#deadbeat parents tw

[bridgeporthq]

Oh, look! It’s [SOPHIE JOHNSON]! I heard they’re [33], a [FEMALE], use [SHE/HER] pronouns, have been in town for [33 YEARS] and are actually from [BRIDGEPORT]. They are currently working as a/an/the [MANAGER AT SOAP OPERA LAUNDROMAT] and living in [OLD LYMEMOUTH]. You know, I personally think they look like [DIANNA AGRON], but that’s crazy, right?

BIOGRAPHY

Triggers in Bio: Drug/Alcohol Use, Deadbeat Parents

If there was any family that shouldn’t be having kids, it would be the Johnson family but after discovering the financial assistance they could receive from having children Tiffany and Terry went on to have 4 of them. Growing up she saw her parents abuse the system meant to take care of families. Despite all the assistance the family received hardly any of it went toward the kids. Instead the people who were supposed to take care of her and her siblings traded this assistance for cash to use towards cigarettes, drugs and alcohol. Seeing that their parents weren’t going to step up and take care of them, that responsibility fell on Sophie’s shoulders. Someone needed to take care of her and her siblings after all. She did odd jobs during school to make sure they had some money. What she couldn’t get with the money she earned from working she didn’t see anything wrong with shoplifting it. She was just a young kid after all with too many responsibilities for someone her age.

On top of working as much as she could Sophie managed to get straight A’s in school. It wasn’t surprising when she was offered a scholarship to her dream school after graduating. It was a difficult choice, but she knew her siblings needed her. Instead of heading off to get an education she stayed in town and got a full-time job to help her family. Was it hard to watch her fellow classmates head off to college? Yes, but it was one of the many sacrifices she was willing to make for those she loved. And love them she did despite not finding out until she was an adult that they weren’t even her full siblings. It seems like her mother wasn’t that faithful and had an affair with her dad’s best friend. Sophie was the result of this. Since finding out she’s met her biological father a few times even going to synagogue and celebrating Hanukkah with him. It isn’t the closest of relationships, but it was nice to have a father figure in her life.

As time passed, she found herself moving into a place not too far from her parents so she could still be there for her siblings. Though she never got the college education she hoped she’d get, she did manage to work her way up at work until she became manager of the laundromat. As her siblings got older and they needed her less and less, she managed to gain more of a life outside of her family. Her dating life wasn’t the most active but that didn’t stop her from having a daughter a few years ago with an off again/on again boyfriend. