about me, when I met you senior year of highschool. Then I got to know Peter and Remus through you. For the first time in my life, I wanted to wake up the next morning. For the first time in my life, I realized I didn't have to stay with my parents and do whatever they wanted. For the first time in my life, I had people that cared about me as more than a role, whether that be their heir to the fortune, or their drug plug."

He goes to wipe a tear as it threatens to come out. "I'm really trying to fix me, I am. But I need to go in steps, or I'm just going to relapse into something worse than before. I've had to unlearn so much shit, and I'm grateful that the rest of you are trying to help me, I am. And I'm sorry you have to deal with me like this. But please know that I'm trying to change, a-and that I've made so much progress from where I was.. I'm sorry that you three are my support system; I know that's taxing on you all, but I don't know what else to do.."

Guys don’t snort crack straight after smoking weed

It’s not good for u

It made my brain feel fucky

@constellations-and-cigarettes @evie-talks-shit do u guys have any weed :/

[beigetiger]

Resurrection is insane because like. "She hoped he never snapped out of this". I'm losing it. She hopes he never gets better. She hopes he never gets better because he'll be crushed by guilt about killing her if he does, and she doesn't want that for him. He spent six years abusing her, he pressured her into coming back, he's been hunting and threatening her for days and she still hopes that he never has to experience the guilt of having killed her.

The entire book rotates around one single question, does she really love him or is she just saying that out of habit, and that, RIGHT THERE, is the moment when she realizes that she truly does. She doesn't love herself, she doesn't even want to live, but she wants him to never have to feel guilt. Will he burn the world down if he stays like this? Probably. But she doesn't fucking care, because all that matters to her in that moment is that they are both there and they had that moment of getting to be together, of working together to fight off an opponent one last time. It's over and she couldn't care less.

And Skulduggery! Has been walking away from his feelings since Kingdom of the Wicked, set seven years ago. He's told himself over and over again that it doesn't matter if he loves Valkyrie or not, that he shouldn't think about it too much, that she doesn't have to hear him say it. And that's gotten even worse in Resurrection, where Valkyrie acts so differently than the girl he raised. He's spent this whole book fully reasonable, fully understanding the guilt and pain he will feel if he kills Valkyrie, but he's committed to doing it anyway, because, in his mind, he doesn't want anyone else to ever have the glory of killing Valkyrie Cain. Even if she's not the same Valkyrie he once knew.

And THAT moment where he has his gun to her head and is literally about to kill her is the moment he realizes that he does love her, and that she really does need to hear him say it. It gives him the strength to say it. Even though they've both changed as people a lot over the last six years, they still love each other and are willing to come back to each other no matter what.

Oughhh they make me ill. I need to go reread Resurrection.

[erinwantstowrite]

wait ur a hp fan??/pos

i have such a complicated relationship with the harry potter series because yes it did shape me as a person, yes it was my first book, yes it was my first fandom, yes i did start writing because of harry potter. but also i hate JKR and the message behind the series now that i'm an adult. harry didn't get the ending that he deserved, he didn't get a lesson worth living for

[ashlygraves]

i feel like reading Ashley’s crying fits as emotional manipulation falls into either misunderstanding or a bad faith reading of her personality. especially flashback childhood scenes. Ashley legitimately feels like if Andrew is not on board with her he hates her and wants nothing to do with her- look at her social life, the way her mother treats her. sure its not logical but her past experience with people would guide her to that conclusion. *person* doesn’t like something i do/say = i end up alone again. to hear these kinds of words come out of a child’s mouth, a responsible and mentally stable adult’s response would be to hold her hand and guide her through these feelings, and explain to her that the world does not operate in the black and white lenses she views them from…. now when is Ashley ever surrounded by someone of this description. this explanation would need to come from a parental figure, or a role model in the child’s life, somebody the child trusts and looks to for guidance. who is this person for Ashley??? Andrew. another child. not a well rounded, stable, emotionally mature adult with the past experiences to prove these thought patterns wrong. and how does he respond? by giving in. his little sister is crying, upset, and mom and dad don’t like dealing with her and explicitly tell him its his responsibility to placate her and make sure she’s taken care of and listening to them- whenever they decide they’re going to attempt at parenting that is. they never tell him how to do this, all they want is for their daughter to shut up and leave them alone. in this moment, his little sister is crying and that is unacceptable. based on his past experiences, the fastest (and only) way to solve this problem that nobody else wants to deal with is to do what she wants to do. give in. let her have her way. even in the most extreme of circumstances, because neither of them have reliable responsible role models. as they grow up, Andrew builds resentment towards his sister for this, he’s always doing whatever she wants and they’re acting on her whims because they never learned otherwise. misdirected anger that should have been angled at their parents.. so why isn’t it? because their mother was a hostile, volatile person, who punished him for straying an inch out of line. follow orders and keep up appearances, or else. make sure she does the same, or else. expressing any sort of resentment or anger towards anyone but Ashley would have resulted in an outburst from their mother. there is a line, though. Renee may not have given him any sound examples or advice to follow but she did tell him what not to do: resort to physical violence. she knows it’s not a solution to behavior, we can assume she has experience with this because of her reaction to Andrew trying it out on his sister. and in light of their parents deaths, what does Andrew resort to? physical violence. why? because he’s learned that while it may not change Ashley’s behavior (like their mother said), it makes her listen in the moment. and it feels good, to finally let out his frustrations and he won’t be punished for it. this is him ‘acting out’. he finally has the chance to act without punishment and he uses it to do the only thing that he was explicitly told not to do. why does Ashley act the way she does? because she has 2 decades of experience telling her that what she does effects everyone but herself. she has never dealt with punishment, or consequences, in her entire 20 years of life. she has never had to keep up appearances, or stay in line, because she was never given a reason to. Andrew was. soo.. Andrew’s girlfriend breaks up with him, they kill their parents, they’ve been socially isolated and starved for months with the threat of death right around the corner and then they’re both given a chance to take advantage of an object that ultimately would relieve them of consequences.. but what’s the catch? there doesn’t seem to be one, but Andrew knows better. At least in this instance.

[carpesabrina]

She pursed her lips together, “I think we’re both hotter when you’re stuffing my pussy. My pussy and your cock look so hot together.” Whenever she was on top, she loved to watch his cock disappear into her. It was a new level of hot. It was almost that they were made for each other. They fit together so well sexually and not sexually. “I will. I wanna play with your body just like you play with mine. Drive you absolutely crazy until you’re begging for me to ride your cock.” She said teasingly. As Max talked about fucking in the ring, and having his friends watch them, she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. He would be hot, they both had that public sex kink, one they were both willing to experiment together with. See how far they could go until they were no longer comfortable or until someone actually busted them having sex. “Are we gonna wrestle before you pin me to the ring? Do I get a chance to fight back, baby?” She asked, arching a brow. Even if she could take him, she would purposely lose. She was dying to be pinned down by him and fucked. “Let them have your phone, they can record us on that so we can watch it back,” she said jokingly as he mentioned taking the cameras away. Unsure if she would ever be okay with filming a sex tape. She didn’t need the Kim Kardashian scandal anytime soon. “I know you’ll only be bad in bed. 

“I am addicted to you fucking me with your cock. It’s my favorite. Feeling you stretch my pussy out. How sore my pussy is by the time you’re done with it. You’re the best cock that has ever been in my pussy.” She moaned. She had a lot of sex in the past, but there was something different when it came to Max that felt like she never had good sex before. Maybe it was because she was so in love with him that she couldn’t that her other experiences just couldn’t top him. Or he was just that good. He knew of her issues and concerns, and she loved that he was confirming that he was just hers. That he wasn’t going to let another woman touch him. He was her daddy, her master, her husband, he didn’t want to belong to anyone else. He just wanted to be hers. And she loved, and it pulled her closer to him than ever before. She let out a moan as he said that he was far from done with her yet. Knowing it was going to be a long night, and how tired she was going to be the end of all of this. “I want to be your slave, I live to please you. My body was made for you, to use and abuse at your pleasure.” She breathed out. Just as she was sure his was to hers. To please and abuse as she wanted. 

He wasn’t wrong, she loved to be spanked, but she loved pleasing him more. So she knew eventually she would have to let the ‘bratty’ side of her out during this time and see how bad she could get when he wanted to be dominant, see how he would actually punish her for her attitude. “I do want to make sure he loves me forever. I don’t ever want to lose his love.” She said softly as he pulled at that insecurity of hers. It wasn’t a lie, she would do absolutely anything to make sure that his love for her stayed around. She truly never wanted to lose this man or the feelings that he brought her. She was lost in her head for months, wondering why no one wanted her or could stay faithful to her. And then he walked in and pushed all those feelings to the side. And now she was doing her best to trust his word that he would love her forever. “Yes, I want to be your costar in this.” She told him, her eyes going to the phone and then back to him. ‘Make sure to get some close ups of your cock in my pussy though. That’s gonna be hot to fuck to in the future.” She murmured softly. As he urged her to scream, her screams only got louder. “Yes, right there.” She moaned as he continued to fuck her hard. She wasn’t surprised that they needed another release after the first two. She was needy for more and she was sure she could go all night if he let her. She groaned as he told her that she couldn’t cum again, and she did her best to hold it off, a long moan escaping as she felt him filling her up with his own cum. “Yes, fill me daddy.” She breathed out. She tilted her head up as he eventually leaned forward to undo the ties, watching as he pressed kisses against her wrist. He had done the same the night he had cuffed her, but the difference this time was that there were no marks on her wrist, just small reddening due to her tugging on the ties. She loved the caring side of him that would come out during sex, but it felt even more special when it came out when he was in the mindset he was that night. He was dominant, but he never wanted to hurt her. She groaned as he rolled her over, “oh fuck.” She murmured as she felt him pushing into his ass. She didn’t even have a second to collect her thoughts as he continued to pound into her. Her hands gripped the sheets as she moaned into the pillow. As quick a sit started, it ended and she was back on her back. But this time, his head moved between her legs. She moaned as his mouth and fingers worked on her, moving her legs so they were on his shoulders and he had more room between them. Once he told her she could cum, it didn’t take long for her to hit her high. Her back arching as her fingers tangled in his hair as she came hard. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.” She moaned as she rode out her high.

"I'm hot all the time but no hotter than when I'm stuffing your pussy." He cocked his head thinking…and smiled. "You should deny me sex more often, punish me like i'm doing you, making my cock rock hard and no place to put it." He was happy to go along with whatever she wanted to do to him. They were playing games together and enjoying it. "Okay, I'll get my friends that I trained with at the academy and let them be our audience. They can watch me fuck you from behind and when I pin you in the ring. I don't care if they see my cock, we've showered in the same locker rooms but I'll make sure they can't see you naked. I'll just slid the material back or rip it off with my teeth before I fill you up. I'll make sure to take their cameras, nothing will be recorded. All they get to do is watch and cheer us on." He hated how her exes had all made her feel inadequate and not good enough to be someone's special one, the love of their life. She gave so much and they took it all and didn't give back but Max was giving her everything, being at her beck and all even, she was his person and he could see she was learning that especially with all of this. "You do love a bad boy that will fuck you up but I'll only do that in bed or if we're having public sex or I wasn't to tease you in public and then I promise it won't be too bad." He left it out there that he might touch her in in public but never to the point of embarrassment or humiliation. That was only for the bedroom.

He loved watching her suck his finger and took his time with her there, letting her relax and just enjoy it. "My baby is addicted to me fucking her with my big cock. I like torturing you but I admit that it's better when I can see your eyes, how they widen or show fear everso briefly. Daddy can make you so scared and begging him but that's another roleplay for another day." Letting her know that there was so much she hadn't experienced yet. Places he wanted to take her mind and body and let her explore them fully. Her moans filled the room and he danced in his head. "And I only want to be your daddy. No one else will touch me or take what you have. No one else turns me on but you, kitten." He reassured her hoping to heal some of her self doubts and past traumas. "I'm all yours and no one can have me but you." There was no need for anyone else in their relationship, they completed each other in every way. "I've ruined sex with anyone else for you. My slut, my whore, my slave, my wife." He put a deep emphasis on the word wife because she was though not legally but soon she would be. "Tug all you want, you can't get free unless daddy unties you and he's far from done with you. "Yes, you're daddy's sex slave and you live to please him in every way. Your body, your whole being belongs to me and mine belongs to you." Some might say this was manipulative, controlling, and it was in a way but it was the same for both. He was hers just as much as she was his. They were equals more than it looked to an outsider if they were looking in behind closed doors.

"Then you have to obey daddy, bad girls don't fucked, they get spanked and I know you like that but you like dick more and you want to please daddy and make sure he loves you forever." Maybe that was pulling on her insecurities but she did want him to love her forever. He saw her eyebrow raise and knew why because they had discussed it and how it couldn't happen because she didn't need the scandal. He was pushing every boundary that she had, that she told him couldn't happen and he was making it a reality. He worried all these tests could backfire like they had on Barry but Barry tested her with infidelity not once but twice. Max had never cheated on her or even looked at another woman. Anytime someone came on to him, he shut them down quick. He loved Sabrina and he knew her insecurities, knew of her father's mistakes just like Barry had know but Max could control himself, love meant something to him and he would never hurt her or make her cry. "Going to be my costar and do dirty things with me? We can watch this back anytime we want and fuck to it." He had waited so long to fuck her, it had been just as hard for him as it was for her but now they we getting to the end of the session and could enjoy each other's bodies. "That's it, scream for daddy." He had thought of gagging her but he liked hearing her moan, scream, beg and whimper too much. "Going to fuck you so hard, wreck this pussy because it's mine and it's needy." He was pounding her hard and making her take every inch of his shaft. Not once but twice they both came hard but it wasn't enough. They needed more and he was going to give her all she could handle. He was sure her pussy was battered and possibly torn by all the abuse it was taken but her moans and scrams drove him on. Even in his lust he saw how wide her eyes became as his fingers tightened on her neck. He was taking his time with it, easing on and off to let her get used to it. Don't stop, please. Three little words but they meant she was okay with it. "Not yet, you have to wait." Max moved his hands from her throat and kissed her passionately then pulled her legs up and drove in deep again, it was a position that he knew would let his seed go deep inside of her. Was he trying to purposely get her pregnant, one would think so with that position and how hard he was thrusting into her. Good thing she has an iud even though he hated it. "Soon baby. You can cum soon." He however began to cum inside of her filling her up and just holding her legs there to let it go in deep and not slide down. Slowly he pulled out of her and then untied he hands so she was free of restraint. He rubbed her wrists and kissed them before flipping her over on her back and pushing into her ass. True to his word he began to pound her ass hard and began to spank her, watching how red her skin became. Pulling out of her he thought for a moment before running his tongue along her puckered hole and licking it. There was no part of her that he wouldn't use to give her pleasure. Rolling her back onto her back he began to eat her out and finger fuck her ass. "Good girl, cum for daddy. You did so well. Daddy's gonna swallow every bit of your juices."

[momentomori24]

Damon keeps being shown with a red apple in both a lot of the promotional material as well as the opening intro, which feels very intentional considering the way this game takes a LOT of inspiration from the bible. The red apple represents temptation, in case the temptation of committing a murder to escape alive. Eva, just like Eve, was the first to bite the apple. And after her, her only other companion followed suit.

Damon's animal motif is the snake. Manipulative. Conniving. Untrustworthy. A traiter and a deceiver. Motivated by self interest. He's the snake, the root cause of the reason humanity was banned from paradise. He's constantly depicted holding the apple, never biting into it, as if still contemplating about whether to give in to the temptation of it all.

My biggest prediction for Damon is that he'll be the last murderer. That he'll perform the final kill and escape at the expense of all of them, the very way he accused them all of being predestined to do from the start.

[cravesunconditionallove]

Forgive my rant here, I can get wordy when I'm passionate about a topic :)

[Mild TW here for mentions of institutional abuse and explanations of brainwashing and trauma bonding.]

People talk a lot about trauma bonds and Stockholm Syndrome (which are one in the same), but I'm not sure I've ever seen a truly accurate representation—I talk as a survivor of brainwashing/coercive control and other various flavors of physical/psychological/emotional abuse in an institutional setting, for a year and a half. I became attached to my abuser(s).

Trauma bonding often thrives in situations where you're already isolated, emotionally fragile, and looking for guidance or care. Trauma bonds mimic attachment bonds, but are built on fear, shame, and intermittent positive reinforcement. They can feel as strong or even stronger than healthy bonds because of the emotional extremes involved.

At least in my experience:

You get attached to the people who hurt you, ESPECIALLY if they drop bits of validation or love here and there between the abuse and erosion of your self-confidence and attacks on your self-concept. It's like a lifeline; it's fully intentional. You begin to crave their care, maybe even their abuse, like a drug. Sometimes, you devolve into thinking, "any attention is good attention."

The small crumbs of approval or recognition can feel intensely rewarding in contexts where rejection, humiliation, or criticism is the norm. Their unpredictability keeps you tethered to them, always on your toes, hoping for positive reinforcement.

This is especially strengthened if the person is an authority figure (like my abuser was), in contexts where their approval is quite literally necessary, where you're literally dependent on them for everything—of course you'd want to do anything to make them like you.

You begin to believe them—you DO deserve the pain. You're fundamentally flawed, you're the one in the wrong. You also think that if you could just placate them, they'd stop being so bad to you. If you could just try harder, do it right, finally be what they want, it would be better. You'd do anything to get on their good side. You need it.

It's far from rational, but you have to understand, the brain does a lot of seemingly strange things to cope with traumatic environments. When your brain views the trauma as an existential threat, and you have to choose between staying sane and your identity? Well, there goes your identity.

I can't put a finger on why exactly I wanted my abuser's approval so bad, it was never a single, distinct, or tangible reason. It was and still is very confusing to me. I didn't consciously try to think this way—I just so strongly felt if I could just finally do what she wanted, be the obedient little thing she tried so hard to mold me into (and succeeded), she'd leave me alone (she did not). I started to wish to be punished by her, because if I got punished, in a twisted way it would garner her approval.

Something I also didn't consciously do—but realized later on—is that I put a lot of her into my interrogator character, their similarities are likely due to the fact that Bella's story is basically a bunch of my trauma responses in a trench coat.

My abuser was as evil as one can get without her physically harming another human being. Everything about her just screamed "wrong." Her smiles were predatory, calculated, fake. If you'd sharpened her teeth, it would have fit her character. I half thought that one day she was going to start seeping black ooze, as if her awfulness could reach a point where it breached containment. She was creepy, a sadist, someone who made it her goal to make me miserable. She enjoyed seeing me scared, hurt, begging. She was always so eerily calm, because she had to poise herself as the rational one. Because she was a therapist, she knew well how to weaponize her knowledge to break me. I trusted her, I was fifteen and still naive. Adults know best, right?

She used that trust against me.

It makes me sad to think about it, sometimes. I was not her first victim, nor was I her last. It's been a a good chunk of time since this all originally happened, and I can talk about it now and still feel okay. However, I'm still undoing the damage done, and will be for years to come.

Anyways, I hope this adds a bit of context to the topic of brainwashing/Stockholm Syndrome.

Whumpees do not love their whumpers, they've just developed Stockholm syndrome!

[nomattertheoceans]

I've been reading the Percy Jackson books for the first time over the past two weeks! Just finished "The Battle of the Labyrinth" last night (which btw is my favorite of the series so far!!)

I have now gained a new obsession but it might not be what you think

[detentiontrack]

Every day I get closer to making my own tiktok video warning people about the person who groomed and psychologically abused and manipulated me when I was 13-15. I’m just worried that my situation isn’t “bad enough” or people won’t believe me because this person is a beloved part of DID/system/mental health tiktok and everyone loves them, and I’m just a nobody on that app. I’m just scared though and feel like I should warn people because I know for a fact that they did it to at least one other person after we stopped being friends (the new person was 13) (they are currently 23 I believe) (I was 13 and they were 18/19 when we met and things became inappropriate) and I know they will continue to do it again to other minors. People love them so much and they constantly have videos get a lot of views and overwhelming support and praise, and I feel like I can’t stay silent and let them continue to have this platform to groom minors again. Idk. Maybe I’m just being dramatic and no one will believe me. Worse things have happened to other people. But it just doesn’t sit right with me…..