#cw adoption trauma

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

hiiii i love your writing! can you write anything with ambrosius being protective over ballister (movie versions)? thank you for reading this either way!

That's so sweet! I'm so glad you enjoy it :) I've got just the thing!! Important context/summary for this piece: Ballister was an orphan, he was adopted at one point and then returned for being too rowdy as a little child. His "parents" show up. Ambrosius is Big Mad

Ballister chopped vegetables while Ambrosius flipped channels on the other side of the floor. It would be dinner time soon. He hummed and swayed to the music coming from his phone while he cooked. He disliked cleaning and he loved cooking, so this arrangement was an easy sell.

Since announcing their engagement, tabloids were, of course, annoying, so it was nicer to just spend their days off in their house, cooking, dancing, planning their wedding. It would be perfect. Neither of them wanted a big one, but it was going to be so beautiful.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He turned the skillet off and wiped his hands before proceeding over there. He was ready to turn away over-ambitious fans, or welcome in friends, or see whatever Nimona dragged back from her adventures. He was not ready for what was on the other side of that door.

When he opened the door, he saw an older couple and a young woman, smiling at him. He didn't recognize them, but there was something familiar, uneasy, that he couldn't quite put his finger on. "Can I help you?"

"Ballister, son!" The man said with a grin. "It's so good to see you again. You remember us, don't you?"

Ballister furrowed his brow. The woman spoke, "It's us, sweetie. Your mom and dad."

Suddenly it all came back. Sitting in the adoption interview, sweating, doing his best to look like a perfect child, being so so so happy when he was told they'd chosen him, going to his new house, sleeping in a proper bed, wearing clean clothes and getting affection and attention as he needed it. Then the accident, running around with his little sister, bumping into the TV, getting cuts on her arm and his eye. The hospital. Stitches. Being dragged back to the orphanage. How he screamed and cried and begged his mommy and daddy not to return him. How they didn't listen. Getting dumped back like a defective toy. Getting bullied for being returned. Nobody wanting to adopt him again. How he missed his toys and warm bed and clothes and hadn't been allowed to keep even a single thing. How he firmly believed after that, for years, that nobody would ever love him.

"Don't – don't call yourselves that. What the fuck are you doing here?"

"We wanted to congratulate you on your engagement!" The woman, he remembered their last name was Clocksmith, said with a smile.

He blinked. "My engagement?" He was engaged to Ambrosius Goldenloin. A member, albeit unwillingly, of one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in the Kingdom without royal blood. If these people were his family, they would be a part of that family too.

Too bad they never signed the papers.

"Of course, son. What wonderful news! You must be so happy. We've missed you so much. When is the wedding?" Mr. Clocksmith asked, with a forced nicety about him that made Ballister's skin crawl.

"You're not coming to my wedding. The date isn't public."

Mrs. Clocksmith stepped forward, "Ballister, sweetie, I'm sure you're still hurt, and we're so sorry, but don't family bonds run deeper than–"

"You're not my family. You never signed the paperwork. You didn't raise me. You spent two months giving me some fun house mirror reflection of a family just so you could take it all away!" He looked at their faces and saw the cold, apathetic expressions as he screamed and cried, dragged back into the orphanage. "What kind of a family does that!?"

Ambrosius, who had heard the yelling, quickly appeared by his side. "Woah, woah, hey, Bal, what's going on? Who are these people?" His warm hand slid onto the small of Ballister's back and his kind, worried eyes tore down the rest of Ballister's walls as if they were made of paper mache.

"We're his parents, it's such a pleasure to meet you, Sir Goldenloin!" Mr. Clocksmith offered his hand.

Ambrosius's eyes widened and tears slid out of Ballister's eyes. Ambrosius immediately pulled Ballister away and slammed the door.

Ballister leaned against it and slid to the floor sobbing. He felt like that scared lonely rejected little kid again. Ambrosius knelt in front of him and held him tightly, rocking gently. "I know, Bal. My poor baby. I'm so sorry. I'm going to get them away from our home, okay? I'm gonna get them to leave and never ever bother you again." He helped Ballister to his feet and led him by the hand to the sofa. "You just relax here, and I will come back. I love you so much."

Ambrosius turned on his heels and marched back towards the door. His blood boiled. How dare those people abandon Ballister like that? To return him like an object? It had destroyed Ballister. Given him problems with intimacy that didn't break down until Ambrosius chipped away bit by bit at his walls for nearly a decade.

Now they were back. Ambrosius knew why. And he hated that in some way it was his fault. If he were a regular person, they wouldn't use Bal to get to his family. The fact that they had the audacity to show up now, so flagrantly to use and discard Ballister again was sickening. He equipped his sword belt to his side and threw open the door. The people startled.

"How dare you." He growled, stepping out and slamming it behind him. "How dare you show your faces here! How dare you so flagrantly try to use him! He's not a toy or a tool! He's a person! A very sweet, lovely, kind, angel of a person! You would have been so lucky to be his parents. You treated him worse than I could ever imagine anyone treating anyone!" He seethed. "I hate that I'm the reason you came here. No, you are not his parents. You will never be a part of my family, and in fact, with one call to my parents I could probably get all of you cast out to the street!" He hated playing this card, and he was probably lying, but people like this only cared about things like that.

The father tried defending them, "Sir Goldenloin, you weren't a parent, you don't understand –"

"But YOU were! And a horrible one at that! I hope your daughter is okay because even if you loved her a million times more than you did Bal, a million times zero is still zero!" He drew his sword and pointed it down the street. "Now get the fuck away from my house or I will place both of you under arrest for harassment."

He didn't wait for an answer before slamming the door and bolting in shut. He quickly returned to Ballister, who was biting his nails, curled up on the couch. Nail biting had been an awful habit for him as a child, and Ambrosius could remember his little hands with their dirty nails beds, bitten down past the quick and caked with dried blood. The therapist said something about him not having any comfort items to hold or other stress-reducing repetitive stimuli causing him to do it. He only did it rarely as an adult. "Are you okay, Rose?"

"Of course I'm okay, are you okay?" He sat beside Bal and took his hands, gently removing them from his mouth. Ballister nodded and shuffled closer, leaning against him.

"Thank you for making them leave. I'm sorry, I don't know what happened, I-- I just shut down. It was embarrassing."

"Please don't ever worry about anything like that. I know how brave you are. I know how much shit you've been able to put up with. You don't have to put up with that too."

Ballister hummed softly and admired his engagement ring before closing his eyes. "It doesn't matter. You and Nimona are the only family I'll ever need."

Ambrosius smiled and kissed his forehead, snuggling in closer.

In a wisp of pink, Nimona appeared in the room behind them with some groceries, apparently having flown through a window. "Hey guys, what did I miss?"

[coldslaws]

song is ruler of everything by tally hall

more on the au below

this is an au based on n's beta design and Kinda following manga canon. he's more cold and callous in this than in canon though, having been mistreated even worse by ghetsis (the face scars and hidden left eye.. ). he enters his battle against hilbert secretly armed with ghetsis's hydreigon.

hilbert forfeits midway through the pokemon battle in this, not wanting to participate in n's needless fighting. when he can't talk n down from the battle, the elite four and alder show up to stop him. all of their pokemon combined, especially after hilbert already helped deplete zekrom's hp, is more than enough to defeat zekrom and corner n.

in a panic, n releases ghetsis's hydreigon to fight, but it's basically a feral pokemon. it sees n's passing resemblance to his "father"- and it turns on n immediately to attack him.

and despite everything, alder steps in and takes the blow to protect him.

[hersheysmcboom]

(If yelena was found after pietro and wanda were abducted.)

Yelena: natasha, you have to tell me what’s wrong.

Natasha: sometimes you even sound like her.

Natasha: do you know about this place: do you know anything about them, we were playing right here, just over a year ago (shows a picture of her and the twins playing on that exact same hill)

Natasha: everything I ever did, I did to protect them, but now they’re gone, but I’m still here, I wonder what would they think of me?

Yelena (hugging Natasha) well I think you’re pretty great.

[lockedtowers]

‘would cassie have been better off if her family was in her life’ her dads the j/abberwock and the one who took her her conscious to physically kill her to unlock her powers its hard to say if she’s have the same level of trauma or worse trauma but she would have had a father who loved her. in his way. which is still kinda shit.

[whoisthisguyandwhyishehere]

I have only had 1 (ONE) friend in my life who actually took the time to learn about the trauma of adoption.

[millersfinest]

untethered | e.w

00s!ellie williams & 00s!miller!reader

wc: 7.4k

series: chapter one (you’re here!), chapter two

blurb: it’s been awhile since you’ve been back home; in upstate new york where you’ve spent most of your life waking up early and tending to the animals that moo’d and meh’d. after graduation high school, and then college, the city life has stolen most of your attention. enabling you to visit only a handful of times through the years. when your lovely adoptive parents (tommy and maria miller) invite you back for a thanksgiving dinner—a troubled old flame from your childhood manages to get your attention, despite its explosive ending.

cw: lmao flip phones, some vulgar language, ellie cheating on her gf (kind of), the millers, r is a writer, elements of longing, ellie is #1 lesbian yearner in the world, some early 2000s references, thanksgiving, some physical violence, adopted kid trauma (shoutout to all the adopted kids!!), hella angst, repressed emotions, a little bit of mature content, eventual smut.

note: i have too much confidence writing for ellie. but here’s another series im starting because i realized the plot is too much for a single work on here, hence the 7 thousand words ijbol. hope you guys enjoyyy.

It was quieter upstate. Breathable and airy—you missed it more than anything. As much as you loved living in Manhattan, there was nothing like the countryside. Waking up to the sound of birds chirping and roosters crowing. Hearing the excited neighing from the horses you birthed and took care of. It was refreshing to be home again.

And, of course, you missed your parents.

They adopted you as a troubled child, and you’ve considered yourself lucky ever since. Babies and younger children were often the ones to be pulled from inconsistent foster homes, but they chose you. A pierced, attitude-ridden, thirteen-year-old who liked smoking cigarettes because they made you look cooler than you felt. And it helped you cope with the lasting effects of neglectful parents.

That trauma didn’t just disappear once Tommy and Maria entered your life. It was something that grew from nothing, and they were adamant in making your transition as comfortable as possible. You never experienced anything like it before them. Their strictness and structure did the opposite of what most would think. You went from sneaking out and smoking cigarettes to staying up late studying and finishing your favorite novels—still smoking cigarettes, though, but out your window. It was hard habit to break.

Once you realized that they could be trusted and had your best interest at heart, you gave them the right to parent you. Sure, it wasn’t easy. The three of you argued many, many times—but you respected them more than you have anyone else. Really, just for tolerating you.

