#and then blame me for it and make it even worse

[heavenorhella2001]

This had never occurred to me way back when when I first watched playthroughs of the game/played it myself, but;

Seeing this post made me remember Max's meltdown, when she was trapped in her own mind/a broken version of reality.

And seeing this now?

Max definitely has PTSD.

Everyone always primarily discusses/ focuses on Chloe's trauma (which is understandable. I'll always be a Chloe defender and don't want to downplay her trauma by any means.)

But, unfortunately, Max's is overlooked.

Now, a lot of people might view this skeptically, question the idea of Max having PTSD. To many, it might seem like Max doesn't really have any lasting form of major trauma after the events of the game. Maybe she really was content and at peace and happy-go-lucky. (I've always scoffed at that scene at Chloe's funeral, when Max smiles at the butterfly.) And I'll admit, within the context of the story maybe we aren't supposed to think so. But if that's the case I just have to assume that's due to the developing team's lack of knowledge, experience with mental health and how it works, the impact things like this have on someone. Not that they are coming from a malicious place, of course. But very rarely does a person 'get it' unless they've been through it themselves. The average person simply won't understand.

But if you see everything I've described here as it's laid out, it makes total sense;

Let's talk about Jefferson. He is just one of many elements in the game contributing to Max's trauma. He was her teacher, someone she looked up to, respected, and was supposed to be able to trust. She truly felt safe around him. It's implied she had a crush on him. But her image of him completely shattered. After the truth about him was revealed, she was no longer able to trust her own judgement of people, her perception of reality.

He drugged her when she was vulnerable, and she was helpless to watch as he shot and killed the love of her life right in front of her. He kidnapped her, and she was thrown from the frying pan right into the fire. When she woke up she was tied up in a basement, helpless, and he had burned all her photos. Not only precious memories, but also one of her only means of going back and fixing things. He then took photos of her, over and over, this went on for who knows how long, while she was drugged, tied up and helpless, in order to satisfy his own perversions. Throughout, he mocked and tormented her.

Then, let's go into what happened with Chloe. Having to watch her best friend, the girl she loved, die over and over and over again. Max felt responsible for fixing it, preventing it, because she was the only one who possibly could. She would blame herself, think of it as a failure on her part each time Chloe died.

After watching her die in various ways, so many times, I'm sure Max questioned if she really even could save Chloe- or if Chloe was supposed to die from the start, and the universe was determined to restore the balance, no matter what Max did or how hard she tried.

And then there's Kate. This could go one of two ways depending on your choices, one of which is infinitely worse and more traumatizing, but either way it would definitely have haunted Max and left an impact on her.

Imagine how you would feel, knowing one of your closest friends was being bullied. Knowing they have been drunk/drugged and taken advantage of at a party. Yet instead of anyone coming forward, doing the right thing and helping Kate out of that situation, everyone at the party instead weaponized it, used it against her, slut-shamed her even though she wasn't in her right mind, was barely even conscious and was in no way able to consent to anything that was happening. Not that slut-shaming her would have in any way been okay or excusable even if Kate was acting of her own volition. Knowing that, even though you don't agree/don't identify with that, that your friend is deeply religious and clings to faith as a means of comfort. Knowing that she feels like a failure, that she feels like she's betrayed her faith, everything she stands for, and her family, even though she was in fact a victim in her situation. Being able to read letters, watching her family victim-blame her, hide behind their beliefs as a means to tear down someone they should feel obligated to protect, to support. Watching your friend be alienated by everyone around her, including her own family. Watching the school bullies write obscenities about your friend on the walls, and in the bathroom, make jabs at her and taunt her at every possible opportunity. Your friend's light has begun to dim, she starts pulling away from you, begins hiding away in her room more, which now feels like a dark, oppresive void. You know your friend is depressed, and you're trying to be supportive in any way you can, but there's a distance building between you you feel you can't bridge.

Then it happens. She kills herself/tries to kill herself. In front of you, and everyone who tormented her. Even then, the people who hurt her have no shame, laughing and recording her when she's in crisis. You begin to question and blame yourself, blaming youself for not noticing something was severely wrong earlier, not recognizing the impending signs for what they were. You want to help your friend, to save her, but your powers at failing you at the worst possible time. You only get one chance to do this, like everyone else, and you have to do it the right way.

If Max managed to talk Kate down, that's still an instense emotional weight, still a serious event to work through and process.

If Kate jumps…well…

Max feels like a failure. Like she contributed to Kate's death just as much as everyone else. Like she may as well have pushed Kate off that ledge herself. Not only watching your friend die in front of you, but knowing that it was self-inflicted in a moment of desperation, that they chose to do so and your words had no effect…

Now, the end of the game. Depending on what you choose, Max either has to to feel an immeasurable weight on her conscience, the responsibility for the destruction of the town where she was born. Where she grew up. Where she has countless memories, despite its' faults. The deaths of almost everyone there she's ever known.

Including (especially) Joyce.

The guilt of feeling like she took Chloe's mom away from her too, after Chloe had already lost her dad.

Oh. And that reminds me.

It was an incredible miracle, Max discovering her ability to go back through time via photos. Being able to go back 5 years, to when she and Chloe were only 13, before all the horror had happened, and save William. The sense of sheer relief, happiness and accomplishment she felt. She felt like a hero.

Only for it to all blow up in her face in the worst possible way.

Seeing Chloe, now a total shell of her former self. Completely disabled, and paralyzed. Helpless. Unable to live on her own. Seeing firsthand the emotional and financial stress William and Joyce are going through as a result of the accident. Chloe having so little quality of life that she pleads with Max to kill her, because she can't even do it herself.

(This is not my narrative or opinion on Chloe's situation, by the way. This is how it's portrayed. Quality of life, determining whether your life is worth living to due a life-changing accident or consequent disability is the choice of the invidual whom it effects. I'm not saying that anyone in Chloe's situation, who is paralyzed would inherently have no quality of life or no reason to live. That really depends on the invidiual, what that person needs in order to truly live and thrive, whether that person has family and friends and an emotional/practical support system in their life, etc. For Chloe, for me, and for many other people, though not all, living that kind of life would not be worth it.)

Max, depending on your choices, having to kill Chloe, to choose the merciful path, allow Chloe to exercise her autonomy in a world in which she can no longer do so and put her out of her misery. Knowing that she's doing for Chloe what she'd want someone to do for her if she were in that situation, yet still full of pain and regrets.

Max then having to go back and undo it all. Allow William to die again. Watch Chloe experience that horror and trauma again, knowing now she could've prevented it. But at what cost?

Lastly, if you chose to let Chloe go. To let her die.

That makes it immeasurably worse in my opinion.

The week she and Chloe spent together, reconnecting and rebulding their friendship, everything they went through together, would essentially never have happened.

Chloe, in this timeline, died alone in a bathroom. She never recieved any sort of closure, never got to know what happened to Rachel, questioning if Rachel perhaps just abandoned her, similarly to how Max did.

She never got to resolve things with Max, never heard from her again. She never got to know that Max still loved her, still cared about her and thought of her, but was too scared and guilty to reach out.

She never got to patch up things with her mom, or with David.

Everything Max went through. Everything she experienced.

To recap:

Having to watch her best friend, the woman she loves, die over and over again, feeling helpless, trapped in this endless, hellish cycle of death.

Being lulled into a false sense of security, betrayed and abducted by someone she thought she could trust, someone she looked up to.

Witnessing firsthand Kate's suicide/attempt, feeling like she failed her.

Being forced to let William die again, and force Joyce and Chloe to suffer that loss again.

Having to watch Joyce mourn her only daughter, after already losing her husband. Knowing she could've prevented it.

Everything that happened would still exist, but only in Max's mind.

She has no one she could ever confide in, talk to, or open up about it.

Chloe, for her, was that person.

No one would believe her, albeit understandably.

It's implied her powers vanish after she goes back that final time to let Chloe die.

She'd have no way to prove her story was true.

Carrying the weight of that burden, that knowledge and trauma, alone, would drive anyone insane.

Feeling like everything she went through, all the efforts she made to keep Chloe alive, were pointless.

I don't believe there is any way Max could be okay after that.

She'd be a hollow shell, just going through the motions. Totally disconnected from the world and the people around her. (Understandably. Who the hell could she connect to? Who would understand her?) Everyone at Blackwell, and their student lives and petty drama would feel so insignificant. So incredibly stupid and shallow to Max after what she's been through.

In fact, I've always felt - years after the events of the game, were you to choose to let Chloe die - that Max likely killed herself.

Over time, she probably began to question herself, to feel crazy, and begin wondering whether any of what happened, actually did, or if it was just something her mind created.

Max's trauma, her thoughts and emotions in regards to all of this are reflected in this part of the game, her mental breakdown. You can see her self-loathing, the way she blames and criticizes herself, in her interactions with herself and in her distorted journal entries.

Anyway. I never really liked Max all that much as a protagonist.

I thought she was a pushover, a little shallow, cared too much about what people like Victoria thought of her. I thought it was pretty unforgivable the way she ghosted Chloe, at the most traumatic, formative time of Chloe's life, when she had just lost the most important person in her life, besides Max. I understand anxiety, feeling awkward, helpless and flailing in that situation and not knowing what to say or do to make it better, but it just doesn't matter to me. Nothing excuses that.

However…

Max, did ultimately (well, depending on your choice at the ending,) make it right.

This has given me some perspective, and I have a lot more empathy for her now.

     you thought you could control everybody and everything, huh?      —   twist time around your fingers?

[vaguely-concerned]

huh. you know something I just consciously put together for the first time about caterina and lucanis' relationship is that through the game we get to hear them talk about each other a lot, but we get very few chances to hear them speak with each other at any length at all. contrast it with other companions whose storylines have elements of 'believed lost/long time no see relative returns!' like bellara and davrin, where we get to see both of them have several pretty in-depth conversations with cyrian and eldrin. hell I think even rook talks with varric longer in the regret prison scene than we ever get to see lucanis and caterina interact directly.

(and when we do see them interact, it's mostly one-sided -- it is, perhaps unsurprisingly, caterina who is doing most of the talking and giving all the orders, as he ruefully observes is her wont after murder of crows. including jumpscaring him with 'you're first talon now btw' and the shocked pikachu face in five acts he goes through in response lmao. perhaps it's more accurate to say that she talks at him and he reacts, than that they talk to each other much.)

it has such an interesting effect too, because in deliberately denying us direct insight or experience and only having this mosaic of description from each of them to go on, as well as forcing us to pay attention to the negative space of what is carefully not said, it's evocative along the same principle that you never actually show the monster in a horror film. if you've read the wigmaker job you have a clearer image of the more uh. worrying elements at play here going in, but there is something fascinatingly insidious and naturalistic in the way it's 'hushed up' in the game itself. she has his complete loyalty both as a member of her house and, more importantly, that of an abused child to a parent figure. he readily admits several times that she's a difficult person to live with, an even more difficult person to be loved by ("even for me. and I was her favourite")... but never once does he actively blame her nor truly conceptualize that he has every right to do so (that he can be angry with her and still love her, because whether he should or not he unavoidably does), or that she might have acted differently than she did, that she made a choice every time to hurt him. even affectionately he speaks of her as a force of nature, an act of god -- something that can't be reasoned or pleaded with or resisted, something you can only hope to navigate with as little pain as possible and pray to survive. let yourself get carried away by the riptide, resisting it will only make it worse. you don't compromise with a hurricane, you just try to find the best shelter you can and cross your fingers while you wait for it to pass and be calm again.

love is that hurricane. you do whatever she asks. you earn her continued affection day by day by never letting her down. you only want the things she tells you it's okay to want and cut everything else away preemptively. ("A wyvern tooth dagger?? I loved wyverns as a boy --Caterina would never let me have one of these, though." and as we have all wept and gnashed our teeth over, it never even OCCURS to him that he's a like thirty-five year old adult man who can buy himself any dagger he wants at any time. she said he couldn't have one. so he'll never have one. that's just how it works. and maybe if Illario could just accept that and find his peace with it like I have, this whole thing wouldn't be so difficult. oh lucanis.)

such is the price -- and the cost -- of being loved by her, it's a loan on which the interest will never stop piling up. you have to keep paying it down in perfection every day if you want to keep it. who got the worse deal there: the grandson who has abandoned everything else in life to live up to that and mostly succeeded, until the day he's so burned out and broken it threatens to no longer be an option, or the grandson who can never seem to scrape together enough worth in her eyes no matter how he begs, borrows or steals it, how he hustles and plays dirty?

one of the worst things that can happen to anyone is to be loved by a selfish god. another one of the worst things that can ever happen to anyone is to not be loved by a selfish god. (hope that helps, boys!) even in betraying everything else, Illario can't bring himself to hurt his grandmother, because that would defeat the whole point. who would he defiantly be proving himself worthy to, without her. in love, devotion, submission, hatred, frustration, bitterness, everything is defined in relation to her, you can spot the gravitational force of it through how the dellamorte family move through time and space. she -- her love and regard and attention -- is still the sun both of their worlds orbit around, even as adults. the game might never tell you outright 'she used to beat and starve them growing up. for their own good you see, so they'd be strong (and broken down enough for her to build them up again however she wanted but I'm sure that's incidental)', but if you know even a little bit about how these dynamics can work the writing is on the wall everywhere you look and all the more unsettling for it.

follow lucanis' freeze-logic and fraught interpersonal catch 22 irreconcilable mixed emotions problems back far enough, looong before the ossuary entered the picture, and you start to see caterina's ghost around every fucking corner. she is so proud of him. (well, she would be. she made him. she forged exactly the knife she needed and it rests willingly, devotedly, in her hands, it would return to her every time because it doesn't know love as anything but to be a knife. his tama never taught him how to be anything else. his biggest fear with her is that she won't even want him back, the way he is now.) to the best ability of her soul, whatever parts of it survived a lifetime of crow politics and 'five children, eight grandchildren, only Illario and me left now', I think she really does loves him. he certainly loves her, with all the sincerity and artless desperation of a child, of the little boy he was once. and what she's done to him (and to illario, for all his shitty gremlin scar-ass antics lol) is awful. the harm is real, and the love is real, and trying to find a way for these two truths to exist in the same space is driving all three of them their own individualized forms of insane. you know. the way only family can and so often does lol.

through implications and short glimpses and having to put the pieces together yourself, you can have the feeling that there is very genuine mutual love and attachment in this relationship... and that beneath that there is something so profoundly wrong. and the sneaking '...oh shit it gets worse the longer I think about it' horror of that is more effective for me at least than the stark in-your-face presentation of the facts of the matter could have been. the love is here. the love is here. it only ever makes it worse.

[zvdvdlvr]

Take Care of You + Silco

Synopsis. After an argument with Jinx, you comfort Silco as best as he’ll let you.

A/n. I want to start a series of Silco x jinx’s eldest sister!reader. Let me know what you think :p

You’d heard through the grapevine that Jinx had gotten into an argument with Silco. Now, doing odd jobs all around the Undercity (sometimes being recruited in the bright, shining streets of Piltover), you couldn’t do anything to calm your youngest sister’s mind when you were miles away. 

When you did get home though, you immediately greeted the bouncers of The Last Drop with an exhausted smile and asked how bad he was doing.

The guy on the right- Cassin, if you remembered correctly- sighed. “It’s a relief to see you,” is all he said. You grimaced, knowing it had to be bad. “Jinx left about five hours ago and it’s been getting worse and worse. For everyone’s sake…”

Verin- the man on the left- finished, “Go talk to him.”

You nodded. “Have a good night, boys,” you told them as they pulled open the door. They replied with their usual ‘you too, ma’am’.

It was late enough. You signaled the bartender and told him to shut the bar down and start helping people out.

“Good evening,” you say in greeting after stepping into Silco’s office.

Silco doesn’t reply. He simply lights his cigar and daces the window, letting his other arm fall limply to the side. He reaches a hand up to brush back his hair.

You drop your bag of coins on the couch as you make your way over to him. Silco, to put it lightly, was out of touch with his emotions. Or rather, he wasn’t sure how to communicate with Powder- Jinx, as she had called herself after the night everything fell apart.

You were Powder and Violet’s older sister- the eldest daughter of Felicia and Connol. The enforcer, the empath, the scapegoat, and the vessel of unconditional love: all in one body. After the explosion that blew up the building, you remember pulling your crushed leg from underneath the rubble. Hobbling down to see Powder weeping over Vander’s body. Violet was nowhere in sight.

“Powder!” You called, limping toward her.

The little blue-haired girl tackled you in a leap and brought you to your ass. You stifled a painful, gutteral scream as your bad leg twisted even further. Powder latched onto you, staining your shirt with her tears. You leaned your head back on the cold, cold pavement and let yourself cry.

The building was still crackling with fire. You didn’t even hear them until you opened your eyes and saw him. Him.

You unsheathed the blade from your belt and pulled yourself as far from him as you could with a lame leg and with Powder mourning in your arms. “Stay away.”

Silco raised his arms to show he was weaponless. “Let me help you, y/n.”

You glared at him sharply. “What do you know about us?” When Silco took a step forward, you waved your knife in the air. He swallowed, but stayed back.

“I know you’ve been taking the blame for your sisters’ actions for your entire life. I know that you are an astounding individual with the capacity to hold your ground,” Silco gestured towards a sniffling Powder. “As well as the the smarts to recognize when you are in a situation where you cannot protect yourself or… her.”

You sneer at him. “You talk pretty, but I’m careless enough to give myself up to give her a chance.”

Silco just tilted his head. “But we know you won’t do that,” he said. “You’ve already imagine the outcome.”

You drop your arm. And when the blade clatters to the ground, so does your facade. The man approaches you, slowly- like he knows you want him to. “Let me help you, y/n.”

His eyes gleam in the light. Like two bright neon signs. Like the ones that light up Vander’s bar. You are caught in his gaze like his prey: right where he wants you. Something stirs in your belly- something unfamiliar and dangerous and… yearning.

Vander scooped you up like Silco did once. Only Violet and Powder had the luxury of being carried around. Vander loved you- that much was true, but you craved the same treatment as your sister instead of being the rational, eldest daughter everyone expected.

But as Silco slid his arms under you and carried you against his chest, you felt the feeling in your gut grow. Powder had fallen asleep against your breasts and you grit your teeth to prevent you from crying out from the pain in your leg. As the lean, muscled man led you further into the night, you looked up to see his bright eyes flicker from your bruised body to the night ahead of you as though he’d been caught.

“What can I do?” You ask him, wrapping your arms around his waist and letting your cheek press to the fabric of his clothes. He relaxes into you slightly, wearily snuffing out his cigar.

He stares out of the window for another long moment. The green illuminated the room, giving him the dramatic flair he loves so much. “I do not know what to say to her.” He turns into you, eyebrows knitted. “I… I feel like the only ome she listens to is you. She- I don’t know how to talk to her. I don’t lnow what to say. She argues so much when all I want,” he looks off, eyes clouding as he thinks of what to say. Your hands cup his face tenderly. “All I want is you. Both of you.”

His guilty whispered admission makes your heart swell. Silco has fumbled over actions and doesn’t quite know what to say to young Jinx, but he means well. “I know, Sil. She’s just… growing up. My baby sister just wants you to trust her. She’ll come back when she’s ready and- and we can all talk, yeah? Powder just needs time to cool down.”

Silco’s eyes search your pink ones. “Your rationale is incredible.”

You smile. “I’m a woman, Silco. I’ve been in her position before.”

“That too,” Silco relents with a tight smile. “How is your leg?”

You shrug. “Not like I can feel it.”

A few weeks after Silco had taken you in, your leg had gotten infected. Desperate to save you, you were taken to Singed. The muscle had a festering infection bad enough to required amputation. Eventually, the blood loss was bad enough that Shimmer was required to stabilize you. All in all, the operation was taxing on all parties involved and had put a damper on Powder’s relationship with Silco because she thought he was the one that infected her. 

Silco thought he may have cried with relief when you finally opened your eyes and soothed him with the knowledge that you were okay.

Another week later and you were getting the best prosthetics money could buy, thanks to Silco. Powder had insisted she be by your side every metaphorical and literal step of the way. 

These days, your leg ached because of the work you kept yourself busy with. Against Silco’s wishes, of course. You knew he didn’t like when you left. Everyone knew Silco didn’t like when you were just two rooms away from him. He was protective, possessive… He felt love. Stupid, passionate, unexpected love. You knew he loved you and you loved him too.

And with you constantly on your feet doing work you didn’t need to do, Silco worried. Or maybe that was just because he wanted an excuse to see you every moment of every day.

“Hey, let me take care of you for once,” you told him when he arched an eyebrow at you. A laugh spilled from your lips when Silco- as he routinely does- pulls your baggy pants up to your thigh and detaches the prosthetic limb just above your knee. Then, he pulls you into his arms, your familiar weight grounding him and reminding him of why he does what he does: for you and your sister.

Silco scoffs. “You take care of me by simply being around me. Besides, I am quite fond of carrying you to bed.” His tone lightens at the end of his innuendo and his bright eyes flicker to you. “But… if you wanted to repay my overwhelming affection and respect-“

When Silco lies you down on the bed, you waste no time in pulling him harshly onto you by the collar. “-then you know how to be good for me, don’t you, y/n?” Silco purrs out the end of his sentence. He slots his thigh between your legs and dominates your kisses.

[runninriot]

Santa's Secret

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles day 23

prompt: hot chocolate | rated G | wc: 998 | tags: Eddie & Wayne Munson, single dad Steve Harrington

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | AO3 (+bonus epilogue)

Eddie can’t wait to get out of the suit that’s been suffocating him for the past three hours. He’s still sweaty and his hair is a mess after wearing the wig and fake beard combo for so long but he feels better once he’s changed back into his regular clothes.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Eddie stops for a moment. He looked so different dressed as Santa, could’ve been fooled by his own reflection wearing that costume. There’s no way Steve actually realised it’s him. Maybe what Eddie thought he saw in Steve’s eyes wasn’t recognition, but confusion.

They haven’t seen each other in years and apart from that, it’s not like they’ve ever been… close. Sure, Steve probably knew of him – they’ve both been somewhat popular in high school, although for very different reasons. But still. It was silly of Eddie to think the smile he gave him was one of familiarity. More realistically, it was just a silent thanks for how he handled the little girl’s nervousness, brought a smile to her face by playing into her childlike wonder.

And that’s okay.

In the end, Eddie did have a great time pretending to be Santa for a while. He’ll never tell Wayne, though, unless he wants to hear his old man tell him ‘I told you so‘.

With his shift done, Eddie strolls around the still brimming main hall of the community centre, looking at a stand with wooden figurines where a beautifully carved dragon caught his eyes.

He’s so fascinated by it, that he doesn’t notice the person coming up to him, until a hand taps his shoulder lightly.

When he spins around, he finds Steve standing next to him.

   “So, what brings you back to this shithole?“ he asks through a laugh, casual, like it’s normal for the former King and King of Freaks to have a conversation.

   “I, uh,“ Eddie stammers, staring at Steve a little star struck and maybe a little more in love because there’s that smile again and it’s blinding like the fucking sun and this time, he doesn’t have the Santa suit to blame for the fucking heat spreading in his face.

    God, grow up Munson. You’re an adult. Behave like one.

   “I’m visiting my uncle.“

   “How is Wayne? I was a bit worried when I realised that-“ Steve leans closer to whisper in his ear and Eddie’s heart stops for a moment. “-Santa sent someone else to cover for him.“

There are a million thoughts running through Eddie’s mind – since when are Steve and Wayne on first name basis? So Steve did recognise him? And why’s it so fucking hot in here?

   “You were great, by the way. I’d have lost it at some of the parents. They can be worse than their spoiled little brats sometimes.“

Eddie chuckles nervously, shrugs his shoulders and waves a hand at Steve who moves back slowly but stays close, so close Eddie catches a hint of his cologne, mingling with the Christmassy smell of oranges, and cinnamon, and apple tea, and it makes him dizzy but not in a bad way.

“Robbie wouldn’t shut up about Santa,“ Steve winks at him, “said he’s the coolest, even cooler than the tooth fairy. And let me tell you, that’s a real compliment.“

They both laugh and it feels so light and freeing; Steve makes it seem so easy to fall into conversation with him.

   “She’s a sweet kid and she loves you a lot, I can tell.“

    Loves you so much she’s wasting her Christmas wish on your happiness, Eddie thinks fondly, biting his tongue not to accidentally spill their little secret.

   “Yeah, well. She doesn’t have much choice. She’s stuck with me, since her mother decided to-“

   “Dad!“ a voice calls from somewhere behind them and when they turn, they see Robbie running up at them.

   “Speaking of the Devil,“ Steve sighs amused before opening his arms to catch her.

   “Who’s your friend?“

   “This is Eddie. We’ve been to school together. He’s grandpa Wayne’s nephew.“

    Grandpa W-hat?

Eddie must be having a stroke. Or maybe something’s wrong with his hearing because… WHAT?

Steve must realise something when he notices Eddie’s confusion, because he suddenly blushes a deep shade of red and smiles awkwardly at him.

   “S-sorry, I thought you knew that, uh-“ Steve takes a deep breath before he continues, “Your uncle has been helping me out a lot when I moved back to Hawkins a few months ago. You know, uh, setting up the house and watching Robbie when I had to go to interviews and couldn’t find a babysitter. He, uh, he’s been a real help. Robbie’s obsessed with him. Aren’t you, baby?“

   “He’s awesome! And he makes the best hot chocolate in the world! With little marshmallows and sprinkles on top!“

Eddie feels like he’s been hit by a truck, feels betrayed by the man he’s been looking up to his whole life.

   Wayne Munson, you son of a potato farmer, are living a secret life where Steve’s daughter calls you grandpa?

    Oh, Eddie’s going to have a field day confronting him with that.

   “Right?! The best hot chocolate ever! I always have mine with whipped cream on top,“ Eddie answers equally enthusiastic, doesn’t even have to pretend despite his inner turmoil because that little girl’s smile is infectious.

While listening to Robbie’s happy babbling, Eddie watches Steve from the corner of his eyes. He still looks a bit like a kid caught stealing cookies, but slowly relaxes, and that’s good, but-

Wayne definitely has some explaining to do. His uncle has always been a fucking saint, can’t not offer his help when he feels like someone’s in need of it. But it being Steve of all people, really messes with Eddie in a weird way he can’t really explain.

He needs to know more.

   “How about we all go to Wayne’s together? I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you. What do you say?“

[turtlesandfrogs]

"Spare the rod, spoil the child" was quoted often in my household growing up. Well, here's what the rod (the belt, the wooden spoon, the switch & the open palm) taught me:

1. Never admit to any accident.

2. Never admit to any mistake.

3. If you can't meet an expectation, you'd better have a very good reason, and be able to tell it in a way that won't be seen as "an excuse" or be able to lie while looking utterly miserable so you're not questioned.

4. People in authority are not to be trusted and are to be avoided at all costs. Never tell the truth to any authority figure if it's anything less positive than "everything's great!"

5. If you have a dispute or fight with a peer, it's better to avoid telling an adult/authority figure because they'll just hurt you worse.

6. If you can sneakily fix a problem that's better than asking for help. Even if it's only a temporary solution- by the time it breaks again, it's less likely that people will realize you were involved.

So yeah, people who think they have well behaved kids because they spank- your kids don't trust you, and they're making sure you NEVER find out about a lot of things that you'd probably like to know about so you can help them. You're teaching them to be sneaky, to hide, and to expect punishment anytime anything goes wrong, even if it's a true accident. You're teaching them that it's more important to escape blame than to fix a problem or heal a hurt.

You're also teaching them that it's OK to hurt people who are weaker than you.

Were you ever spanked as a child AND do you think that spanking is ok?

[caroldantops]

baby, it's cold outside

ship: dark!agatha harkness x female!reader

summary/request:  darkfic; you're invited to agatha's christmas party, but you're afraid to make a move. lucky for you, agatha is more than willing to take things into her own hands.

word count: 3396

dead dove do not eat - this fic contains dark elements including rape/non-con, drugging, hints of victim blaming. proceed at your own discretion.

other warnings: non-magic au, smut (18+), top!agatha, praise, fingering (r receiving), oral (r receiving), light pain play (agatha slaps reader's body once), i think this qualifies as whump, pet names (darling, good girl, baby, and a couple more)

(I genuinely feel like I'm missing some important warnings so let me know if you think there's something i should add here)

masterlist | ao3 link

The wind practically knocks you over as you try to climb up the few stairs up Agatha’s porch. Christmas lights twinkle in the darkness, illuminating the snow that’s gently falling. Your mittens do little to block the cold, hands shaking as you reach up to knock on the door. 

The fog from your breath hangs in the air as the door swings open. Alice greets you with a sweet smile. “Hey, you! You made it! Come in, come in, it’s freezing out here.” 

“Thanks,” you smile, stepping in and sighing with relief as warmth envelops you. “I like your sweater.” 

“Fun, right?” Alice closes the door behind you, posing so you can see her sweater in full. It has a cute silhouette of a witch on a broomstick, being pulled by a group of reindeer. “Kind of a mash-up of holidays. Speaking of outfits, you look amazing tonight.” 

“I think I’m overdressed, to be honest,” you laugh as you shed your coat. You definitely regretted asking Jen of all people for outfit comparisons - she always overdressed for any occasion, and it made you lean towards a velvety black dress. Like Alice, it seems like the other guests milling around are dressed more casual. “Maybe I should just grab my sweatshirt from my car or something.” 

“Don’t you dare,” Jen says as she approaches you. Seeing the sparkly, emerald green dress she’s wearing gives you a bit of relief. At least you don’t stand out the most here. Flying under the radar was usually your go-to. The only reason you even dared come to a party hosted by someone you barely know was from Jen and Alice convincing you that it would be fun. 

Jen soon gets distracted by gossiping with Lilia, but Alice is kind enough not to abandon you. The party is actually pretty nice, despite your initial hesitance to even show up. There’s not very many people crammed into the house - just enough that it feels cozy and chatter fills the space. 

The weather outside starts getting worse through the night, unbeknownst to you as you’re tucked into the cozy library with a few others who prefer the quieter atmosphere. 

Though the night is still young, people have started slowly leaving, claiming that they want to get ahead of the inclement weather. You start to wonder if maybe you should leave a bit early as well, but Alice assures you that if it gets particularly bad, you can stay at her place since she’s much closer. So, you put that thought aside and just enjoy your evening. 

While you’re telling Alice about a weird customer that keeps showing up at the coffee shop you work at, your eye catches a glimpse of the host for the first time tonight as she waltzes into the room. 

Agatha Harkness. The older woman is dressed in a blood-red sweater and simple dress pants, some elegant rings and necklaces sparkling under the light. She’s talking to Jen and Lillia, the former of whom being the reason you even knew Agatha. You’d only talked a couple of times when Jen would drag Agatha along on a coffee run, but you’d always been a bit enamored with her beauty. 

You weren’t even really sure what she did for work - and if your friends knew they’ve never filled you in. All you knew is that she was a very powerful woman, with very powerful connections. Even Jen, who was frankly unintimidated by most people, had to admit that Agatha was a bit scary. 

What Agatha wanted, she got. And if something tried to stop her, there would be hell to pay. 

Alice nudges you, giving you a knowing look. 

“What?” You roll your eyes at her. 

“You’re painfully obvious, you know that right?” Alice raises an eyebrow, a playful smile on her face. “Go say hi.” 

“Well, I don’t want to interrupt their conversation…” The end of your sentence trails off as piercing blue eyes meet your gaze. Instincts tell you to look away, but some unknown feeling overrides that. 

Time seems to stand still as you mull over how little you know Agatha and how much you’d like to know. She regards you, blatantly ignoring the conversation she’s supposed to be participating in. Eyes scanning you, calculating. 

Maybe even hungry. 

With that thought, you’re the first one to break, pulling out your phone to fake distraction. With your gaze now averted, you miss Agatha’s lips quirk up in a smirk. She watches as you turn back to Alice, clearly flustered, and clearly not intending on making any sort of move. 

Lucky for you, she’s more than happy to take things into her own hands. 

“Alice,” Agatha’s booming voice cuts through the noise of the party. Alice looks up as Agatha struts over, boots thumping on the floor with determined purpose. “Would you be a dear and keep those two from starting a karaoke session? They’re both about one glass of red away from breaking into Mariah Carey, and frankly I’d rather risk walking across a frozen lake right now.” 

Alice rolls her eyes, but gets up to go make sure the others behave. Agatha sighs, plopping into the now empty seat next to you. Her nimble fingers trace the rim of the wine glass she’s been nursing. “Jen said you’d be coming.” 

“Oh, she did?” 

Stupid. Of course she did, she told you she would. In your nervous fumble, you reach for the drink Alice got you earlier. It’s remained almost untouched so far, but you’re desperate for an excuse to not talk. 

And, in a true feat of spectacular coordination, you manage to knock it into your lap. 

“Shit!” You groan. 

“Oh, dear,” Agatha juts her lip out in sympathy. “On such a pretty dress too! Come on, I’ll help you clean up.” 

You take a couple of napkins and blot ineffectively at the stain. “It’s okay, this is enough to dry it at least…” 

“Nonsense,” Agatha scoffs, putting her own glass down and standing up. You look at her, puzzled as she just stands there, before you realize she’s expecting you to follow. She starts leading you through the house, down the halls that no guests were allowed in. “We don’t want that to leave a stain, I have a couple of things that should help.” 

“Thank you, Agatha, really,” you say, trying not to analyze all the decor and photos that you pass as she leads you. 

You end up being led down to the basement, carefully descending the creaky wooden stairs. The dwindling party can be heard above you, muffled music and footsteps reminding you that you’re not completely alone with Agatha. 

Agatha shuffles some stuff around, looking through the bins near her washing machine. “Dear, do you have your phone on you? My eyes aren’t great in this darned dim basement light.” 

You turn on the flashlight on your phone and pass it to her, waiting patiently as she rummages around. “Aha!” 

Her grin is illuminated by the light of your phone, and you can’t help but smile - it’s infectious. She motions for you to come closer, turning on the nearby sink. 

“Alright, give me your dress for a second.” 

“What?” Your smile fades, and you recoil back in surprise. 

“Your dress, it’ll be easier for me to clean if you just take it off,” Agatha says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She analyzes your face, and you practically see the thoughts turning in her head as your own brain fumbles for what to do. “Here, one second.” 

She grabs a couple of things from a laundry basket - a t-shirt and some sweatpants - and hands them to you. “Switch these out, and then I’ll clean your dress off.” 

You nod, taking the clothing and changing as fast as you possibly can. Your head gets stuck in the shirt for a moment, and you miss the way Agatha’s eyes rake over your bare torso and lacy bra. As your head pops out, she quickly turns her attention to your dress, rinsing it and applying some cleaning product, rubbing the fabric gently in her hands. 

“Ugh,” Agatha groans suddenly. 

“What’s wrong? Not coming out?” 

“No, the stain came out fine, but I think I wet it too much. It’s soaking, you can’t go out in this. I’ll hang it up to dry, but it’s gonna take a while,” Agatha ponders as she grabs a hanger. “You’re more than welcome to just keep those clothes for now.” 

“Oh, okay,” you say, playing with the end of the shirt. You’re resisting the urge to rub your nose against the fabric - even after having been washed it seems to smell like Agatha. “Thanks again.” 

“Of course, sweetheart, I’m happy to help,” Agatha beams. “I’m going to get this dress set up to dry, you go back upstairs and enjoy yourself. I’ll be right behind you.” 

When you get back upstairs, you realize that most of the guests have left. In fact, it seems like it’s just your friends left. Even the neighbors who live just down the street have retired for the night.

Alice spots you approaching and sighs with relief. “There you are! I was trying to find you. I’m going to need to take Jen and Lilia home. They’re in no state to drive. What are you wearing?” 

“Oh, I spilled my drink, Agatha’s hanging up my dress to dry,” you say, clearly embarrassed. Alice, the saint that she is, does not take the opportunity to tease you for being in Agatha’s clothes. 

“Gotcha.” A loud thump comes from the other side of the room, and you both look over to see Jen picking Lilia up off the floor, both of them drunkenly giggling. Alice sighs, “You’re good to drive, right? They live on the opposite side of town from my place, so if you do need me to pick you up on my way back, just call me okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” you assure her. “I didn’t get a chance to drink anything before I spilled it on myself. I’m just going to thank Agatha for helping me out and then probably head out.” 

“Okay, be safe. And seriously, call me if you need anything.” 

“I will, I will,” you instinctively reach for your phone to see that it’s charged enough, but you realize you must have left it downstairs. The trio leaves in a whirlwind, and suddenly you’re left alone. 

Well, not completely alone. 

“Good grief, did everyone decide to do an Irish goodbye?” Agatha returns from the basement and immediately makes her way to the kitchen to make herself a drink. She sees you standing awkwardly and nods at the sofa. “Take a load off, honey. Your dress will probably at least be dry enough to wear comfortably in a little while. Might as well enjoy the fireplace while you wait.” 

You hear her humming to herself from the other room, and you gaze contentedly at the crackling fire, curling your legs under you. The wind outside rattles the windows. You gasp as you look outside for the first time in a while. It’s started snowing so hard that it’s hard to see, and you can tell that it’s piling up on the streets. 

“Shit, I should really try to get home,” you start to stand up, but a firm hand is placed on your shoulder, and a warm mug is shoved in your hand. You give Agatha a confused look as she sits next to you, a steaming mug in her own hand. 

“Honey, it’s getting real bad out there. Alice said you live across town, yeah?” Agatha says, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I think it’s a bit too late to try to start driving. Good thing is, the other ladies probably made it at least back to Lilia’s place by now. They’ll probably huddle up there for the night.” 

“Yeah…How am I going to get home though?” You look at the drink Agatha handed you, realizing it’s not alcohol but hot chocolate, the top foamy with already melting whipped cream. You take a sip, sighing as the warmth fills your body. 

As you ponder your options, you take a few more sips. Agatha wipes the whipped cream that catches on your upper lip with a napkin, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of how close she is. You kind of want to shift away, but your body feels heavy, and the way she’s looking at you has you paralyzed. 

“Stay here,” Agatha whispers, breath dancing against your skin. “You can drive home in the morning once they clear the streets.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” you shake your head, taking another big sip of your drink, frowning as you realize you’ve almost hit the bottom. “I can figure something out…” 

“Doubt any cabs are out tonight.” 

“Seriously, Agatha, I appreciate the offer, but I should probably go,” you start to stand up, but are hit with a sudden dizziness, and immediately sit back down. “Woah…”

“You okay, baby?” Agatha asks, but her voice doesn’t sound concerned. Or surprised. 

Your stomach churns a bit. The room feels like it’s spinning, and the lights all suddenly feel way too bright. “I don’t know. Was there alcohol in this drink?” 

“Not a drop,” Agatha answers. 

“I dunno what’s wrong then,” you mumble, your words are slurred. Desperately, you try to put the pieces together and figure out what’s wrong, but everything feels muddled now. 

“Maybe you ate something bad earlier? Here, lay down on the couch, baby.” 

When did she start calling you that? You try to respond, but the words come out too muddled to understand. Agatha guides you onto your back, your head resting on a throw pillow. All of your muscles feel simultaneously heavy and weak, and you need Agatha to guide you down so you don’t just flop like a fish. 

“Agatha,” your word comes out as a strangled whine. “What’s happening?” 

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” Agatha says, her voice deep. She’s hovering over you, and you feel a shudder run through your body as she hits you with that hungry look again. 

Wait. 

The only thing you’ve drank tonight was what Agatha made you, but…she wouldn’t have. 

Right?

If your eyes didn’t feel so heavy, you’re sure they would’ve looked up at her wide in sudden realization. Nevertheless, it seems like she reads the change in expression on you, the shift from confusion to sudden fear. Agatha laughs, low and menacing. 

“So cute. I was almost worried that I wouldn’t even get the chance. But thank god for the others leaving early, hm?” The shirt Agatha gave you is tugged up, and her thumb catches your bra as well, pulling both articles of clothing over your chest in one motion. You try to wiggle away with what little strength you have, but Agatha shifts quickly, straddling your thighs and keeping you in place. 

“Pretty tits,” Agatha says, and you don’t know if she’s speaking to you or herself. 

“Ag’tha.” 

“Shh, darling. Just let it happen,” Agatha’s face hovers over yours, her pupils blown out and dark, and your stomach twists as you realize how much this is turning her on. Drugged and delirious, you’re at her complete mercy. And she couldn’t be happier. “I’m going to take such good care of you. I don’t break my toys. Not permanently, anyway.” 

Agatha’s lips press against yours, and she doesn’t even care that you’re too weak to reciprocate. She grips your chin with one hand to keep you in place, her soft lips peppering your face with kisses. It would be sweet, in any other context. You’re sure that her shiny red lipstick is all over your face, and that it’s leaving a red trail as she drags her lips down your neck. 

Her teeth sink in, and you give up your feeble attempts at fighting it. Agatha must feel you go completely limp (well, more limp than you already were), because she chuckles against your skin as she soothes the bite with her tongue. 

“Good girl. So good when you let me give you what you need.” 

The drugs in your system make it hard to register what’s happening. Agatha’s hands are on you, but you’re unable to keep up with every pinch and grope as she explores your body. A sharp tug of your nipples is enough to give you a jolt of awareness, and you moan pathetically in response, your body betraying you. 

“Oh, you like being hurt?” Agatha tugs again and gives your tit a sharp slap as well. You groan, drool starting to drip from your lips. “Dirty girl. Bet your pussy is fucking wet too.” 

She slips her hand under the waistband of your pants, nimble fingers finding your damp cunt. Her mouth opens in a dramatic gasp. “I was right! You like this, huh?” 

You babble nonsense in response, your no’s coming out incoherently. 

“What was that? You love it? Aw, baby, you flatter me,” Agatha kisses you again, not caring about the trail of drool on your cheek. She pushes her fingers into you, meeting some resistance as you’re not quite wet enough to take her so quickly. Your hips twist as the feeling of her fingers dragging against the walls of your cunt makes you flinch. “Take it, take it like a good girl for me. This is what you wanted, right? You were so obvious, with all that staring and how nervous you got around me. You were practically begging for this.” 

“Don’t…” 

“Found your voice again, it seems. Probably not for long.” Agatha clicks her tongue, shrugging as she shuffles down your body, tugging your pants down enough that your cunt is exposed. She kisses down your mound, groaning as she reaches her prize. Nose nudging your clit, she inhales your scent and moans, the vibrations close enough that your clit throbs in response. “Fuck.” 

All the sensations are reduced to vague feelings as Agatha starts to lick you in earnest. Warm. Wet. Feels good. Darkness clouds your vision as you start slipping in and out of consciousness. Fingers again, prodding at your hole. Thrusting in, curling, working you better than anyone ever has. When did she slip a third finger in? 

“Come on, baby, want you to cum all over my fingers,” She mumbles against your clit before flattening her tongue against it, fingers curling against your sensitive walls again. 

Your body shudders, but you can’t even tell if it was an orgasm. The woman you’ve been lusting after is fucking you through climax, and you’re not even going to remember it. Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll forget this whole thing. Or at least enough to deny it. 

Because as fucked up as it is, some pathetic, yearning part of you still wants Agatha. She’s drugged and taken advantage of you, yet there’s a part of you hoping that this isn’t a one time situation, that she’ll still want you when you’re fully awake and able to enjoy yourself. 

God, there’s not enough therapy in the world to even start to tackle that, you think.

Suddenly you realize you’re crying, salty tears hitting your tongue as you breathe heavily. Agatha crawls back up your body, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Baby, it’s okay, it’s okay. We’re done. You did so, so good for me.” 

“Good?” 

“Yes, very good,” Agatha kisses the tears from your cheeks. She rearranges your clothes so that you won’t get cold, and pulls a blanket off the back of the couch to drape over both of you. The position is awkward, since you can’t really move much, but she manages to squeeze herself into a space where she can hold you. “C’mere, darling. You took that so well. Let me hold you, pretty.” 

“Aggie,” you mumble against her skin when she pulls you against her chest, unable to conjure her full name. 

“Yes?” Agatha hums, stroking your hair. 

“Why?” 

Silence falls over the two of you for a moment as Agatha lets the question hang in the air. You can feel her heart thumping, feel the way her hands stroke soothing circles into your skin. The last thing you hear before you finally fall into a deep sleep is her voice. 

“Darling, I always get what I want.”

[kiarrahatesboys]

Realistically, today had been a good day. Most of Lena's technology worked perfectly, and any tweaks she needed to make went smoothly. Nia had bought her coffee. At a private moment around noon, Kara had kissed her cheek before flying off to do rounds on the city.

Lena, however, stands in the hallway of Kara’s apartment building wishing she could punch a hole or twelve into the drywall. Her keys - including the spare key to the loft that she had been given - fall out of her hand to the floor, and she feels the tension in her chest build.

It takes an eternal four seconds to pick them up, unlock the door, and step inside.

Kara stands by her kitchen sink, sipping from her purple water bottle. “Hi, baby.”

There is no will to look over and smile in response. Lena drops her purse on the floor and trudges straight to the bed. She falls face-first into it, feet dangling in the air.

All the blankets and abandoned clothes from this morning smell familiar. Lemon and woodsmoke – Kara. Lena likes to joke that the woodsmoke smell is because she flies so fast she burns up.

She can feel the furrow in her eyebrows, and what's worse is that she has no idea why it's there. It was a good day. She didn't even have to make a pit stop at Luthor Corp to put out any fires. There's nothing wrong.

The lack of explanation for her frustration makes her even more frustrated.

“Hey.” The mattress dips as Kara sits down. “Rough day?”

“No,” Lena says into blankets, suddenly near tears. She rolls over onto her back. “That's the thing, it was good. So why am I in meltdown territory?”

Kara’s hand is in her hair – soothing, home, safety. “I’m sorry. Let me help you?”

Lena nods, toeing off her shoes. They clatter to the floor. Kara offers her hands and pulls her into a sitting position. She helps Lena out of her day clothes and expertly offers the right pajamas. Good texture, good match, good breathability.

It takes a moment for her to start pulling them on as she prepares to go from stationary to in motion. The clean air surrounding her body after she changes helps to lessen the dread in her shoulders. Kara knows the little details to make her comfortable - hood up over her head, a fresh pair of socks. Once dressed, Lena flops over onto her side and curls up tight.

Kara leans over to kiss her head. She draws the curtains. The room becomes dark, and Lena feels her eyebrows relax. It’s a warm summer day outside, and the sun has made its presence clear. The darkness now dampening her vision offers peace.

“Do you want me around?” Kara asks, voice soft.

“Yes, please.” Lena sounds childlike. Her voice is fragile, muffled under her hands.

“Okay, scooch. Make room.”

Lena falls limp as a smile ghosts her face.

“Wow. Okay.” Kara heaves a dramatic sigh.

She feels Kara’s arms snake under her body. For a moment, she’s weightless, and then she’s gently set a foot or two over from where she was before. The mattress bounces again as Kara settles.

Lena reaches behind her to pull Kara's arm over her stomach and takes a deep breath.

“Good girl,” Kara says innocently.

“Hmm?”

“The deep breath. Proud of you.”

Lena’s body feels warm with love. “Thanks.”

The conversation lulls. Lena keeps breathing. Cool air keeps her temperature regulated under a hoodie and Kara’s body. Tension still weighs in her chest, but the accommodations matter. Kara doesn't even ask what she needs, she just knows. Lena barely has to move. She's surrounded by so much love.

“I wish I knew what was wrong.” she says into silence.

Kara hums, sounding sleepy and content.

“Like, nothing bad happened. I had a good day. Why do I feel like I want to implode?”

“You’re autistic, love.” Kara slips her hand beneath Lena’s hoodie to hold her tummy. “That happens. Sometimes there's no answer. I know you don't like that, I’m sorry.”

Lena hates how whiny she sounds. “But I want an answer! I want something to fix.”

“I know, baby.”

She sighs, then rolls over into Kara’s embrace. Having nothing to blame makes the situation feel unresolved. Agitation swirls in her gut, but she knows there's nothing to be done. Sometimes there are just days where the world is too much.

“Too much world.” Lena mumbles.

Kara puts a hand in her hair. “I know. I’m sorry. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

As much as the lack of answer makes things unfinished, the hoodie helps. Having the hood up helps. She has clean socks and a dark room. Her girlfriend loves her, and is warm and solid against her.

Despite it all, she's loved. And that’s important too.

"Thank you." she whispers into darkness.

Kara scratches gently at her scalp. "Always, baby."

Always.

[leighsartworks216]

Doctor's Orders

Zayne x gn!Reader

I was working on a longer form version of this that just Was Not Happening, but this came out so easy so it's the version you're getting

@midiplier You sent your ask while I was writing the long-form version and I wish I got it out sooner but fuck it Christmas angst I guess

Warnings: grief/mourning, hurt/comfort, Christmas, childhood friends, cuddling, crying, not proofread, possibly OOC

Word Count: 839

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The lights twinkle in a little dance around the tree. Glass ornaments hang delicately along its branches. Tinsel shimmers and shines. The star at the top stares down at you.

You wipe your cheeks with your sleeves and the back of your hands. The tears keep coming, no matter how hard you try to stop them. They pool without ceremony in your eyes and slip free without even a sob to accompany them.

Zayne lowers himself to the carpet beside you. He doesn't speak. Doesn't say that you should be in bed. Doesn't need to ask what's wrong. What he does do is offer you a box of tissues. You grab a couple and hold them to your eyes, hoping they'll suck up the moisture.

This is the better alternative. Only a couple days before, Zayne visited your apartment to find it woefully devoid of any decoration. Dishes sat untouched in the sink, laundry overflowed the hamper, and the bags under your red-raw eyes spoke volumes. When Zayne asked you to spend the holidays at his place (practically running down an entire list of your excuses to convince you to please get out of your house), you packed the essentials and settled into his guest bedroom.

"I’m sorry for waking you," you croak out with a pitiful sniffle.

He shakes his head and offers you another tissue. "You didn't wake me," he assures. You can't tell if he's just lying to make you feel better or not, but it's a lot easier to believe he is. A whole lot easier to blame yourself than odd coincidence. "If you're about to apologize for being a bother, I'd rather you just blow your nose."

You take the tissue and turn your face away as you blow your nose. "That obvious?"

"You've apologized seven times already for intruding, even though I'm the one that invited you to stay," he gripes, but there's no real frustration behind it. He reaches for a blanket off the couch. It's barely used. He unfolds it and drapes it around your shoulders. "You don't have to apologize for your grief."

You shoot him a sardonic look. "Even if I'm mean to you?"

He smiles slightly. "Especially if you're mean to me. I know you well enough not to take it personally."

"You're so weird."

"If you say so."

You can feel the exhaustion in your back, your shoulders, under your eyes. You want to go to sleep. You want to curl up in bed and shut your brain off and pray it doesn't show you anything worse. But you don't. You turn back to the tree, trace your eyes over the same ornaments you've already memorized by now, and let the tightness in your chest weigh you to the spot.

You exhale shakily into the still air. The lights become a blurry bokeh as your eyes unfocus, staring at the ornaments Zayne's parents sent him from their travels. You'd numbly helped him set it all up a few days ago. You were so checked out that the loss didn't register. Now it keeps hitting you in full force, over and over.

Zayne must recognize your internal plight because he wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his side. You fall easily into his chest. His shoulder makes the perfect pillow to cry into. He rubs your arm up and down, doing his best to ground you and comfort you in one.

"I'm scared to go back to sleep," you admit in a choked whisper. "I'm scared I'll see their faces. And then I'll wake up and they aren't here."

He rests his cheek on your head. Josephine and Caleb had meant a lot to him, too, especially growing up, before he left. Countless memories of life when being carefree was expected. When getting into trouble was the norm. Days when he was still struggling to use his Evol, much to Caleb's amusement. Days when more time was dedicated to using it to form popsicles out of soda and poor attempts at sculptures to cheer up a certain other child.

Time truly does not change much.

"We'll stay up all night, then," he whispers back, feeling awfully like two children hiding under a blanket from the monsters of the night.

You scoff even as you turn further into him. Your wet cheeks are warm against his neck. "That doesn't sound like something a doctor would say."

He chuckles. "What if I said it was doctor's orders?"

A mangled sound escapes you. Zayne can only be sure it's a laugh with how your lungs spasm with the burst of exhaled air. "Then I guess I have no choice but to listen."

It's not ten minutes later that you're fast asleep in his arms, uncomfortably sitting on the carpet as legs fall asleep and backs ache. Zayne doesn't move from this spot, the silent aegis against all your fears. He will be here when you wake up. That means more to you than any gift under the tree.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko

[dufferpuffer]

BNHA isn't exactly a shining example of great disability rep... but it has its moments - and it has things that are truly WONDERFUL.

It's a children's 'hero' story that's constantly juggling the concepts of "Don't work so hard that you hurt yourself! Eat your vegetables." and "GO PLUS ULTRA! SOMETIMES YOU GOTTA HURT TO WIN!" Which are both... difficult messages when it comes to disability. Not bad. Just difficult. It's not so clear cut for us.

Often staying healthy and keeping safe DOES hurt us. It hurts me. My day-to-day life is made worse by doing all the things I need to do to continue my alive streak: eat, drink, walk, take meds... Is keeping healthy 'PLUS ULTRA' when it's agonizing and miserable - or is letting myself live for a moment, ignoring everything for the sake of adventure and comfort, 'PLUS ULTRA' for being reckless...?

While it does touch on it, BNHA isn't out here trying to answer such questions - and I don't blame it for that. I wouldn't want it to. All Might gives a more elegant answer than any awkward moral:

"I've decided to keep on living."

All Might was a man whose body was his entire sense of self. His strength, his abilities, his smile - not only his self worth but his very identity was ultimately reliant on his health. He lived selflessly, as 'any good hero should'. His life belonged to everyone else; to the concept of work he could do for society.

So what can he feel other than anguish when he becomes disabled? His health eroded, his body ruined, his smile hollowed... He tried to live PLUS ULTRA, pretending he was fine for seven years even though it was literally killing him - because how else can he live??

He lost friends because he refused to be 'a useless shell of who he once was, rotting away in misery. A disappointment.' His friends wanted him alive... but he didn't feel like living, if it meant being 'selfish' and not giving every ounce of himself to work.

His physical health got worse. His mental health got worse. He couldn't work for as many hours as a hero so he started teaching, to squeeze every bit of use out of him... waiting for a welcome death.

"passively suicidal, who knew that his own death was coming soon yet did nothing to change its outcome" He wasn't living. He was lifting others up till his arms gave out.

But now, after so many tragedies and triumphs... hurting himself with recklessness, feeling the weight and pain of managing his health... ...He has decided to keep living.

Living. For himself, for joy, for love - those things he was loathe to want for being selfish and useless... he can just be now. He has had to change his life so many times to suit his health, watch doors close around him, every time with self-judgement he would never apply to someone else - all for the goal of being useful.

Now hes finally decided to make himself a priority. He's learned how to enjoy living. To see himself in his drastically different, less-able, sick body... and to love it. "I've decided to keep on living."

It genuinely does mean so much to me that All Might lived, and he wanted to live. Like being able to see a character so passively suicidal, who knew that his own death was coming soon yet did nothing to change its outcome, decide he wanted to keep on living? To decide that he would continue to live? And actually be able to live? Also subverting the trope of the old mentor dying after passing on all he could to his student in the progress, and ending up old and retired and happy. It's just so beautiful to see

[gatorbites-imagines]

Merry Christmas!!!!

so since it’s Christmas for me rn I was wondering if we could get some cute scenario with Tim drake, like him and his bf ending up under a mistletoe, or a snowball fight

I’m a sucker for fluff and just want some cute Christmas time!!!

Tim Drake x Hero male reader

Headcanons

I had iceman from the x-men on my mind as I wrote this. How was everyones holidays? Did yall get what you wanted? I got a weighted blanket, some books and kitchen stuff. I also got blasphemous 2, I’m not that good at it.

Having to patrol Christmas night was always a bummer, but crime never sleeps. In reality, crime got worse around these times of the year since people got so easily distracted and so many things were put inside stores.

Luckily for Tim, you were invited to the manor for the holidays this year since you guys have been dating for a while. Last year Tim celebrated with your family, so now you were joining his.

This also meant you joined up for patrol, meaning the bats had a whole new surprise in their arsenal, seeing as you could control ice, cold, water, so on and so forth.

It made dealing with criminals easy, since none of the rogues were out and about. Two-face, killer croc and Firefry apparently weren’t in Arkham, but they all seemed to be more focused on the actual holidays than crime. This just left you guys with some everyday criminals.

For you and Tim, this patrol felt more like a date than anything else. Apparently, Red Robin dating one of the known heroes from another city was enough to make the people you passed feel giddy.

You had been staying with the Waynes for the whole week leading up to the holidays, so you had patrolled for just as long. This also gave the Gotham citizens enough time to set up mistletoes and little goody bags wherever you guys were patrolling.

How the hell did the locals even get a mistletoe all the way up on a specific gargoyle you two liked to sit under as you enjoyed your hot chocolate? Gotham locals scared you sometimes with how determined they were, but it did make Tim blush, if only a little.

Later on, hed blame it on how cold it was, and the fact that you were pretty much made of ice when using your powers. It didn’t stop you from giving him a small peck though, even though it leaves his lips completely pink, and his face flushed from the cold.

You end up getting scolded by some of the Gotham locals. Theres no real heat behind it. It’s more the fact that they didn’t know you were coming, so none of them prepared gifts for you.

The bats never asked for gifts, but you learn they always get some from the locals, even if they try to turn them away. You think its pretty damn neat, and you damn near cry when an older lady gifts you a scarf she stayed up all night to make. It’s even got your blues and Tims reds, since you guys are very obvious.

When crimes are as low as it can get in Gotham, you spend time making sculptures around town with your powers. Most of them are of the bats, and yeah, there’s about twice as many of Tim as everyone else. You never go into enough detail for their identities to be obvious, but it’s just your way of bonding with the city.

With Gotham having the weather it does, the snow also tends to be pretty damn sucky. Luckily for them, your powers are very useful in turning it into nice white snow, perfect for snowmen and snowballs.

Some people are weary of you because of Freeze, but seeing you hang around the bats gets people outdoors. You being as friendly as you are, supplying people with snowballs into their hands, also helps.

None of the bats are really the type to just come down and play in the snow like you, throwing snowballs after some of them does help. Soon Nightwing, Spoiler and Signal are mixed into the snow fight.

The others are too serious or weary to just let loose. You know the other bats are as vigilant as the ones watching from the roofs, so are you, but you do wish your boyfriend would join.

You get him back later by shoving snow down the back of his suit when he isn’t paying attention to you. Tim can’t get you back since you’re pretty much made of ice, but he gets you back one way of another.

The holidays with the Bats is a whole experience, since they come from so many cultures. Theres so many different traditions and food, and its all worked into the celebration somehow.

Even a couple of your own traditions are worked into the celebration, if there’s anything specific your family does during the holidays, that Tim picked up last year.

You guys all get together to watch a movie together as well, even if some of the bats argue and throw some punches. The normal animosity between some of them is put away for the day, if there is any. But with a family that size you wouldn’t be shocked if someone was arguing.

You and Tim cuddle during the movie, of course, and you’re also wearing matching Christmas sweaters. They’re Green Lantern themed, and you note that none of the family members are wearing Batman shirts. Later you learn that this is one of their traditions, since Bruce one year got broody about it. Now he joins the tradition by wearing a superman sweater.

Theres mistletoes all over the manor, mainly because of you and Tim, and whoever else is brought to the manor as a romantic partner if there are any.

Tim is not the most comfortable with kissing in front of his whole family, so instead it just becomes pecks on the cheek. You end up freezing Jason’s tea right in his mug after he makes enough jokes about it.

In the morning you and Tim share gifts in his room, just the ones meant for you two, before you guys go down to join the others, in matching pajamas, obviously.

Before you guys leave Tims room he gives you a kiss that’s almost enough to make you melt, as payback for the snow in his suit. You don’t mind too much, even if some of his family joke about your red face and how smug Tim looks.

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

i just came by this post and i had to address it.

wow. that is a controversial take. and an objectively incorrect one.

i'll just preface this by saying that i'm not satisfied with arcane's finale either. i think it completely went against its own message in the end, and a lot of the arcs were resolved poorly.

but this take is still wild. let me break it down one by one:

there's nothing wrong with the "power of love/friendship" trope. the only problem is that

1. spop entirely focuses on romantic relationships. fuck familial relationships, fuck platonic relationships, the only thing that matters is romance.

2. most of the ships are either forced with no prior buildup or straight-up toxic.

horde prime as a whole was a poorly written villain who was only introduced because catra and hordak were "redeemed". that alone makes the entire finale weak, because horde prime is not as much of a threat as catra was. he's just a placeholder.

i'm convinced that the only reason they introduced the failsafe and the heart of etheria was because horde prime wasn't intimidating enough to keep the audience captivated.

mara convincing adora to stay alive would have been a touching scene if the message wasn't that adora should date her abusive sister.

i'm sorry, did we watch the same show? because how the fuck can you say that catra is no longer abusive after her redemption after watching all of this???

oh yeah, catra pushing adora to the ground and guilt tripping her for trying to save the world wasn't abusive at all. catra constantly screaming at adora for the smallest reasons isn't abusive, that's just catra's little quirk! /s

you would have to be blind to watch all of these instances of catra continuing to abuse adora, and still think that she has changed.

caitlyn hit vi with her rifle, yes, and I'm not going to defend that at all. i agree that it was completely unwarranted, regardless of her reasons. but caitlyn's actions are nothing compared to catra's.

you can love or hate caitvi, i literally don't care. but you can't hate caitvi for being "toxic" while acting like c//a is a healthy ship.

“catra ceased all intentions of being enemies with adora & glimmer and learned to love & fight for etheria”

oh yeah, that's why she kept taking jabs at the princesses and bragging about how many times she has defeated them. that's why she never apologized to glimmer for killing her mother, or to mermista for colonizing her kingdom. oh wait, mermista was very conveniently chipped so that poor catra wouldn't have to deal with all that, right?

let's be real, the only reason catra sided with adora was because she literally had no other choice. she was backed into a corner. she wanted to work for horde prime but since he was willing to throw her out, and the original horde was in shambles, catra's only choice was to join the rebellion. she does not care for the princesses or for etheria.

“catradora never had a power imbalance and fought pretty equally”

this just made me laugh. did this person even watch the show? catra had power over adora 90% of the time.

there were very few instances where adora had power over catra and usually in those instances, catra would attack adora in some way to bring her beneath her.

again, i have my complaints with caitvi. i don't think it's a perfect ship and i'm not going to defend the shitty parts of it. but catra has literally used every single type of abuse on adora - physical violence, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, guilt tripping, kidnapping, attempted murder, victim blaming - and y'all still think that caitvi is worse? be fucking for real.

five seasons isn't enough screentime to wrap up arcs in a satisfactory manner? come on. spop had plenty of time, the writers just didn't plan everything out. they absolutely did not make the most of what they had to work with.

they had 5 whole seasons and still decided to shove catra's redemption arc into the final one, completely rushing it and for what? so that adora had someone to smooch?

the conflict between glimmer and adora could also have been handled better. it was a complex situation, especially considering how catra and shadow weaver was the ones driving them apart. it shouldn't have been solved with a simple “i'm sorry, everything was my fault” and “lol it's okay we good now” like???

again, i'm dissatisfied with arcane's ending. i think a lot of the character arcs were sabotaged and there was too much going on in general.

but i don't think anything can compare to the character assassination in s5 of spop. everyone magically forgot about catra's crimes and forgave her; capable characters were suddenly incompetent and foolish so that catra could shine; and adora, who had completely moved on from catra, was now once again catra's doormat.

you can criticize arcane if you want but this post was just stupid. spop's final season was just as bad, if not worse than arcane. at least arcane managed to write a believable redemption arc for jinx within those 9 episodes - something spop couldn't do with five whole seasons.

[08melancholie]

Amos and Micah's Relationship; The Letter.

I had a quick interaction on twitter about Amos's letter to Micah and GOD, we need to talk about it a little more in-depth, because I am so insane about their relationship.

If you aren't aware, Micah has a brother; Amos Bell. You can find a letter sent back by his brother in response to whatever Micah has written him, which is the following:

You can immediately feel the disdain from Amos to Micah; bluntly threatening him, telling him he wants nothing to do with Micah, etc. and that simply breaks my heart for Micah in the worst way possible. Micah wanted a relationship with his brother, and because of his poor lifestyle, it was all too late, and a relationship of any kind, or reconciling, was out of the question now.

This circles back to their father, of course, Micah Bell II. I feel that blaming him here is justified; but the case is so for a lot of things Micah does/says too. I've talked about how I think that, if Micah got out of the crime lifestyle that he led with his father—like Amos did—he would have had a somewhat normal rest of his life. If you've ever been in this type of situation, being influenced or coerced into something by any authority figure, or even any person in general, you'll know that traditions, opinions and views stick for a long time, and they don't fade out so easily, even after you don't have those people preaching those beliefs to you anymore. Micah could have gotten out no problem, but the next issue would have been getting what his father taught him out of his head. It clearly didn't fade canonically, seeing as he quotes things his father's told him; "Sympathy is for the weak", for example. He quotes it at the fire, saying it's 'one of the thing his daddy's taught him'. I think that, in either scenario, Micah would have been doomed, and that is even worse to me than his current situation.

I'm always curious as to what Micah could have possibly written in that letter. The most hurtful one for me might be knowing Amos has daughters, and that he's an uncle that the girls will never meet, or even know of, probably. Maybe Micah wanted to reconcile to meet them? Can you imagine, if Micah wanted to be an uncle? I think that wouldn't be so out of character, seeing as he never settled and therefore never had any family left other than Amos, so knowing he had nieces might have driven him to write to Amos. And that alone really makes me feel bad, as much as I don't want to feel bad for Micah—I really, really do. Micah wanted a relationship with his brother—and maybe his brother's family—but it could have never been, because of what he 'chose' in his life.

oh boy i am very sad about them :(

[talesfromawannabewriter]

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

Cain thought good and hard about what he wanted. On the one hand there was the possibility of having to deal with the overbearing mess of his father and Charlie. On the other….His mom needed him. That was enough to make up his mind.

Cain: (Nods) let’s go.

Satan smiled at his mate and immediately conjured a portal to where Adam was.

—

Adam screamed as he felt another contraction hit him. It had been so long since he felt a great pain such as this. He didn’t even get periods up in Heaven, because again it was Heaven. Meaning no physical pain. Currently he was lying in a hospital bed, sweating bullets while all the doctors and nurses kept jittering about.

As for Lucifer he was trying his utmost to comfort his mate.

Lucifer: It’ll be alright love just breathe

He demonstrated

Lucifer: Three in, one out. It’s easy

Lucifer regretted those words the moment they came out. Adam turned and for the first time in a while gave him the scariest rage filled expression he had seen since he was still an angel. Possibly worse.

Adam: Lucifer is you want your penis to remain intact by the time our daughter is delivered then I suggest you shut the absolute fuck up!

The words came out in a low growl as his eyes flashed yellow. Adam then went back to trying to block out the pain. After about a minute of that a behemoth nurse came up to him asking if he wanted an epidural.

Adam: W, w, what’s t, that?

Nurse: An epidural your highness is a drug used on delivering mothers so that they won’t be able to feel any kind of pain, just slight pressure.

The nurse suddenly found herself mere inches away from the Queen’s face as he pulled her in and screamed,

Adam: PUT ALL THE DRUGS INSIDE ME!!!!

—

Cain and Satan entered the hospital and spotted Charlie sitting in one the lobby’s chairs with her mate beside her. He marched right up to her and asked in a serious tone,

Cain: What room is my mom in?

Charlie: Cain? What-

Cain: What room is my mom in Charlie!?

Charlie: Delivery room 666 on the third floor.

Cain: Ok thanks!

Cain made a dash toward the elevators leaving all three demons behind. Satan didn’t blame him, he was just worried. Instead he sat down next to his mate’s sister and her mate as they waited. By the time Cain made it he was almost out of breath as he swung the door open. Where the sight of his mother vulnerable while a doctor invected something in him. Cain: MAMA! Adam turned to see his eldest child in the doorway. Tears filed his eyes as a wobbly smile rose from his lips.

Adam: CAIN!

The two once humans rushed to embrace each other. Cain: Oh Mama I’m so fucking sorry. I never meant to cause any stress or for my sister to come early. Please, please, please forgive me.

Adam: There’s nothing to forgive. Cain I’m the one sorry for pushing you when you obviously weren’t ready. I just didn’t want discord around our baby. But I know you can’t force people to like each other. Someday you’ll see how much those two love you. But I can’t blame you for being angry at your father for not listening or your sister for not understanding. And I wish I can say more but I’m about to have another contraction so if you’ll excuse me AGHHHH!!!!!

Adam screeched as he rode out the pain. Thankfully, it wasn’t as long as the first ones. It meant the medicine was already kicking in. Cain: Mom is there anything I can do? Like get Dad! Wait where is he?

He noticed the lack of his father.

Adam: He went out to get me ice chips and check on Charlie. Hopefully by the time he gets back the pain meds will have fully kicked in.

Cain watched, completely helpless as his poor mother started to clutch his belly as another one hit him. He winced feeling pain just from seeing his mom in pain. He still remembered back on Earth when it happened. Unless one of them could help they were to remain outside the den. By order of their papa.

When some of his brothers and sisters learn to become mid wives did Cain ms worry slightly dull. However, there was still the heartbreak of not being able to take the pain away. Something that when he learned why it happened made Cain curse the angels. Looking back it was probably one of the reasons they made him commit the first murder. Still Cain wanted to help his mother relax, to ease the attention and get his mind off of the pain. At least until there was none.

An idea popped into his mind like a light bulb. Tenderly he grabbed one of Adam’s hands, the other reaching around to his back and began rubbing soothing circles. Both on his back and hand. He then began to hum and Adam instantly recognized the melody. It was the same one he used to sing to Cain.

As the song progressed Adam’s anxiety dwelled along with the pain. Until finally it was gone at long last. He reached a shaky hand to Cain’s head and tussled his fluffy hair affectionately. Adam: Thank you my sweet baby boy. You’re a good son.

The First Anti-Christ

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

(excuse me for the long prologue)

Anti Christ, the child of the fallen one, the devil. Everyone knows of the name and what it means. However, they don’t know of WHO that child is do they? Everyone thinks that the child will make themselves known as they bring on the end of humanity. What people don’t realize is that the anti-Christ has already walked upon the Earth.

In fact he was the first to be born on the planet. You see he was one of the very first humans. The very first child and son of the mother of humanity, Adam the first omega. His name was Cain.

Now many must be wondering on how this came to be. Why did it happen. How and why did the first omega manage to give birth to the fallen one’s offspring. All will be explained here, in this story.

A long, long, long, time ago when the Earth was still young the creator of it had decided on what its final inhabitants would be. They were called humans, the very first of their kind. He made them into something special. With their names came their designations.

Lilith the first woman and alpha

Adam the first man and omega

He made the two to be companions, to watch over another as one would for a friend or as he hoped like siblings. However, his other creations had other plans. While the Lord was busy attending to his purpose of watching over the universe. The other creations, the angels went down to the humans and they told the two that they were more than just companions. They told them that they were mates and they would bring forth true humanity.

Both were confused and asked how? The angels told them that once a month Adam’s womb would welcome Lilith’s seed and instructed him for when the time came for Adam to lay on his back and to spread his legs for his mate. When they heard of this both were rather disgusted by it. They hadn’t known each other for long but they simply weren’t compatible in that way. They couldn’t even bother to be friends for they both had too many differences that often clashed with each other.

While Adam was energetic and outgoing, Lilith was reserved and careful. It would often cause arguments from the two, especially when it came to their duties. Their first duties, of naming and caring for everything in the garden. Lilith thought Adam to be immature. Adam thought Lilith to be demanding. Both seemed to think that nothing was ever good enough for each person. One thing they both could agree on is that they did not wish to be mates.

Still Adam did not wish to upset the angels and simply bowed his head and nodded submissively. They began to explain other sets of rules that both were to follow. Lilith as the alpha was to always provide and care for her omega. Adam as the omega was to always follow her way and submit to his alpha. Both were to bring children into this world.

Lilith would become the father of humanity. While Adam would become the mother of humanity.

Lilith, disgusted at the thought, disagreed wholeheartedly. She fled from the garden and away from the omega. Hoping to never set another foot in there again. She was found by someone, an angel of the Lord himself, whom she would soon call a friend and sometime after that a husband. Though she didn’t trust him at first she eventually told the angel of why she ran from paradise.

The angel was shocked and confused. Why would his siblings do that? Why would they mess with his Father’s creations that way? He wanted so badly to go up there and tell his Father of what they had done to Lilith. He knew that they would somehow find a way to pin the blame onto him.

That is why he came up with a new plan. To meet and talk to Lilith’s supposed mate. What he didn’t know at the time was that the omega was actually his true mate.

He crept into the garden, careful not to aware the elders of his presence. What awaited him in the garden was not what he expected. A true beauty, one that took his breath away. Though he had thought Lilith to be pretty. She was nothing compared to Adam.

His soft brown hair, honeyed eyes that sparkled, and tan skin that was splattered by freckles. His Lucious curves was enough to drive him insane. The angel managed to open his mouth and introduced himself. His name was Lucifer, the angel of light and God’s most favored son.

[gouraminnow]

One Piece / Straw hats with a Reader who struggles with ASI (Autistic Self Injury)

Warnings: Self harm, primarily

ASI is sometimes referred to as Non-Suicidal Self Injury, and it's typically not done deliberately the way "standard" SH is. It can be because of both under or over-stimulation, or sometimes it can just be a form of stimming that happens to be physically harmful. This isn't exclusive to autism, it's also common w/ compulsion based disorders such as OCD.

Disclaimer: I'm not a professional of any sort I'm just a guy who has it. My experience is not universal and most of this will be based on how I experience and deal with these problems.

POST THAT CATERS TO ME BEFORE ANYBODY ELSE HERE WE GO!!!

In all honesty One Piece is so chock-full of quirky and frankly weird people that I don't think an autistic person would phase most characters all that much. Not saying ableism wouldn't exist at all, but like. Franky is here. I don't think most lower-support needs autistic people would even be noticed by anyone other than some of the doctor characters and I don't think high-support needs people would be treated badly (By the more... decent characters, anyway). I mean hell I will always go to bat for autistic Luffy hcs, as well as Robin and Usopp to a degree but ANYWAY!

Before everyone is used to it, the site of you doing it (while upset especially) has everyone scrambling to grab you and stop it from continuing. There is… a good chance this upsets you even more, having your new crewmates suddenly swarming you... it takes a bit of back and forth, explaining that this is just normal for you.

Luffy is the one I thought of first... I've always been a biter. Whether it's nails or biting open the skin on my hands it's one of the forms I personally struggle with a lot. Now I may think Luffy is autistic but this does NOT mean I think he'd immediately understand/get it. Obligatory "autism is a spectrum" spiel, a lot of us butt heads if we have conflicting symptoms/struggles. Luffy is sympathetic, and worried about you, but he's also very blunt and there's a good chance he'd argue with you over it. What are you upset about? Clearly something's wrong, if you're doing this. What do you mean you don't notice? You're bleeding. Doesn't it hurt? This is bad for you. He's worried, so just cut it out already!

You tell him it's just an impulse you don't think about, like wiping your nose or tapping your foot. It doesn't really hurt until someone points it out, or if you accidentally do something really bad. His brows screw up, and he stares at you very intently. He says if you can't stop, then he WILL help you the next time it happens. You're a little put off, and have the suspicion that he doesn't really get it, but... well, he clearly means well. It's nice that he worries about you, and that even while ignorant in some aspects of his concern, he doesn't belittle or blame you for these behaviors... ultimately, you feel pretty okay about how things went.

Until the next time he sees you doing it, he launches across the ship to shove his nasty, grubby-ass hands into your mouth. "It doesn't hurt me!" he exclaims, while you try to cuss him out and avoid gagging on his stupid, rubbery fingers. "You need to bite, so bite me! This way hurts nobody, shishishi!" You shriek, the two of you toppling over onto the deck. Sanji or Nami smack him over the head to get him off of you. It wasn't what you'd call helpful, but... if he's out on deck or in the room with you, there's a little self-check you run through to make sure nothing your doing will warrant... that. So maybe it does sort of work?

Luffy has a similar approach to other forms of ASI too. Skin picking and hair pulling? Hitting yourself? Yeah he's going koala mode(animal that clings. Not the character) and wrapping himself around you, restraining your limbs. Which unfortunately has a high chance of making the urge worse, if it's compulsion based...

Now, Chopper has heard of this, and read about it, but he hasn't actually seen it in person yet. The first time he sees you doing it, it's shortly after you've joined. He goes to meet with you- every new member gets a check-up just to make sure everything's in working order! He finds you in the aquarium bar, absentmindedly gazing at the fish... but when he calls to you, you turn, and reveal the bloody mess of your hand- nails chewed far past the quick. He freaks out, which probably freaks you out, which attracts the attention of the others, and...

Yeah. That could've gone better. It takes a bit for you two to calm down. There's a chance he might think this is a more standard form of self-harm, and feel guilty because you're so unhappy you'd do this to yourself... when he learns the actual reason, he... still feels pretty guilty for not noticing or considering the possibility sooner. But he's the one who briefs everyone else on the details, possibly even you if you don't know you're autistic or why you do these things. I don't think these types of diagnoses or the terminology surrounding them are well known in the OP universe, so there's a good chance you don't have clue what your own problem is. Either way, everybody knows now.

Chopper lays down the basics. There's the passive SH you don't even notice, reflexive the way scratching an itch or brushing away hair is. Then there's the kind that you do because you're upset or overwhelmed in some way. It's not so simple as just stopping. You need other outlets when you feel the urges start up. He works with you to try and practice healthier grounding and coping strategies, and the others fall in line.

Nami isn't great about it if she sees it before Chopper tells everybody what's up... means well, but scolding you or grabbing you directly does not help the urges go away. She means well, but she's used to the other knuckleheads and their more... deliberate brand of dipshittery. Much more patient once she's been told the details, whether from you or Chopper.

If Nami catches you picking at your skin, it's pretty common for her to hand you a tangerine to peel. It's similar enough to skin, she reasons, it might be a good alternative. And then you can eat it afterward instead of chewing on yourself. It's a two-in-one solution! Both of you fail to consider how easily citrus juice gets inside a hand-wound though... after the first incident, it's a solution for picking at any other body parts. You can hang out in the map room with her for a little bit of peace and quiet, as long as you don't distract her. She might explain some of her work to you if you're interested.

She'll smack around any of the others if they upset/overwhelm you, whether it's actually enough to start up the sh. Her yelling might not help, but it is nice to feel supported... she'll get you jewelry to fidget with instead, and take you clothes shopping for things that don't set off sensory issues(AND look flattering, of course). Her and Robin will paint your nails. The dried polish is another better peeling/picking alternative to skin and hair. Nami adds the prices of the jewelry and nail polish to the debt of whoever accidentally sets you off.

Robin is a little better about it. If you hit yourself, or bang your head against another surface, she'll use her power to summon hands that cushion your blows. If she sees the scratching, hair pulling, etc. she asks you about it- the question usually enough to ground you and realize it's happening, if you aren't already.

She's good at redirecting you. Has you come relax somewhere quieter with her if you're overwhelmed. Works with Nami in regards to the clothes and nail polish, but also has good chapstick recommendations, since chapped lips are a big problem for lots of people with dermatillomania.

A relaxing person to be around in general (unless you're offput by her morbid comments) and is good to talk to. You admit you feel a bit ridiculous having these issues on a crew chock-full of such accomplished individuals. Childish, even. She chuckles, asking how you can say that living on the same boat as Luffy, of all people? You're hardly the only person here with self-destructive habits and it's far from your only defining trait. And though for differing reasons, both her and Brook commiserate with you regarding the loneliness and feelings of isolation a lot of autistic people face. The struggle of not understanding or being understood in turn...

Insists on you joining her and Nami while they relax, on occasion. Makes Sanji dote on you too, if you aren't a woman and he isn't already.

Speaking of Sanji, he's also good at redirecting you. The kitchen is his domain, but if you're in a rut and it'll help keep your hands busy without overwhelming you, he'll give you something to do. Help chop, help peel, here the eggs are done boiling so be a dear and help with the ice bath, won't you? Won't let you chop onions or chilis even if you insist you'll be fine.

And if you're a chewer/biter, he always has some sort of snack to give you. Finds you chewing your knuckles and shoves some Hors d'Oeuvres at you. Takes care to figure out which textures you like vs. can't handle as well. If you're hitting yourself, he sticks some thick oven mitts on your hands. It's not... perfect, by any means, but it's better.

Zoro hears the way you talk about some of it. The feeling of some sort of tense, uncomfortable energy that fills you, and the desperate need to get it out. Tearing at yourself, hitting yourself, banging your head against something to try and alleviate the feeling. He... thinks he sort of gets it, actually. Not in the same way but he gets antsy and weird if he doesn't get to do something active for too long. Is it something like that..? Passively mentions that weight training might help. It's worth a shot, and you're free to come join him if you'd like to try. And you think it over. Maybe the straining of your muscles would provide a similar and healthier form of relief, while also achieving something productive at the same time... so you make your way up to the crow's nest one day, and he's happy to see you there, truly!

But... Zoro has come a long way since he first joined. He knows he's stronger than you, but misjudged just how big the gap was. He walks you through the proper postures and stances for lifting, only for you both to face a bit of a rude awakening...

You can't lift any of his weights... both of you feel a little awkward, to say the least. And you're a bit disheartened. He makes a plan to get a beginner's set for you, but Usopp and/or Franky probably beat him to the punch and build a training set.

Usopp and Franky work together. Or, well, more like they both get the idea to design fidgety little devices for you, and Usopp nervously tells Franky that they probably shouldn't double as armable explosives or mini missile launchers. There should probably be a clearer line drawn between something you absentmindedly fiddle with and a weapon of mass destruction. He nods earnestly. That's a good point, bro... Guess they'll just make em both separately! SUUUPERRRR!!!!!!

If you have hair pulling issues, Usopp suggests some sort of bandana to cover and pull your hair back like his, just as an added barrier between your hands and your scalp. On top of that, he insists on wrapping bandaids on your fingertips to make picking of all sorts much harder, and makes little finger-caps with Franky when the bandaids also interfere with more regular tasks. For hitting, with Chopper's advice, they make padded gloves, vests/coats to wear that help cushion the blows. They make more covert options too, like chest guards that can be worn under normal clothes. They run their drafts by you, making sure they're not uncomfortable to wear.

Franky's "SUUUPEERRRR!!" is just as likely to become a stim as it is to be overwhelming, honestly. He fashions some noise-canceling headphones for you. When Nami learns about these, she wants her own pair, too.

Brook is always ready to help sooth you with music, but sometimes the elegant notes of a violin can become a pitchy whine to you if you're already overstimulated. It just depends on the situation. It can get to him if he accidentally makes things worse for you, but he tries not to take it personally.

But it often does work. If he's not adding to a racket and things have quieted down, sometimes starting up a song will have your hands fall to your sides without you realizing you were hurting yourself in the first place. He's very giddy about it when he pulls this off but tries not to be obvious. Subtlety isn't exactly his thing, though.

He makes a joke from a place of concern- that if you keep tearing at yourself like this, you'll end up a skeleton just like him. If it bothers you, he'll never make a joke like it again. He isn't trying to be cruel, he just likes to deal with things by being silly. If you do like it, and he gets a laugh out of you, it becomes a running gag. "You know, they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. But as much as I would enjoy having another skeleton on board, this really isn't good for you..."

[ro-is-struggling]

The hell we both made for each other || Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You love Matt with all your heart, but you can no longer put up with the risks of his double life.

Warnings: ANGST like so much fucking angst, there is no happy ending only tears. Also I wrote this with a fem!reader in mind but I don't think there is any direct mention to the reader's gender, so keep that in mind!

English is not my first language

Word count: 2000

He was late.

Again.

And he stumbled into your apartment, beaten and covered in blood.

Again.

You wanted to ask him to leave and find some other fool who was willing to tend to his wounds.

But you couldn't.

Seeing Matt in that state pained you, but it was also becoming a common sight. You were the one he went to after making his nightly rounds, beating up bad guys and saving innocent people in his attempt to make Hell's Kitchen a safer place. But as much as you wanted to help him heal his wounds and listen to his stories about the evil in the city, it was killing you inside.

Every night was a struggle. You would spend hours curled up on the couch, first aid kit resting on the coffee table next to your phone, waiting for news. Time stopped when the sun went down and didn't go back to normal until you saw the shadow of the Daredevil suit creeping up the hallway. The relief of seeing that he survived another night was always short-lived. The moment you heard his voice everything started moving way too fast as you rushed to relocate his bones and close his wounds before he bled to death in your living room.

Living like this was exhausting, but there was nothing you could do about it. The alternative was to get out of his life before the pain became too overwhelming, but that would only make things worse. Seeing him hurt broke your heart, but spending the night not knowing what had become of him on the streets would drive you crazy.

The most frustrating part of it all was that you had gotten yourself into this, so you had no one to blame for the void you felt in your chest every time Matt was out. You had been the one to offer to patch him up after he saved you from those drunken men who got really handsy with you that one time. You had let a complete stranger into your home, and not only that, but you had allowed him to come back. You were the one who fell in love with him even though you knew what he did. It was all your fault, you had backed yourself into a corner that you didn't know how to get out of.

Matt had never lied to you or given you false hope. You knew very well that being Daredevil was extremely important to him. It was his mission, his calling, and you knew he wasn't going to give it up even if you asked him to. He couldn't do it, or rather, he didn't want to do it, so being with him meant accepting his bloody and dangerous side. And at first you thought you could do it, but now you weren't so sure.

“You're quiet,” Matt's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. It sounded raspy and you wondered if it was due to exhaustion or the screams of pain he'd probably let out when the wounds you were cleaning and bandaging were inflicted on him. “What's going through your head?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged. You didn't want to get into an argument right then.

“I thought you knew better than to lie to me.” He let out a smug chuckle. “I can hear your breathing and your heartbeat, I know there's something on your mind.”

“I was thinking about you...about us, actually.” You simply stated, not taking your eyes off the wound on his chest that you were finishing stitching up. And from the tone of your voice Matt knew that the conversation that would follow would not be a pleasant one.

He spoke your name, both a warning and a plea for you to stop. He regretted pressing the issue now that he knew what was coming. You had a similar conversation only a few days ago and he wasn't sure he had the energy to face it again. Lately it felt like that was all you talked about and Matt didn't know what to do to make you happy without having to push the devil out of him.

“Why does it always have to be like this?” you interrupted him, taking off your bloodstained gloves and tossing them on the coffee table next to the other red-stained gauze. “You come home late and hurt and I have to sit here and patch you up while I pretend I wasn't going crazy thinking about what might be happening to you out there... I'm tired, Matt.”

“I told you you don't have to worry about me.” He reached for your hand, but you pulled it away. This wasn't something he could fix with gentle caresses and sweet words. You wouldn't let him this time. “I know what I'm doing out there.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Is that why you come home looking like that? Because you know what you are doing?”

“It's not always this bad and you know it... Once this is all clear I'll go back to fighting thieves and rapists in the streets and I'll come home a lot less hurt, you'll see. You don't have to worry about me.” That was a lie and you both knew it. There was always going to be something. If it wasn't Fisk, it was The Hand, The Yakuza, The Punisher or who knows what else. The danger would never stop, it would just keep escalating.

“Well, Matt, but I do! I worry about you, I do...because I care about you, and I can't stop thinking about what will happen the day I'm sitting here waiting for you and you don't walk through that door.” You held back the tears that were burning in your eyes even though you knew it was in vain, Matt could hear the change in the tone of your voice.

Matt's fingers found your jaw and he turned your head carefully to face him. His hands cupped your cheeks, his thumbs tracing soft strokes over your skin. His tender touches made everything harder, it reminded you of all the good things about being with him that had outweighed the bad for a long time, but not anymore. A couple of tears escaped your eyes, but Matt wiped them away with his fingers.

“I will always find my way back to you.” He whispered and you wished you could believe him. You knew that's what he wished and that he truly loved you, but it wasn't something he could control.

“Don't make promises you can't keep.” You moved away from his touch, wiping your tears with the back of your hand before focusing your attention on arranging the first aid kit so you could put it away. You needed to distract yourself with something so as not to fall for his charms once again. The softness of his touch and the love in his words had persuaded you to silence your worries too many times in the past. You would not let it happen again this time.

“So what do you want me to do?” Matt's frustrated huff echoed in your ears.

You threw the first aid kit back on the table viciously and turned to look at him. You couldn't believe he was actually asking you that question.

“I want you to stop!”

“You know I can't do that. People need me, this city needs me.” Matt's voice was soft even though yours had risen a couple of notches.

“I need you!” You finally broke down, tears streaming down your cheeks like waterfalls. You understood where he was coming from, but you were tired of Matt putting the whole city before you. You were hurt by his indifference, his lack of concern for your well-being. You were hurt by his lack of regard for his own life. You knew deep down he loved you, but the way he showed it wasn't working for you. The love you shared hurt you in a way that wasn't supposed to and you didn't know what else to do to change it.

“I can't keep living like this, Matt. I can't keep pretending everything is okay... I love you, but being with you every day feels like fighting a battle I can't win. I can't keep watching you destroy yourself little by little... I'm tired of being the one who cares the most about us, about your own life... this isn't going to end well and I don't want to be the one left behind to pick up the pieces. I can't.”

“I love you.” Matt's broken voice broke your heart. You didn't doubt it was true, but that wasn't enough. Love wasn't enough to keep your relationship afloat.

“No more than the devil.”

Matt didn't know what to say to that. It wasn't true, but there was no way he could explain how he felt about his alter ego that you were going to understand. Daredevil was his blessing and his curse. It was his purpose, the thing that gave him a place in the world and in God's plan, but it was also his punishment, the reason why everyone he loved turned away from him. He didn't love Daredevil, but he needed him, just like the innocent people of Hell's Kitchen did. He couldn't ignore his abilities and the pleas of a city engulfed in violence and corruption because if he did, then bad things would happen because of him, because he hadn't been there to stop them.

“What do we do now? We're out of options.” Matt mumbled in a breathy whisper after a long silence.

“I don't know what to do.” You let out a sigh, letting your tired body fall back against the back of the couch.

“Could you... hold me until we figure it out? Whatever you decide, just... give me this night with you.”

You watched him for a moment, your fingers reaching out to caress his cheek without even realizing what you were doing. There was something so tragic yet so tender in his words, it was the perfect summary of your relationship. You both knew it was over. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but the end was near. So you had to take advantage of the few sweet moments you had left, and express your love for each other while you still could.

You settled into Matt's arms without saying a word. Your head rested on his chest, your ear pressed against his heartbeat. He kissed the top of your head as he pulled you tight against him, trying to lose himself in the warmth of your body and the sweet scent of your hair. He wanted to memorize all the little things he loved about you, everything his enhanced senses allowed him to know about you without you knowing it. He didn't want to lose you, but he knew he would. You deserved someone so much better than him, someone who wouldn't hurt you the way he did. He could accept you leaving if it meant you would be happy, but he refused to forget you. So he spent the next few minutes memorizing the way the warmth of your body felt against his and how your soft skin reacted to the touch of his fingers. He paid special attention to the sound of your heartbeat and inhaled the scent of your hair as if it were the oxygen he needed to live. That way he could take you with him forever.

“I wish I had two lives, one for you and one for him.” Matt whispered against your hair and the corners of your lips curved with sadness.

“I wish I had two lives, both of them for you.”

As painful as it was, you couldn't imagine a life without Matt. You loved him, with all the good and all the bad. And even though you had spent the last few days repeating how hard it was for you to stay by his side, the truth was that you would still choose him even in another life. You wanted him by your side in every life you had and that was not going to change. Your heart was determined to break and put itself back together again if that was what it took to be with him.

Matt Murdock was and always would be the love of your life.

Matt Murdock's tag list: @steviebbboi @feel-my-psycho-love

[deeplovelydark]

need to tell my parents something but maybe killing myself is easier?