The Miller’s were always very family oriented and social. Sunday nights always managed to be a grand event—Tommy grilling in the acred backyard, Maria handling the food items that could be cooked inside, and you diligently decorating and setting the table. Football Sundays were always the worst, but they were great memories to think about. That was the first time you met, basically, the love of your life at the time. Ellie Williams.

It was 1995 when you had completely fallen in love with her—only knowing her for around three years. Joel Miller wasn’t really her father, or adoptive father, he was just somebody who took care of her. He owned a guitar shop that sold, obviously, guitars and other instruments alike; as well as holding lessons for those wanted to learn how to play.

The story goes: Joel was working the register on a very slow day when Ellie showed up. There was a shiner on her eye, but she insisted that she was fine—asking for lessons with crumbled cash and dirty coins. She couldn’t afford the lessons on her own, so he gave her a job and proceeded with teaching her how to play.

She grew up similar to you; hidden under the confines of foster care. The only difference was, she was never adopted. At least not until the age of seventeen, when she’d spent so much time with Joel that she had a decorated bedroom in his house. They both had commitment issues, but after Tommy convinced him to do the paperwork… He did. Surprising her on her seventeenth birthday. However, the outcome didn’t really go to plan. Not how anyone would have expected it.

It was 1997 when she completely broke your heart… Not to be cheesy or anything.

Her seventeenth birthday was hosted at your house, on the farm. You knew her the most out of everyone, so you made it your mission to make this the best birthday ever. Decorating had become a hobby of yours after so many Sunday dinners—you spent all day stringing up lights and colorful streamers. Maria helping you out with a homemade cake that said: Happy Birthday Els! You were too anxious to write the words yourself, so you let her do it instead. You were even sure to invite the friends you shared; demanding they each brought presents to show how much they cared about her.

Joel had showed up before she did; just in time so they could all hide and jump out with big smiles on your faces when Ellie arrived. You would always remember the feeling of hearing the rumbling of her truck coming to a stop. And the shy smile on her face when everyone jumped out from behind furniture—blowing birthday kazoo’s. It was picturesque!

Dina had trotted over to her, snapping a blue paper cone birthday hat over her head. While you walked over with her birthday cake in your hands, brightened with seventeen candles. “Happy seventeenth, Ellie.” You had spoken, warmly. A bashful grin spreading onto your lips. She looked at you with such awe in that moment. Blowing out her candles and kissing your cheek, muttering a blushing ‘I fuckin’ love you’.

You knew about her surprise adoption papers before the party had started, excitement running through your veins when Joel meandered toward her—handing her an envelope of hope. Ellie took it, eyeing him, skeptically. “Open it!” You urged—that was your mistake.

Chortling, she broke open the envelope, not caring if it tore. When she pulled out the certificate, reading the words on the page, her entire face dropped. “Adoption papers?” Her eyes squinted in disgust, glaring at Joel. The smile fell from your face, lips parting in slight shock. Her olive eyes glanced around the room, seeing the fallen expressions clouding everyone’s features. Landing on your fallen face, briefly—a look exclaiming, ‘how could you’. Freckled cheeks heating up in embarrassment and… Anger. “Joel, what the fuck?” She blinked at him, shoving the papers into his chest, then storming out of the house. Hands ripping the hat from the top of head, throwing it to the ground. The screen door creaking obnoxiously as she exited. It all happened so fast.

He quickly followed her out, calling for her, desperately.

Awkwardly, you turned to the frozen people around you. “Anybody want cake? It’s german c— chocolate.” You stammered, trying to keep your composure. Looking to Maria and Tommy for some sort of consolation, you frowned, placing the cake on the counter before fleeing to the bathroom.

You clenched at the roots of your hair, pacing around the bathroom. You could hear remnants of a solo screaming match from outside the bathroom window, causing you to grit your teeth. The papers were supposed to be a good thing! Ellie had always been a hothead—easily agitated like a stray kitten is distress. There were even moments where the two of you went at it. Until one of you caved, begging for affection as an apology. Your nerves burned at the idea of her not liking the surprise—was that selfish?

Instead of remaining in the bathroom, you swung open the door with your eyes fixed on the front door. Hands clenched at your sides, you walked through the kitchen, where Tommy tried to liven up the mood by handing out pieces of cake.

He tried calling your name, but you brushed him off, pushing open the screen door with an attitude that could be felt with every step you took. The brisk autumn air hit your exposed skin, the long-sleeve striped shirt not doing much to keep you warm.

Striding around the side of the house, you seen Joel and Ellie having a stern conversation. But by the time your eyes landed on them, they were in a beat of silence. Joel shaking his head with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Ellie had her arms stubbornly crossed, frowning. When her eyes found yours, he turned around to leave. “She’s all yours…” He solemnly sighed, walking back into the house. The adoption papers crumbled up in his hands.

Biting your bottom lip, you approached her with your arms crossed for warmth. “What happened, Ellie?” Your voice dragged, tiredly. There was something always wrong with her. “We just wanted to do something nice for you… Why’d you have to go and ruin it—?”

“Oh, I’m the one who ruined it?” She scoffed, a sneer resting on her lips. ��I’m not the one who brought the fucking adoption papers!” Ellie exclaimed, gesturing broadly with her hands. When she was up in arms, she always gesticulated more. “Did you have anything to do with this? Because if you did—“

You interrupted her with scrutinizing glare. “So, what if I did? I thought this would make you happy, Ellie… Don’t you understand?”

“You had me open that in front of everyone knowing what was inside— and you thought that’d make me happy?” Her lips arched in disgust. “Clearly, you don’t know me at all.” Her words were venomous, lips twitching in anger.

There was nobody who understood you more than Ellie, and vice versa. You just got each other because you came from similar backgrounds—that was your glue. You don’t know me at all. That was new.

With your eyes growing warm with tears, your tongue rolled in your mouth. “I spent all day setting this up… For you. Because I love you, Ellie. I don’t know you— that’s bullshit if I ever heard it.” Your voice cracked, but you refused to let a tear run down your cheek. This was no time for tears—if she could get angry, so could you.

“I’ve known you long enough to have some semblance of understanding on why you’re upset, right now— that’s for damn sure.” You paused, averting your eyes to concentrate on keeping your rising emotions at bay. She watched you, cheeks still red with anger. “I’m gonna give you ten minutes— ten, Ellie! If you don’t get your ass back in there in next ten fucking minutes…” You lick your lips, shaking your head. “We’re over. Done!”

Giving a final glare, you turned to head back inside. “I can’t keep dealing with this shit.” You mutter, under your breath.

“So that’s what it is… Dealing with me?” Ellie voiced, a sliver of disappointment slipping in her moment of anger.

Wiping your cheeks, you peered over your shoulder. “What?”

“You got this perfect little life… Huh?” She began, approaching you intimidatingly. “The loving parents, the farmhouse— you became the perfect daughter for them… Gets the grades, does everything she can to appease them. This fuckin’ fantasy world that you chose to live in all because you wanted someone to love you… Fuckin’ pathetic.”

“Ellie…” You warned.

“Well, newsflash, little-miss-perfect— not everybody wants that! Not everybody wants to play pretend for the rest of their fucking life just to be—“

It happened before you could stop it, fists clenching at your sides as she bad mouthed you till oblivion. Your soft spot—and she knew all about that. Both of you grew up as kids who got into fights and disputes more times than anyone could count; you just decided to clean up your act. However, that troubled twelve to thirteen-year-old still resided inside of you. And, in that moment, she wasn’t your doting girlfriend—she was someone punching down on you.

Your knuckles collided with the side of her face, knocking into her cheek bone. Features scowling as if she were a stranger. Ellie stumbled, holding onto her face with surprised eyes. For a second the version of her you loved came through, but she quickly recovered. Her lips curling at the ends, taunting you. “I knew you still had it in you… You’re no better than me.”

There it was.

Not only was it the straw that broke the camels back—it was the truth. The ultimate truth. Behind all of your petty little arguments. Behind all her wild bursts of anger. She was jealous of you. Grunting behind your teeth, you charged at her. Taking the collar of her jacket as her back hit the gravelly ground. Straddling her, you didn’t hear the rushing feet hitting the porch. You could feel her hands settling loosely on your calves, only angering you more. “I did the fucking work— nobody else but me!” Tears poured down your cheeks. “I am better than you. Because I fucking try—“

Arms pulled you off her body, wrapping around your abdomen. It was Tommy, questioning you in your ear, but you weren’t listening. “Everything went to shit because of you! Remember that!” Dina and Jesse rushed to her side, but she only sat up watching you get pulled back inside. They glared at your forced retreat—they were always more friends with her than they were with you.

Tommy released you, with a disappointed sigh. Maria walking inside, shutting the door behind her, frowning. You heaved, looking at all the decorations that mocked you. Sparkling and shining against the dim lights in the room. The barely eaten cake sat on the counter in the kitchen making fun of you—it was all too much.

“What the hell has gotten into you, y/n?!” Maria pointedly, asked. Not really wanting a response.

“What’s gotten into me?! What’s gotten into her—!” You pointed to the door as if she replaced it.

The blond man leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter, bending at his hips. “Well, I don’t think it matters what’s gotten into her if you put your hands on her, Bug.” Tommy spoke, evenly. He was always the calmer of the two. “Did you… Did you put your hands on her?”

Maria stood with her hands on her hips. “What did we say about fighting—? And you don’t hit your girlfriend— you don’t hit the people that you care about!” She scolded, pointing her finger. “We raised you better than that…”

Your lips quivered, guilt setting in. “I didn’t mean to hit her! She wanted— she wanted me to… I swear!”

He glanced at his wife. “She wanted you to hit her?” Tommy deadpanned, pressing his lips into a line.

They both looked at you with separate expressions. Maria clearly overwhelmed with disappointment and utter disbelief. The same look she gave you when she caught you smoking cigarettes at the barn when you were fourteen—when you told her you quit. Tommy had an expression of pity, like he often did. That same look he gave when you had a meltdown at school when you first moved in with them.

More tears began to roll down your cheeks. “Maria… Tommy… She pushed me. Why would she do that? Why would she—“ You began to ramble, knees growing weak. Your strict mother-figure rushed to your side, catching you before you fell. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to— she was just being so mean.”

Sinking to the floor with you, her hands caressed your hair. Maria looked to Tommy, mouthing for him to go check on Ellie.

Outside, Ellie was dismissing the weary questions from her friends. She’d never seen you act in such an unruly way. Every time she came over, there wasn’t a hair that was out of place on your head. She was always the one acting out, swearing like a sailor. Sure, she knew about your smoking habit, but that was nothing.

Your girlfriend was envious of how everything was panning out for you—college was around the corner. You had an acceptance letter from your dream school, and without a doubt, you were leaving for the city. Leaving her behind to rot in the country. It wasn’t fair!

That adoption letter felt like pity. She wasn’t a fan of that feeling either.

As a bruise formed on her cheek, guilt settled into the pit of her stomach. Ellie had every intention on seeing the side of you that everyone talked about with a past tense that indicated warning. She needed to prove to herself that you weren’t the perfect person she saw you to be—but all that was left behind was remorse and a sore cheek.

She watched as Joel and Tommy stepped aside to talk. Their eyes glancing back and forth between the door and Ellie, as she leaned against her rusted red truck.

“I can’t believe she would do something like that… On your birthday?” Dina shook her head, with her arms crossed.

“It’s not like her…” Jesse narrowed his eyes at the auburn-haired girl. “What’d you do?”

Dina smacked his chest. “Jessie! She’s literally the victim here— domestic abuse!”

He sucked his teeth, rolling his eyes. “I’m not saying what she did was right.” Jessie began. “I’m saying that I know Ellie Williams, and I know how she is— she’s a pusher.”

The bruised seventeen-year-old scoffed.

“Yeah, I said it.” He stood tall, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You’re a pusher. Hell, you’re a professional pusher— you push people for a fucking living.” Dina glared at him, threatening to hit him again. “I mean, there was that one time… When we went into the city for that comic convention, and you completely obliterated Joel for worrying about you—“

The dark-haired, freckled teenager pushed her boyfriend out of the way taking his place. “We don’t have to relive that…”

Ellie rolled her tongue in her mouth. “Look, I know this is my fault…”

“Ellie… You’re the one with the bruise forming on your face.” She reached up, rubbing her cheek. Her wincing under her touch.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, squeezing her red eyes. “Yeah, and if it weren’t for me— for what I said… I wouldn’t have this fuckin’ bruise.” Ellie peered at where Joel and Tommy were speaking. They were wrapping up, giving brotherly hugs. “I am a pusher… And now my girlfriend hates me.” She pouted, tears welling up in her eyes. The blond Miller waved a hand at her, giving a tight-lipped smile that screamed I’m sorry. “I gotta go…” She pulled her keys from her pocket, getting into her truck.

That was the last full conversation the two of you had. Horrible, but the last. Everything in between then and the present was short and empty. Light conversations that only strangers and acquaintances shared. Letters here and there. It was a dispute that was so nuanced, for the first year after that, Joel barely said a word to you. Which bled into his relationship with Tommy. Maria tried to play middleman, but it didn’t work.

Perhaps, that was the reason you kept your distance. You didn’t want to continue to be the wedge that formed between two brothers. While you loved your parents, they were only a phone-call away. And, in the meantime, you could focus on growing in your career. Focusing on your book writing, instead.

You just wanted to forget about what happened when you were an emotionally undeveloped seventeen-year-old, but every time you seen her face—you remembered. So, avoiding Ellie Williams was a mission within itself.

A mission you were hoping you weren’t going to have to endure this year.

“You know,” Tommy began, sipping his fresh coffee. “Joel’s coming down from Jersey for the week.”

As you looked through the fridge, you snapped your head in his direction. “Is he now…?” You slowly question. Letting the fridge door shut on its own. The blonde woman to his right, sitting at the island counter, chuckled. Flipping through the interior design magazine you brought for her.

“And he’s picking up Ellie from the city.”

“What!” You exclaim, rushing to the opposite side of the counter. Pulling the mug from his lips, a surprised squeak left your throat. “Uh, dad… You forgot to mention on the several phone calls that we had in that last month that Ellie moved to the city.”

Maria perked up, pushing a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, she’s been there for about a year now… Brooklyn, is it?” She looked to her husband for clarification. He nodded, peering up at you with a plain expression.

“A year?! And none of you told me?”

“Bug, you did say that you didn’t want us to bring her up anymore unless you asked.” Maria stood to her feet, meandering to the stove and oven. “But that does remind me… They should be here in a few hours. Wanna help with the brownies?” She preheated the oven, walking around you casually.

Your mouth fell open, glancing between the two of them. “Okay, so they get brownies, and I get the worst news of my life…” An apron with your nickname embroidered on the front, Bug, hung in your mother's hand as an offering. “Yes, I’ll help with the brownies— this is very cruel to your very successful daughter.”

Tommy waved his hand, dismissively. “C’mon, that incident happened years ago now. You’re twenty-five, I’m sure she’s gotten over it.”

Tying the string around your neck and back, you pressed your lips into a line. It wasn’t really about her—you weren’t over it. You still harbored the same guilt you felt when you settled in your room that night. A crazy mixture of resentment and remorse all rolled up into one feeling; as you settled in your reading nook, with your hand out the window holding a burning cigarette with your index and middle finger. “I’m sure she has…”

Eventually, you switched the conversation around while baking. Falling into fits of laughter from mentioning past stories of your teenagehood. Teaming up with Maria to make fun of Tommy and his aging—all of a sudden, he was beginning to have a knack for playing a checkers. Only old people enjoyed playing checkers. Then, the waiting began.

To busy yourself, you pulled out your computer and brought it to the porch. Even though, you were taking some time off at your publishing job; when it came to your book writing, you had an agent to keep flooding your inbox with emails. Telling you to do this and do that—it was obnoxious. But you did as she asked anyway.

Typing away, a puff of nicotine fled from your lips. Murmuring under your breath, the words that were populating on the screen. On your hip, your phone rang, causing you to throw your head back in slight agony. Something always interrupted you when you were flowing. Flipping open your phone, the decorative chain swinging around as you placed it against your ear. “Hello,” You spoke, stubbing out your cigarette.

It was your roommate and closest friend, Sierra, complaining about the neighbors. Her strong long island accent echoing through the phone. “Oh, my God— they’re so loud! You’d think gettin’ an apartment in a nicer building would thicken the walls.” She groaned on the other end. “Please, come back. At least to tell them to shut up, and then you could go back upstate.”

“Why don’t you… I don’t know…” You shut your laptop, replacing your butt with the boxy electronic. Strolling to the far end of the porch, leaning your arms against the bannister. “Tell them yourself?” An amused smile spread on your lips.

Sierra paused. “Because that’s your job. I’m the nice one, remember?”

“Okay, well I can’t leave. I just got here, and I’m not spending another grand on taxi fare.”

“I’ll spot you.” You could hear her smile on the end.

“Sierra, I’m not coming back until Saturday. So, your only options are to either bang on their door— telling them to shut the hell up— or you suffer listening to their relentless daytime sex.” As you spoke, a truck began rolling up the driveway. Identities unclear due to the intense window tint, but you knew exactly who it was. However, there were three heads in that truck.

She groaned on the other end of the line. “Ugh! I hate you—“

“You love me!” You grinned, but it dropped right off your face when the people exited the vehicle. From the driver's seat, it was Ellie; then, it was Joel who exited, seemingly in conversation. And, finally, a girl stepped out of the vehicle. Joel noticed you leaning against the bannister on the porch, waving his hand with a smile.

Your muscles reacted, waving a fleeting hand. “Maria, Tommy! They’re here!” You yell loud enough to be heard through the screen door. You were always insecure about calling them by their parental titles in front of people—let alone new people.

“You’re yelling in my ear, hon. If you gotta go just tell me.” Sierra complained.

“I gotta go.”

Before she could say her goodbyes, you shut your phone, sliding it into your back pocket. Your parents came out of the house in high spirits; Maria clapping her hands, excitedly, embracing Ellie. Tommy giving a firm bear hug to Joel, laughing heartily—at what? You were unsure.

Awkwardly, you stood there. Smiling with your hands held in front of your body as if you were presenting a project.

Joel looked to you, approaching you with open arms. “Look at you,” He began, wrapping his arms around you, warmly. “All grown up.” He pulled back to get a better look at you, nodding proudly.

“Yeah…” You tapped his shoulder. “You, too.” A chuckle fell from your lips.

Then, you looked to your right at the freckled girl with her arm around a feminine stranger. However, you couldn’t indentify her before you did Ellie. Her auburn hair was pulled into a low bun, with pieces framing her gentle features. Her round evergreen, tinted with slivers of brown, eyes. Freckles decorating her cheeks, bridge of her nose; the beauty mark under left eye—

“Hey,” Ellie drawled out the greeting, awkwardly. Leaning in for a hug that teetered back and forth until you reciprocated.

You kept that same plastered smile on your lips, wrapping your arm under hers. “Hey, Ellie.” Pulling back, you finally looked at the girl beside her. She had tattoos and piercings and looked so much cooler than you. “Who’s this?”

Her earthy eyes widened. “Oh, this is, uhm, my girlfriend, Cat.”

The only response you could give was a nod and a half-hearted wave. It was like a dramatic record scratch in your head. But your parents took over with the rest. Guiding everyone inside to the warmth. Tommy remained outside, giving you skeptical eyes. “Help me with the bags…”

“Honey, don’t be weird about this.” He spoke, as you followed him to the truck.

“I’m not being weird.” You whined, gravel crunching under your feet. “Seriously, what’s to be weird about?” Reaching into the open trunk, you pulled out luggage’s and duffle bags. This was a lot of stuff for a week stay—they brought more than you did.

He gruffly breathed, pulling up the handle of one of the suitcases. “You’re my daughter, I know you— just sayin’…”

“Oh, my God— please!” You complained, hooking the duffle over your shoulder, pulling one of the luggage’s. Leaving him to follow you toward the porch.

Dinner had come quicker than you had hoped. If anything, if you could magically skip over the thing, and still eat, that would’ve been perfect.

All six of you sat at the dining table, forks and knives scratching at ceramic plates. Tommy and Joel had gathered in the back, last minute to cook up some steaks. And, to busy yourself, you helped Maria with the sides while Ellie and Cat got situated in the guest house.

“So, y/n, how’s the book comin’ along?” Joel wondered, putting a cut piece of steak into his mouth.

You made a surprised sound as you chewed your food, rushing to swallow. “Shit, you’re writing a book?” Ellie questioned, leaning her elbows on the table.

Taking a sip of water, you decided to respond. “Yeah, I’ve been working on it for a while.” Your eyes glanced at her, then moved on, quickly, to Joel’s. “It’s… Coming along.” A bashful laugh fell from your lips, as your hand reached for the glass of wine. It was barely touched, red hue swishing in the bulb of the glass as you took a sip. It’s fruity bitterness relishing over your tongue.

“What is it— like fiction or…?” Ellie pressed, genuinely.

“Non-fiction. A book of essay’s, really— written in different forms.” You nodded. “It sounds boring…”

Ellie shrugged, forking a piece of meat into her mouth. “Doesn’t sound boring to me.” She responded, with her mouth full.

“It’s the farthest from boring, honey.” Maria massaged your shoulder, sharing a small smile. You mirrored her in return, forking at the vegetables on your plate—perfectly steamed broccoli.

“How’s Brooklyn treating you?” You spoke up, raising your eyebrows.

Ellie lightly glared at Joel before answering, placing her utensils down. “It’s certainly treating me…” She muttered, rubbing her hands together, glancing at her girlfriend.

“It’s a great place for art, but just not Ellie’s art.” Cat chuckled, sipping from her wine glass.

“Oh, that’s what you’re doing.” You nod.

“I recall her using the words: too crowded.” Joel used air quotes to briefly describe the past conversation.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “It makes me feel crowded— the city. When you say it like that, it makes me sound fucking stupid, Joel.”

“You did say crowded.”

“Well, I meant overwhelmed.”

You snickered at their bickering, leaning back in your chair. “Back to your art, I guess you’re experiencing the artistic equivalent to writers block?” Tommy inquired, still chewing on his steak, raising an eyebrow. The auburn-haired young woman nodded, chuckling to herself. “That’s why you’re stayin’ with us for a little while, huh?”

Another record scratch.

You blinked at you father, deepening your eyebrows. “Wait, what?”

Joel had set his beer on the table, leaning forward. “Yeah, Ellie’s stayin’ with your parents for a little while to get her juices flowing, again.” He explained, pressing his lips into a soft smile. Ellie cringed at his use of the words juices, taking a sip of her beer.

Tommy and Maria told you nothing unless you asked for it for almost everything now—you at least deserved to know that Ellie was staying on the farm indefinitely. After all, when they’re dead and gone, it’ll be yours; so, they could’ve at least told you without you having to ask—that’s big!

“And, I’ll help out so I won’t be sleeping the day away— because I know that I will without a proper schedule.”

“I thought you guys didn’t need a farmhand.” You glanced at your parents, with your eyebrows still deepened with confusion.

Maria chuckled, standing to her feet. “We don’t need anything, but who could say no to a helping hand?” She grabs the empty basket of biscuits from the center of the table. “Anybody want more biscuits?”

“I would love some!” Cat spoke up, holding up a tattooed finger.

“Me too, honey.” Tommy also spoke.

A dry chortle left your lips, leaning against the back of the chair. “Are you staying on the farm, too?” You peered over at the stranger—the girlfriend, with a slight accusatory tone.

Her lips parted a few times before she responded. “Oh, no, I’m going back to Brooklyn. Not much of a country girl.”

Pursing your lips, you nodded, downing the rest of your wine. This week was going to be a doozy. When Maria came back to the table, you snatched a biscuit from the basket, biting into it. There was a perfect crispy layer on the outside, mixed with the perfect gooey, soft innards of the biscuit. “These are so good.” You muttered with your mouth full with its buttery goodness.

On your hip, your phone buzzed. Cursing under your breath, you plucked the cellphone from your belt, flicking it open. It was your agent calling you at eight o’clock at night. “Excuse me, I gotta take this.” You scooted the chair back, pressing the green button. “It’s late, Isa.” You started the call, stalking out of the room like the corporate woman you are. Taking the route up the stairs to your old bedroom.

“I need that new chapter by tomorrow morning— as in, 8am.” She scolded on the other line. “I’m personally reminding you. Since you couldn’t respond to my emails.”

You sighed, shutting your bedroom door behind you. “Isa, I’ve been traveling all day on public transport, and I’ve been trying to have family time— is that not what Thanksgiving is about?”

“You’re writer, hon. You have little bit of family time, then you hermit to finish your work— now, stop giving me grief. Time is of the essence.” Her smooth voice told, chuckling after her words. “I’ll be anticipating you’re new chapter tomorrow at eight! Have a great night.”

“Have a great night…”

Slapping your phone shut, you sighed, running your other hand over your face. Being a writer was relentless—just as relentless as you and your roommate’s neighbors. But, instead of lingering in frustration, you grabbed your heavy laptop and propped yourself on the cushion beside your window—your reading nook. Not forgetting to put a Sade tape inside of your stereo for some background music, before you began to diligently work.

You typed at your computer, rapid clicking sounds filling your ears. Although, it was no surprise that you worked your hardest after the sun set—it was like you had one too many espresso shots.

Every word was coming from the heart, and coincidentally enough, the guests at your home made it easier. This chapter was definitely reflecting the feelings you felt the day of Ellie’s seventeenth birthday. You used imagery and metaphors to describe that feeling of attack—being backed into a corner, having the worst part of yourself brought into the light. And, like most of your pieces, it was dredging it all back up again; the emotions.

That feeling of losing the only person that truly understood you.

Of course, you had a few relationships since then—a few, trying to chase that same feeling you felt when your hands touched. But there wasn’t anyone who could compare to her. How pathetic was it to still be harping on a highschool sweetheart?

Hours passed under the radar. Your parents being the mile marker in your work, knocking on the door to let you know everyone was heading to bed. Too busy with outlining new ideas, you barely spared them a glance, muttering a smooth goodnight.

It was about one in the morning by the time you finished the chapter. Still, it needed some tweaking, but it was good enough to send to your agent for the editor to look at.

Shutting your laptop, you finally took in your old bedroom. Various music artists slapped against your soft pink walls, attached with tape—some corners hanging off. Catwoman figurines lining the back of your large, white, wooden dresser; with comics stacked alongside them. Stacks of old books in the corner of your room, stacked from the floor to the middle of her wall. If you were to stumble into them, they’d experience one hell of a fall.

Suddenly, curiosity struck.

Hopping from the cushioned seat under your paneled window, you looked under your bed. Reaching for an old shoebox that was filled with many, many interesting things. You slid it from under the dusty bed frame, taking it back to that plushy seat you appreciated so dearly. Plucking the top off, you released a sigh. Immediately being hit with polaroids of yourself as a teenager—mostly standing beside, laughing with, and cuddling Ellie.

They were the photos you snatched from your wall after that fight. Oh, she looked the same. Still had that uncertainty in her earthy, olive eyes. You didn’t understand it then, and you most definitely didn’t understand it now. Ellie didn’t have to feel the uncertainty she was used to in foster care. She had people who believed in her—who will always believe in her.

Sifting through, your hands hovered over a letter she wrote. It was an apology letter sent around the time of her eighteenth birthday—almost a full year since the situation. The envelope was ripped open from the day you received it; stained with salty, heartbroken tears.

If only that day never happened…

A startling knock sounded at your window. It was no more than a pebble, which was confirmed when another launched within your sights. Scrunching up your eyebrows, you unlocked it, pulling it upwards. Once you peaked your head outside into the brisk, cool weather, a small smile spread onto your lips.

“Workin’ hard or hardly workin’ up there?” Ellie called from below. “I brought a little somethin’… Thought you could use a break from writing.” She waved a tightly rolled joint in her hands—which could only be seen if you squinted.

The corners of your lips spread wider, feeling horribly nostalgic. “You’re actually a little too late on that front. I finished a few minutes ago,” You pressed your lips into a line, continuing. “But I could never turn down smoke break. I’ll be down in a second.”

Dropping the letter, you scooted off the seat to grab your jacket. Stuffing your feet into the semi-stained Uggs you wore into the ground, before fleeing your bedroom. You didn’t feel the need to sneak down the stairs, but a part of you wanted to—to relieve that feeling of adrenaline you felt in your youth.

Ellie met you at the back door, holding open the creaking screen door as you exited. “I honestly wasn’t sure you still did this.” She chuckled, looking at the ground as you both began to walk away from the house. Putting some distance so the smell wouldn’t upset the elders in the home.

“What? Smoke weed?” You perked an eyebrow. “You think because I went all corporate, I stopped being down?”

“Actually… Yeah.” She responded, nervously snickering.

The two ofyou settled in front of this white-lined shed that was illuminated by the two warm, orange-toned lights on either side of the door. “Well, you’re kind of right…” You admitted, squinting your eyes, embarrassed. It’s hard being known for your adaptability. “I try to keep the pot smoking to a minimum. In the corporate world they test you for it.”

Ellie pulled the joint from behind her ear, placing it between her lips. She shook her head in response to your words. “Says the cigarette smoker…” She joked, eyeing you, teasingly. While she flicked her lighter to burn the tip.

“Hey, they don’t give a rats ass about nicotine— I need to make up for that loss somehow. I’m a writer for christ’s sake.”

When she finally gets it to catch the fire, she took two puffs before passing it to you between her index and thumb. “Where’s Cat?” You innocently questioned, taking a hit of the joint, then looking at it, before taking another hit.

Ellie became rigid, releasing an exasperated sigh from her lips. “The guesthouse, watchin’ some movie.”

You handed her the joint. “What, is she not down?” Mocking your previous words, with amused eyes. However, her demeanor had quickly shifted.

“She gets easily frustrated after traveling all day…” She shook her head in a dismissive way, like she didn’t want any further questions to asked.

“Hm… That’s relatable.”

Silence engulfed the both of you as you passed the blunt back and forth until it was nothing more than a roach. Hearing nothing but the distant wind chimes sounding off on the porch.

Before speaking, Ellie took a deep breath, glancing over at you as if she were nervous to make eye contact. “I hope me stayin’ here for a little bit doesn’t bother you too much.”

Her words were double-take worthy, you looked over at her with expressive eyes—widening, in surprise. “Bother me? Why would it bother me?” You leaned your shoulder on the shed, kicking one leg over the other.

“You didn’t seem like the biggest fan—“

“Ellie, I was surprised. That’s all.” You waved your hand, shaking your head. “I feel like they don’t tell me shit anymore…” Shoulders shrugging, you glance toward the house standing tall in all its glory. “They didn’t tell me about you moving to Brooklyn, either. What does it look like when someone you’ve known your whole life moves to a city you’re actually familiar with and they’re not, and you don’t reach out to help them? I’m only a forty minute train ride away.” You rambled, deepening your eyebrows. “They basically made me look like an asshole.”

You weren’t entirely sure how you’d react if you knew about Ellie’s moving to the big city. Knowing your habits, you’d probably sit by the phone for hours before making the move to give her a call. But, it’s not like you were given the opportunity to figure it out for yourself. Now, it just appeared that you forgot about her—or could care less about her endeavors; which is farthest from the truth.

Her full lips cracked into a smile, chuckling. The auburn-haired woman, mirrored your position, leaning her shoulder against the wooden shed. “Always worried about what you look like…” She muttered, sucking her teeth. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’re an asshole— you just didn’t know.” Ellie shrugged. “It’s not like we talk as much as we used to…”

As much as we used to. That kind of stung.

Your eyes averted to the gravel under your boots. “Yeah…” There was an awkward beat that took its place between you. Swallowing, you shooed it away with speaking up. “What about your art? You’re living in one of the most creative cities in the world, and you can’t create?”

She puffed air from her lips, glancing in the direction of the guesthouse, priming her lips. “Okay… Confession— but only if what’s said here stays here.”

“What’s said at the shed, stays at the shed.” You affirm, holding a hand and crossing to fingers. The high from what you smoked clouding your mind, squinting your eyes and loosening your inhibitions.

“Cat and I moved in together pretty early— too early… I needed a roommate and she was the perfect option.” Ellie began, carefully. Olive eyes shifting under the dim light in thought. “I swear ever since I moved in with her… The inspiration to make anything new is fucking gone.” She ran her hand over her hair, which was actually loose without a hair tie. Dusting over her shoulders, pieces pushed behind her ears. “She, you know, hovers a lot— in a sweet way, it’s just irritating because not even her pushing me can be inspiring.”

Your heart skipped a beat; it was hopeful—you really are an asshole! “Damn… So, it’s not the city that makes you feel crowded. It’s Cat.” You hum, nodding your head, taking in your assumption. “And… You think staying here will help? Doing boring farm work?” A chuckle falls from your lips, borderline nervous, borderline humored.

She pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, I spent a lot of time here growin’ up…” Ellie looked at you, knowingly. “It was never boring when we did it together.”

“That’s because we were doing it together. I’m not gonna be here while you’re shoveling horse shit.” You chortled, peering at her through hazy eyes. She giggled and it sounded like music to your ears. It’s been awhile since you heard her laugh from something you said. Weed always did have a way of bringing people together.

“Well, maybe before you go, you could help me out. Jog my memory.” Ellie offered, raising her eyebrows. “It’s either you or suffering through Tommy’s jokes for hours—“

“I don’t mind, but we might have to jog each others memory.”

“Hey, you can take the girl out the country, but not the country out the girl.” She shrugged. “I have faith in you.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, a smile spread on your lips. “You’re still so corny.” Shaking your head, a laugh slips. Wrapping your arms around your body, you acknowledge the cool weather. It pricked at your exposed skin, and even through your jacket. “It’s getting late…”

She scratched the back of her neck. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I appreciate the joint— I needed it.” You pushed off the shed wall, licking your lips. In preparation to meander back toward the house, you rocked on your feet. “There’s some left over biscuits on the counter…” You drawled, but it was all right because Ellie had filled in for you.

“I’m fucking starving.”

Then, the two of you walked shoulder to shoulder back inside. Giggling at stupid jokes, surfing over any of the past debacles you had. Turns out reconvening with your childhood lover wasn’t so bad after all. For now, anyway.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Calling various CRP pretty boy

Yoinking this prompt from the slasher version of this post because i kind of enjoy this prompt a more than normal amount and I like feeding all my followers regardless of what fandom they follow me for

Characters: Slenderman, Masky, Hoodie, Ticci Toby, Eyeless Jack, Laughing Jack, Jeff the Killer

Notes: reader is GN, written on mobile

CWs: none

SLENDERMAN

He gives little to no reaction to you, as expected as a lot of forms of affection dont mean all that much to him

Not that he doesn't treat you with love and care, he does because he knows you like it

Receiving is just a little odd for him, possibly because it's so foreign to him- but at least he doesn't reject you!

Asides from his lack of response, there isnt much else to note! Over time he does begin to respond to it if you keep calling him that

MASKY

He doesnt talk all that much so the lack of verbal response doesnt surprise you all that much

He prefers being called handsome, if you insist on saying something about his looks

Mild confusion because hes never taken his mask off around you, the most hes done is lift it up to eat or kiss but even then...

Suspicious that you've peeked when he wasnt aware or conscious- probably not the best nickname

HOODIE

Doesnt talk at all, so once more the lack of verbal response doesnt come as a surprise

You haven't seen his face yet you call him pretty boy... you might actually be able to convince him to take his mask off for you so you can confirm if he really is a pretty boy

He does respond to the name and seems to at least enjoy it a little bit

Will occasionally ignore you until you call him pretty boy, not a common occurence though

TICCI TOBY

Mix of leaning into the name and calling you pretty in return, but I can also see him slightly rejecting it

He knows you mean it, more than likely- but hes so used to not being treated nicely that he cant tell if you're secretly making fun of him or not

Brings it up passively and hides it behind jokes but it's so obvious hes a little suspicious of you

Firmly reassure him that you really do think hes pretty, bonus if you point out specific parts of his face that you like!

EYELESS JACK

He considered himself average before the cult, nowadays he cant look in the mirror... though that's less of a self confidence thing and more of a trauma thing

He has mixed feelings about being called pretty boy, in general and due to the circumstances

Let's you continue calling him pretty boy, quietly keeps his thoughts to himself

He may grow onto it with enough time

LAUGHING JACK

Giddy, he already has the idea that hes cute but the thought that you think hes pretty really does it for him

Returns the energy and says he thinks you're really cute, he could just eat you up!

Takes the sudden nickname really well and adopts it as a new pet name between the two of you

He kind of perks up like a dog when you say a word they like around them

JEFF THE KILLER

Honestly he would expect you to call him pretty boy, though be doesnt need to remind you of something he already knows as fact

Pretty, handsome, cute, beautiful... call him any of those and hes going to let you know he already knew he was attractive

WILL notice if you stop calling him pretty boy, making it a habit... and you just stop calling him that out of the blue

A little huffy about it but hes going to act like hes not pressed about it- he doesn't want to come off as desperate for attention

[bananami]

and just like that i’m back on my nanami bs. i hope this helps you all heal from the trauma that was season 2 of jjk <3 (cw: pure fluff, dad!nanami, wife!reader, sex is alluded to a number of times, nanami is just desperate for his wife ok)

“he just passed out, he usually naps for a good 30 minutes. i can do it in 20.”

you can’t help but laugh at your husband. ever since adopting yuuji the two of you have been adapting to your lives with a toddler. that included very limited one on one time, and it was taking a toll on nanami.

“i have to fold the laundry,” you’re tone is apologetic but your face tells him you find this amusing.

“you’re the greatest multitasker i know.”

you feel his arms wrap around you as you continue to fold yuuji’s t-shirts. the kid was so messy sometimes, it caused him to go through his entire closet in a weeks time. “we need to seriously go shopping and get him more things to wear.” you spun around to wrap your arms around his waist. “your child is a dirty little gremlin.”

“your husband is trying to be one too but you won’t let him act on it.”

“you are not gonna be 20 minutes, you say that but you’re not quick with it anymore old man.”

“who are you calling old man? i’m spry for my age.”

“see, you even sound like an old man.”

“an old man who just wants to show his wife how much he still loves her.” his hands slide up and down your back, holding you to him and bringing his lips to yours. “i love you. i miss you.”

“i miss you too kento,” you let him take his time kissing you. “ok, what if-“

“i love where this is going already.”

“i haven’t even told you.”

“the prospect of things makes me excited. really gets me going.”

you giggle, “so repressed.”

“you have no idea, it’s taking everything in me not to turn you around and accost you right here on the dining room table.” he leans his face down to nuzzle and kiss at your neck.

“accost?”

“accost. respectfully.”

you tighten your arms around his waist, satisfied with the heavy affection he’s showing you. “what if i call up gojo-“

“and just like that i’m soft.”

“kento!” you smack him in the back but can’t help the smile that sneaks onto your face. he’s so easy to rile up.

“you know the emotions his name invokes in me. i can’t stand him.”

“i was going to say, what if i called him up to see if yuuji can spend the weekend at his and geto’s place with megumi, and then you and i can have the entire weekend together. just the two of us.”

“i love him.”

“wow, wait until i tell him you said that.”

“i’ll never admit to it.” nanami takes your face into his hands, kissing at your lips over and over until a giggling voice breaks the moment.

“eeeeew!!” yuuji runs forward from the other side of the hallway, jumping up and down at nanami’s feet. “up, up, up!!” and when he does the pink haired little boy leans over to give you a kiss on the nose.

“thank you, yuuji,” you give his nose a kiss in return.

“thank you, mama!!”

nanami narrows his eyes and scratches at the boy’s belly, sending yuuji into another round of giggles at being tickled. “guess who’s house your gonna sleepover at this weekend.”

you send a look toward your husband. “he hasn’t agreed yet, i still have to call him.”

“he’ll agree. because if he doesn’t,” he presses a million little kisses all over yuuji’s face, “i might actually die. and then who will he have to annoy at work?”

“he does like to annoy you.”

“i’m well aware.”

“i’ll call him now.”

nanami sets yuuji down, sending him into the kitchen. before following him, he leans over to give you one last lingering kiss on the lips. “i love you,” his smile lifts into a tiny smirk, “and it is for that reason exactly that i say, with all of the love i can muster, i am going to ruin you this weekend.”

“ruin me?”

“ruin you. respectfully.”

[just-writing-ideas]

cw: abuse and trauma and other unsavory things

interesting character backstories

because "my parents hit me or force me to be perfect" won't cut it for every character in the cast

-characters who grew up poor. poverty is traumatizing, people. i wanna see characters who never ask for anything, count dollars and coins, freak out when the bill isn't split fairly and immediately suspect bed bugs when someone says they're itchy. and mention the ugly stuff too. smelling bad and having water stains on the walls. ice cream for dinner and not eating breakfast. lights going out and fourteen year olds supporting a family of five.

-characters who were neglected. not physically abused, neglected. who don't understand why people care when they don't show up, or seem kind of down today, or leave a party without saying goodbye. who are too independent for their own good. who can't think of anything to say when asked to describe their parents. who are okay with being lonely. who always feel lonely. who get uncomfortable if you even ask them how their day was. who does that?

-characters who were smothered. who were treated like a toddler well into their teens. who were practically stalked by their own parents, never allowed a moment of privacy. who were constantly belittled and denied their autonomy as the adults in their life made every decision for them. regardless of how loved they truly were, this is abuse. this could go in two diverging directions: end result of a very guarded, mature character feeling a constant need to prove themself, or end result of a passive, immature character who requires attention, praise and constant assistance. both have extremely low self-esteem.

-characters who are fundamentally different from their family. maybe they're queer, or adopted, or disabled, or aren't fully related to the rest of them (bonus points if they aren't the same race as their family). characters who watch like a ghost as everyone else smiles and bonds. and maybe it's their fault that they're like this, or maybe it's their fault for not reaching out to the family themself, but... nobody else had to ask for it.

i forgot about this blog

[actualhumantrashcan]

what i love the most about the supernatural fandom as someone who watched it air week to week on the cw is that it was so aggressively “man-branded” by the channel with all the emphasis on cars and violence and dudes being badass guys and then a bunch of gay women on the internet collectively adopted these angry men with personality disorders and childhood trauma and said no these are ours actually and they’re all gay

[gingeralecranberry]

INTERMISSION

𝟑-𝟎 ; 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 "𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐥"

THROW ME IN YOUR BACKSEAT

☺︎ cw:

mentions of the higher ups vomit, descriptions of death/death of family members, orphaned child (in jjk? what a surprise), adoptive family, paperwork double vomit, a few adults hate on the child for no reason, allusion to trauma responses, i've officially decided to say fuck it and make the reader fully OP cause he has to have a way to survive this clusterfuck of crazies somehow

“Inoue, are you close to finishing that incident report?” 

Manato blinked. 

On the outside, the building looked like every other one on the block;  tall, glass office space filled with stuffy little cubicles that weren’t nearly big enough.  On the inside, you could say it probably also looked like every other business.   Lines and lines of employees at their desks, filing paperwork, sneaking in a quick lunch, rushing off to make an appointment.  It was the content they were working on that set them apart. 

“Oh- Uh, yeah, sorry,” the supervisor murmured, “just… having trouble getting all the details together.” 

The life of a supervisor was one that was often filled with monotony.  It was drive a sorcerer here, file some paperwork there, rinse and repeat.  But this case, this case in particular, was something special.

A grade 1 curse is observed being completely docile until arriving at this specific home and only acting aggressively towards the victims specifically?  Not only this, but the nine-year-old son is the one to exorcise the curse and ends up living to tell the tale? 

It didn’t make sense.

The building manager, another supervisor by the name of Sano Tomiko, squinted at him incredulously.  She was always a stickler for rules and deadlines.  That, paired with her seniority, was what originally landed her the managerial position. 

“If you can’t handle the caseload you’re currently being assigned, I’m sure I could find another supervisor or some kind of aid to make sure things get done on time.” 

The younger man quickly shook his head, trying his best to wipe his clammy palms off on his gray slacks, “I assure you, that isn’t necessary.  You know me, even if I get a little tight on the time frame it’ll get done.” 

Ms. Sano pushed her red Cat Eye glasses up her nose, jaw just barely tightening enough that it was noticeable.  She gave a subtle nod of the head, pivoting on her foot with the click of her heel, “Whatever you say, just make sure it’s on my desk before lock-up tonight.” 

“...Yes, Ms. Sano.” 

Manato waited until he heard the familiar sound of the same old wooden door creaking shut and the heavy sound of the deadbolt locking back into place before he let out the sigh he was holding.  

His hands landed in his hair as he leaned back in his chair, staring at his ceiling in exasperated silence. With another frustrated huff, his golden eyes flicked down to the neatly printed incident report on the right hand side of his desk.  Then, they flitted over to the hand-written notes passed on by one of the other departments. 

He tossed around the idea of rereading the report again just to double-check, but at this point, what was there to double-check?  Even if things weren’t logically adding up in Inoue’s head, facts were facts.  Sworn witness statements and the evidence at the scene didn’t lie. 

Still. 

…

One more time couldn’t hurt, could it? 

His elbows flopped down onto the mess that was his desktop, gingerly reaching over to grasp the pristine stack of papers in his hands.  The only signs they’d been touched were the little folds over the corner staple. 

‘Incident Report first, y’know, since I have to turn this in and stuff.’

For good measure, he licked his thumb before gently peeling the title page back to actually analyze the report’s contents. 

‘Location: Okinawa, Japan 

Time: Incident began at approximately 4:15, lasting almost half an hour

Curse (Grade, Name, etc.): Unnamed Serpentine Curse, Grade 1, believed to have some connection to the nearly forgotten practice of Kodoku (see attached) recently resurfacing due to a recently released horror movie in a popular franchise/series

Attending Sorcerer: Masamichi Yaga, Grade 1

Victims (Name, Age, Sex, Ethnicity, Occupation, etc.): 

(surname) (mother’s name) - 34, female, Ethnically Japanese, part-time daycare worker - deceased

(surname) (father’s name) - 37, male, Ethnically (your ethnicity), lawyer - deceased

(surname) (younger brother’s name) - 4, Ethnically Japanese and (your ethnicity), has yet to be enrolled in school and there are no signs of any application or enrollment in any early educational programs - deceased

(surname) (name) - 9, Ethnically Japanese and (your ethnicity), currently enrolled in Furutani Private Elementary School, grade 4 - injured, comatose 3 days post-incident 

Additional Notes: 

I, Minato Inoue, was the reporting supervisor assigned to the case.  I drove one Masamichi Yaga to the suspected location of the unnamed grade 1 serpentine curse at the (surname) residence in Okinawa. 

Upon arrival, the previously wide open entryway had been sealed by foliage and prevented anything larger than a person from passing through, discounting the difficulty of that in and of itself.  Exiting the vehicle, it was clear something was amiss due to the large, inconsistent surges of cursed energy emanating from the home.   Despite the potentially dangerous nature of the situation, my responsibilities stipulated that after casting the veil, I was to remain outside waiting for the attending sorcerer in the case of an emergency evacuation.

From my point of view, the incident wasn’t of much note.  I didn’t hear much noise, however this was likely due to the veil combined with the other obstructions between the scene and myself. 

When Masamichi Yaga exited the abode, he was carrying a small child in his arms, now identified to be the family’s nine-year-old son, (surname) (name).  Immediately, it was noted, the child was latched onto the attending sorcerer’s cursed corpse, Cathy.  While this may have seemed normal due to the proclivity of small children to latch onto stuffed animals, Yaga immediately corrected this assumption. 

The child was siphoning Masamichi Yaga’s cursed energy through the cursed corpse.  Yaga explained later that he did this to create a safe channel for the child to continue to siphon the cursed energy without directly taking it from his body, potentially damaging his permanent reserves. 

As a witness, I, Minato Inoue, swear upon my oath as a supervisor that the above is the whole truth and nothing but the truth.’ 

That was his own witness statement, the only other one belonging to Yaga. That was stapled behind Minato’s.

He peeked over at the handwritten notes at the top left-hand corner of his desk. 

“...”

Technically, they were classified documents meant for specific eyes only.  They were supposed to be stapled to the back  of Minato’s incident report and sent off to a group of higher ups for further evaluation. 

“...”

It would be a violation of privacy, and a violation of his own contract and morals.   He really shouldn’t spend any longer thinking about it. 

“...”

…but what was the worst that could happen? 

He peeked outside of his cubicle, scanning the walkways up and down.  A few of his coworkers straggled here and there, mainly by the boss’s mailbox and the coffee machine.  Nobody was suspicious of him; didn’t have any reason to be.  After all, if anybody looked in, it’d just be Inoue parsing through some documents.

“...”

The moment his fingers touched the high quality parchment, he could feel his guilty conscience hit him in the face like a truck.  His brows knotted up in the middle of his forehead, further displaying his inner turmoil.  He’d already gotten this far, though.  He’d already crossed the line of no return when he flipped open the first page. 

‘CASE 0976, (surname) (name) 

Cursed Technique: Igarushi Clan’s lost “Cursed Weaver” Technique 

Basic Description: The user is unable to manipulate cursed energy in what would be considered a “normal” fashion.   All cursed energy, including cursed energy belonging to other sorcerers or being produced by non-sorcerers, is perceived as threads/strands.  Largely, this sets the user on a plane completely separate to a majority of jujutsu society. 

The technique is considered to be a gem among many other cursed techniques for its unique lack of drawbacks and nearly infinite amount of uses.  That isn’t to say the technique would automatically rule the user a skilled sorcerer like the Gojo clan's famed Limitless Technique or their Six Eyes.  The user must be able to manipulate each individual strand of cursed energy into the correct position at the same time/rapid succession, making any use of cursed energy time and attention-consuming.  So while the creation of cursed tools out of thin air may seem simple enough, the user must be acutely aware of how much cursed energy they’re incorporating into each and every action. 

Unlike others, the user is able to see any and all cursed energy in the area at all times.  However, this ability can become troublesome when interacting with other sorcerers.  Cursed energy appears like woven lines, ties, or blankets depending on the individual’s reserves of cursed energy and their technique.  It becomes an eyesore quickly, but works well for expeditious situational awareness. 

The specific facets of the technique have been lost to time, seeing as many record keepers believed the records to be obsolete after centuries of waiting for the technique to manifest again. 

Much of this can be corrected with extensive practice/research, however the boy appears to be late to developing his technique.  When he last awoke, he relayed to his temporary caretaker (Masamichi Yaga) that prior to exorcising the unnamed grade 1 serpentine curse, he hadn’t so much as seen a cursed spirit before. 

Exorcising a grade 1 curse immediately after awakening one’s technique is largely unheard of, even more so when considering two other factors. 

The child’s parents were both non-sorcerers with no connections to the Jujutsu World

This technique was believed to be lost in the fateful battle against Ryomen Sukuna, dying with the Igarushi Clan Head nearly a thousand years ago. 

Genetics confirm that (surname) (name) is distantly related to the Igarushi clan, but the intermingling of other clans and bloodlines in the mix should’ve largely bred out/tainted the potential population that could carry the genetics necessary to pass on the technique, not to mention pass these genetics to seemingly the perfect host at the perfect time. 

While all of the above is more than infuriating enough, the child managed to create a binding vow during the time frame he faced death’s door against the unnamed grade 1 serpentine curse. 

He becomes largely unresponsive/aggressive when questioned about the vow, however, the obvious side effects have been noted. 

His reserves of cursed energy latch on to the largest reserve in his vicinity, siphoning their cursed energy until drainage before moving on to the next target.  Upon waking from his coma, it was revealed he can control the intensity and speed at which he drains cursed energy as long as the speed and amount exceed a certain threshold.  This threshold has yet to be officially established.

His temporary caretaker has reported he has difficulty sleeping, claiming that when he closes his eyes, he sees colorful outlines.  Upon further investigation, the outlines were that of cursed energy carriers (sorcerers, cursed corpses, etc).  In other words, the child is able to sense and perceive cursed energy in a vicinity of around 30 meters around himself with his eyes closed. 

The child’s control of the Cursed Weaver technique demonstrates basic mastery.  As of now, there are no leads explaining how this is possible.  

Despite being much more open with Yaga than other sorcerers, when probed about the details of the binding vow, he becomes visibly upset/distressed rather than hostile. 

In the meantime, staff have begun to refer to this vow as “evil”, “mutant”, and “unnatural”.  It is, of course, normal for many to be frightened by so many unknown factors, but it pains me that many are unaware of the potential developments that can be made into the science of jujutsu due to their fright. 

Despite myself and a large group of dissenters being against the name, CASE 0976, (surname) (name), has officially been dubbed “The Parasite”.’

JAZMIN BEAN : FAVORITE TOY

☺︎ taglist:

@angelkazusstuff @ahoeindeedinneed @wutap @mysouleaten @ilovebattinson @satansdaughter123 @http-l-o-k-i @rinaizha

masterlist: ☓

[shippofuri]

milsiril headcanon...! (cw for abuse)

christening this acc with my (100% headcanon) thoughts on milsiril... she very much reads as an abuse victim to me, and i think it gives a lot of interesting perspective on why she may behave the way she does...! I'm posting this as an image so it doesn't display as an overly long post, but I'll put the plain text (with some slight edits) under the cut↓

I get the impression Milsiril was a victim of abuse of some sort, likely parental. Trauma likely informed a lot of her behaviors. She's emotionally quite stunted, cries easily, fixates on the comforts she had in childhood like her stuffed dolls.

She's said to dislike her older siblings, and I feel like like part of that may be a distance created by a feeling that they should be protecting her, but aren't. Either Milsiril is singled out and they're unaware, or they're all mistreated and simply don't acknowledge it for one reason or another, fear of punishment or perhaps resignation, feeling it normal.

In general I think part of her resentment for elves, and for her family, is due to a feeling that all of them failed to protect her. No one saw the signs, and if they did chalked it up to her being eccentric and mocked her for it. And all the while she watches them engage jovially with her abusive parent(s?), as if nothing were wrong (and to their knowledge nothing is!), It feels like a betrayal.

Going into the canaries it doesn't get any better. She's mocked for being sensitive, withdrawn, and "immature". Gloomy Milsiril and her silly childish dolls. And of course, she's only more traumatized by her time in the canaries. The dungeon is horrible, her teammates are cruel to her, she struggles to connect meaningfully with anyone and ultimately her only friend besides the children she eventually adopts is Helki. That's not even getting into Utaya. No doubt she accumulated even more trauma during her time in the canaries that solidified her resentment for her own race.

As well, even her desire to care for children stems in large part from this. Wants to give them the care and love she never received, wants to live vicariously through them. But she falls into the trap people with this mentality often fall into, where they naively overcorrect in trying to be kinder parents than their own. She coddles and smothers them, fixates on keeping them safe, protecting them from the terrors of the outside world. Becomes incredibly codependent, and treats them like baby dolls. To a degree, she is part of a cycle of abuse, in spite of how much she is trying to be the opposite of her abuser.

[redr0sewrites]

HI HI!!!! if you do ever decide to write for the archangels i would LOVE sum michael hcs.!!.!!.! i would gobble him up yum yum

jumped skipped and hopped over all my other requests to get to this one LMAO- considering he's non-canon i just went off my own hcs soo yea!!!!

🥀Cw: fluff, smut, bible lore™️, possible religious trauma?

🥀minors dni with the nsfw portion

Sfw:

Michael has lived a long, long time, he's been alive since before earth was even created and has definitely seen some things

he knows that many mortals experience love, yet he never really felt such a strong connection until he met you. of course he loved his "family", but michael was a stranger to true love

HES SUCH A GENTLEMAN! michael definitely puts your needs before his, and i hc his love languages to be quality time and acts of service. he loves having you by his side more than anything, and is always spending time with you.

he's the type to give you lots and lots of flowers! you two probably have a garden that he goes to get flowers from, because he just loves how happy you get at such a seemingly simple gesture

michael is very protective, but not in a limiting way, he just wants to make sure your safe. after lucifer fell from heaven and created original sin, michael had to step up and take on even more heavenly duties. he knows how important it is to keep you safe and he loves you a lot, so he worries about you a lot

he honestly misses lucifer a lot, but he would never admit it. he talks to you a lot about his other siblings and family, and tells you stories about the beginning of earth and heaven's creation. he definitely introduces you to the other archangels, seraphims, and heavenly virtues, and loves that you get along with them. i definitely think you'd become buddies with azrael or gabriel, and y'all would cause shenanigans together (much to michaels dismay)

michael is literally so patient with you, and it's genuinely so sweet. everyone can tell he's WHIPPED, and he honestly doesn't mind. he'll listen to you ramble for hours on end, he'll try more modern food for you, he'll even adopt your music taste once he starts dating you! michael loves you as a whole and wants to enjoy everything you're interested in

HUSBAND MATERIAL. he definitely takes it upon himself to cook for you, he helps you clean, anything you need help with he volunteers to assist you.

michael is SUCH a morning person you can not tell me im wrong. he wakes up really early, and loves watching you sleep peacefully. he makes you breakfast in the morning and when its time for you to wake up, he always wakes you up with kisses or tickles or both! he loves holding you in the morning, but he's a little strict about getting up on time, he does have heavenly duties to attend to after all. if you do manage to wake up before him, you might manage to convince him to stay in bed with you for just a few more minutes. he honestly has such a soft spot for you

you are one of the few people allowed to touch his wings, which is a HUGE sign of trust on michael's part. he usually keeps his wings hidden, but there comes a time when they get so irritating that they just need to be preened. he gets all huffy about it because its "such an inconvenience", and you get to laugh at his pouty face while you gently preen his wings!

i think all the archangels have 6 wings, so it definitely takes a while. michael probably falls asleep halfway through, the feeling of your soft, smaller hands on his wings just makes him feel soft and drowsy. preening often transitions to.... other activities if yk what i mean bc of how sensitive angels' wings are. because michael keeps his wings hidden so often, his wings are especially sensitive and its one of the few times you'lll ever see him blush hehe

he has a really soft, smooth voice, and you LOVE listening to him speak. michael will definitely read to you if you ask, and you can't help but nod off to the sound of his melodic voice. i definitely think most abgels are very musical or at least enjoy music, and if you beg, you may get him to sing for you. his voice is lovely, and he'll sing you soft lullabies in old languages that you can't understand but know are loving

you two very rarely argue, and whenever you do come to a disagreement, michael adamantly refuses to raise his voice at you. he would never yell at you or say anything harsh, and is more likely to opt to just spend some time apart to think on the disagreement. he never lets you two go to bed upset, and will always sit down to have a conversation with you about any clashes you two have. i dont see him as too stubborn and i think he's willing to compromise on most accounts, but its very rare that you two argue anyway because he's so sweet all the time

Nsfw:

michael is 100% a giver in bed. he loves giving you oral and always prioritizes your pleasure over his own. he's always focused on making you cum first and really enjoys pleasing you

i see him as a switch, he could definitely be a pleasure dom but i also see him as a bit of a sub as well. sometimes all of his work and overall stress gets to his head, and he trusts you enough to let you take the reins and get him out of his own head. when he subs, he's definitely much louder and a lot whinier. he's definitely not a brat and would probably do anything you ask him to

he has a praise kink both ways, and loves showering you in praise. michael definitely likes mirror sex, and will tell you to call yourself beautiful of pretty or handsome as he fucks you.

"darling, look at how pretty you are. c'mon, i want to hear you say it. look in the mirror, don't you see how pretty you are?"

eye contact is important to him, and he enjoys a lot of basic positions like missionary and things like that, but i also see him being into lotus position because he loves being so close to you.

michael isn't very loud when it comes to sex, but he is big on talking to you. he loves whispering sweet nothings to you as you cum, and praising you in how well you took him

he isn't ridiculously vanilla, but he hasn't been very adventurous either. while i don't think he's had any official relationships before you, i dont see him as a virgin. he's probably slept with a few people, so he has some experience, but he's still learning as well. i think he's down to try most things as long as you're into them, but he wouldn't want to hurt you too much

michael may feel a bit awkward about sex, sure he knows its not a big deal, but a part of him doesn't want to overstep any of your boundaries either. he wants you to know that he's with you because he loves you, not just for sex and will make that abundantly clear. y'all definitely have a serious conversation about it before the first time you have sex, and you definitely have a safeword

GUYS HEAR ME OUT but i think he'd have a bit of a corruption kink. he'd never admit it but the thought of him being your first is SUCH a turn on, and he really loves when you get so fucked-put that you're incoherent. i think he'd be down for a bit of role play, but only if you're into it and it would definitely relate to some sort of corruption or religious corruption

i don't think he'd degrade you too much, but i do think he might mock you a bit. "oh, you were such a devout little thing, i wonder what the others would think of you now darling. sucking in my cock like a vice, you really aren't so innocent after all, aren't you dear?"

he loves overstimulating you until you're incoherent, but i don't think he's big on orgasm denial. he loves pleasuring you and he loves rewarding you more than anything. the only time i see him really denying your orgasms is if you've been a major brat and have pushed him over the edge, or if you ask him to. either way he's gonna mock you a bit on how filthy you are, but will still praise you for taking it so well

he has definitely bought you a lot of pretty little necklaces and loves seeing you in nothing but the gifts he bought you. the way the charm bounces against your chest as he fucks you, it drives him crazy! especially if theyre gold or if theyre cross necklaces, bc its so similar to his color scheme

he likes holding your hand during sex. its very intimate, and he always gives your hand a little squeeze as he's coming

i think one of the few things he's against during sex is hurting you. sure, he'll mock you here and there, but hurting you? no, its just a turnoff for him. your the most precious thing in his life, he'd never want to hurt you even in jest. if you really, really wanted him to you might get him to tie you down or maybe hold your throat/face while he fucks you, but he would never go as far as to hurt you

when it comes to you fucking him, he loves to be praised and pampered. its a bit embarrassing, but he's often so overworked and pent up that he really loves being treated sweetly. he might cry a bit during sex, trust me he's ok, he just gets overstimulated really easily. michael definitely enjoys it tho!

speaking of overstimulation, PLEASE touch his wings during sex! you'll get the sweetest moans and whimpers from him, and he'll get so whiny. its one of the few times he'll beg, and he both loves and hates when you make him cum untouched by only stroking his wings

aftercare is very important to michael, and he always takes time to clean you both up. it's an unspoken agreement that whoever tops cleans up the other first and starts the bath while the person who subbed takes a minute to catch their breath. he always wipes down your thighs and cleans you off, and when it comes to baths, he'll always make sure everything is ready before carrying you to the tub. when he's subbing, he'll probably try his best to help you but may push himself a bit too hard because he's so tired. PLEASE kiss him and pamper him in the tub, tell him how much you love him!!!!

hes genuinely just so sweet in bed and during aftercare, and overall cares about you a lot

PLSSS THE HYPWRFIXATION IS INSANE. I LOVE ALL THE ARCHANGELS AND HEAVEN AUS SM!!!!!!!!! CRYING BEGGING PLEEEADING FOR YALL TO SEND IN REQUESTS FOR ANYONE FROM THE HEAVEN AUS. the one im most familiar with is @esbellesantos au and my fav is azrael so PLSSS feel free to send in azrael reqs 😇 anyways hope yall enjoyed!!! i loved writing this sm!!!!

[a-secret-bolton-vampire]

CW: Rape, incest, CSA

This is actually not a strictly A Song of Ice and Fire post here, but it overlaps in some ways so I figured I'd write this.

Anyone who has not read the web serials Worm or Ward and wishes to avoid spoilers, don't read this post:

Disclaimer out of the way, I've found striking parallels between fandom reaction for both A Song of Ice and Fire and Parahumans regarding how characters who survived sexual abuse view their abusers, in a dangerously disturbing way.

For this I'm going to specifically be using the examples of Aeron and Theon Greyjoy from A Song of Ice and Fire to compare and contrast to Victoria Dallon in Ward. All three were psychologically and sexually tormented by their abusers during the course of the series. Theon is a young adult by the time Ramsay gets his hands on him, but Aeron and Victoria were both children when they were molested by family members so they will be the main two characters to compare.

In the case of Euron and Aeron, there are a (sadly very vocal) minority who are ready to dismiss Euron's danger to others by specifically using Aeron's abuse against him. Sure, Euron is evil and horrifically abused him and Urrigon when they were children, and it is understandable that Aeron would be mortified of Euron. After all, he tries to warn people about Euron repeatedly, only for his attempts to stop him to all fail.

The response by this section of the fandom to claims of Euron being built up as a major threat are essentially that Aeron's trauma is in the way of his ability to perceive Euron objectively. Is Euron actually as dangerous as Aeron claims? You can say the same for Theon and Ramsay. After all, Theon is half-mad warning Stannis about Ramsay, and Stannis is bringing some Rational Realness to the forefront by saying "what do I have to fear him for?"

Since GRRM is never releasing another A Song of Ice and Fire book it's hard to say what he intends but he could definitely intend for this to be the case. That said, there is a story featuring a similar character that is completed. Ward!

Victoria Dallon's sister, Amy, is a cape with healing abilities, though as the series progresses we know that healing is just the tip of the iceberg; she can change the biological makeup of living things. Amy is adopted, and has never felt any love from anyone other than Victoria. Amy develops deep romantic love for her sister, however, and then begins a series of bad decisions that just serve to deepen her already deep mental breakdown.

Amy proceeds to; alter Victoria's brain chemistry to give her compulsive romantic thoughts about her, then following healing Victoria after a battle, she spends several days alone with her, during which she repeatedly rapes her, erases her memories of said rapes, until her mental health deteriorates even further and she is unable to use her power properly and turns Victoria into the Wretch: a mass of flesh and limbs and heads, rather than anything actually human.

Then Victoria spends 2 years in a mental institution, stuck in a body she hates, all the while fighting the compulsions Amy left in place. When she finally returns Victoria to normal at the end of Worm, it is actually against her will and not because she had a change of heart or got more confident.

Then we get to Ward, where Victoria is the main POV. As is very obvious, Victoria is struggling with extremely intense PTSD, mentioning Amy is enough to trigger a dissociative flashback, and she wants absolutely nothing to do with her anymore: and fucking rightfully so.

Victoria also warns people about Amy. She warns her therapist to try to reach out to Amy before she hurts someone else, she warns literally anyone who will listen about Amy and what she might end up doing. We may not know what it is that Ramsay and Euron end up doing, but we do know what Amy does.

She refuses all help and doubles down on bad decisions, enslaves people with her powers, later imprisons and torments and touches Victoria again against her will, and becomes the dictatorial monster in charge of an entire planet. Victoria's warnings prove to be extremely prophetic and extremely real.

Now lets get into some discourse shall we?

Despite Amy being a rapist who rapes her sister, enslaves others via mind control, and literally never once improving as a person or acknowledging that her actions even caused harm, there are still those who think Amy isn't at fault. Some might find this post, but I don't really care. Amy is at fault for things Amy did. Victoria is not at fault for hugging her sister like a normal human being when Amy is upset, Amy didn't do her a favour healing her because then she just raped her and then really couldn't fix her back to a human body, and Amy isn't absolved of these sins because she healed a lot of people.

Essentially, Victoria is sometimes blamed for being raped by her sister, the rapist, despite Amy canonically being a manipulative lying liar rapist.

Okay so that doesn't seem to related to what the fandom says with Euron and Ramsay, right? After all, we don't really blame Aeron for being molested and Theon for also being sexually tortured and abused by Ramsay, do we? There are factors as to why that is (mostly that Aeron and Theon are men and Victoria is a woman; if you don't buy this argument look at people who say Cersei deserved to be sexually assaulted by Robert or try to use "the times" as an excuse to overlook Daenerys also being raped by Drogo) but there is an overlap here.

Amy being able to get away with that she did only to go on and hurt so many other people is a meta-commentary on the way survivors of sexual abuse are disbelieved or blamed for what happened to them. Naturally, those real like abusers end up going to abuse other people too. Fuck, even in the fandom, Victoria is still fucking blamed for things that she had absolutely no choice in the matter.

Which leads back to Theon and Aeron. Yes, trauma impacts the way you remember traumatic events, and that means objectivity can get lost at times. It can for Victoria and Theon and Aeron. But that trauma, the dissociation, memory problems, all of these together, are there for a reason. And that's because someone came along, ruined another persons life for their own pleasure and satisfaction, and then got away with it.

Victoria warned the world about what Amy would do, and she was unfortunately correct. Theon and Aeron warned others about Ramsay and Euron. Survivors should be believed, and not be dismissed. After all, it isn't our fault that we got abused. People may hear things about Euron or Amy or Ramsay, but the people who truly know who they are---what they are capable of, what they are actually like---are the people they abused.

So yeah, it's kinda fucking lame when I hear someone go "Stannis gonna prove Theon wrong with facts and logic" as if he doesn't, I don't know, have insight into Ramsay's psychology in ways Stannis doesn't. Same with Euron. Same with Amy.

Also fucking read Ward it hurts as intensely as it kicks ass.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.

Beautiful Boys

Prompt Day 23: Wayne Adopts Steve | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Lingering Injuries/Trauma | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Wayne & Steve, Wayne POV

Wayne is in Hawkins Hardware, looking at the fence pickets. He definitely didn't expect them to have this many choices. He figured he'd come in and buy what he needed, from the only option available. In and out. Wallet a little lighter, but no choices to be made. 

But, no. There are options. Decisions. And he isn't sure which style Eddie would prefer. He just wants Eddie to have a place he feels safe outdoors, again.

Wayne reaches out to touch the samples, again, when he hears clattering and an "oh my god, I'm so sorry" that sounds an awful lot like Steve Harrington.

Wayne pokes his head around the corner of the aisle, and Steve is gathering up a bunch of swag hooks off the floor, swiping them back into his handbasket.

"What're you doin' with those, kid?" Wayne asks, crouching down to help him.

"Eddie's plants," Steve says, standing back up, pushing his hair back and up, out of his eyes. These boys and their hair they can't keep contained. Wayne smiles. He remembers how his (now long-gone) hair was in the sixties. Different styles, sure, but just as impractical, at times.

"Eddie's plants," Wayne repeats with a smile, then asks, "You're gonna hang them from the ceiling?" 

Steve nods, and Wayne grins, "That's a good idea, kid. He'll love that."

Eddie has gathered up a lot of houseplants recently, tending to them, taking care of them, babying them. The first ones were sent to the hospital by his friends, and Eddie latched onto them. And now, Steve drags a new one home every week or two as a gift. Eddie is still recovering, might always be recovering, but his plants make him smile and give him something to do.

Wayne doesn't quite understand it, not with the black thumb he has, but it's like everything else about Eddie. Wayne doesn't have to understand it, to support him. If Eddie wants plants, they can have a whole houseful of them.

Eddie survived something he still hasn't fully explained to Wayne, might never, so if he wants to fill the house with greenery, so be it. 

If he wants to fill the house with Steve Harrington, too, that's also just fine by Wayne.

Steve smiles shyly, "If you don't care that I put holes in the ceiling, that is."

Wayne doesn't care. "I'll help. I've got a stud finder, so we won't have them falling and cracking us on the noggin."

Steve laughs, and nods, "Thanks. What are you doing here?"

Wayne waves him over, getting Steve to follow him.

"Trying to pick fencing for the backyard. If Eddie's gonna keep dragging home strays, we'll need a place to put them," Wayne says, and Steve blushes, just a little. 

"I could make a tent work," Steve teases, and Wayne squeezes his shoulder. Steve is always, and will always, be welcome in the house.

"Good to know, but I was thinking more along the lines of dogs, cats, raccoons. You know how he is," Wayne drawls, and Steve smiles. It's wishful thinking, because they both know the real reason for the fence. Eddie doesn't want to leave the house these days.

"I just assumed I'd get dog-ears," Wayne says, pointing at the slightly-rounded piece of wood on display. "But there are choices."

Steve studies them all, finally saying "I think Eddie would like the pointed ones the most. Looks dangerous," Steve says.

Wayne nods. He was thinking the same thing.

"They're narrower, be more work to set," Wayne mutters.

Steve turns to look at him, "I'll help you, you know that."

Wayne nods. He knows Steve will. He's a good kid, who spends most of his time hanging out in their new little house, doting on Eddie in one way or another. Wayne isn't blind. He knows what this is, what these boys feel for each other, even if Eddie hasn't told him yet.

He will. Wayne just has to be patient.

"Sounds good, kid," Wayne says, and Steve grins, big and bright. Like he wasn't sure his help would be accepted. 

"I don't know much about building a fence, but I can learn. I can follow instructions," Steve assures, and Wayne pats him on the back.

"Let's double-check my math here," Wayne says, pulling a small notepad out of his pocket, rerunning his figures. 

Once he's got a good number, Wayne directs them towards the stain options. Steve picks one with a red tint, and Wayne nods. Looks good to him.

When they get to the counter, he takes Steve's basket and adds it to his.

"You don't have to do that," Steve says.

Wayne knows he doesn't, but it's for Eddie and it's just a few dollars worth of hooks and bolts. He's definitely gonna get his money back in fence-building help.

"I know, I want to," Wayne says, opening his wallet.

Outside, Steve helps the guys from the lumber department load up the trailer full of the pickets. 

"See you at home?" Wayne questions, and Steve nods and smiles.

"Yeah, at home," he answers, walking towards his car, with his small sack of hardware.

And they spend days hanging the over-abundance of plants in front of every window in the house, so many that it seems like they're living in a greenhouse, and then they work on the fence. Putting it up, picket by picket, together.

Sometimes, Eddie comes and sits on the patio and watches, but it still takes a lot out of him, even now, months later. Wayne's worried he might never fully recover. 

But, Steve works hard to entertain Eddie. Steve's funny, and he treats Eddie real good. That's all that will ever matter to Wayne. Eddie's his boy, and by extension, Steve's his boy now, too.

Eddie and Steve fight over the radio, a welcome sound, and Steve's won. 

So, John Lennon's singing about a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy. 

Wayne knows that feeling well.

He's got two of those beautiful boys, now. 

close your eyes, have no fear, the monster's gone, he's on the run and your daddy's here, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy John Lennon, Beautiful Boy

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[whoisthisguyandwhyishehere]

One of the least favourite questions i get after telling someone im an adoptee is " what age were you adopted?"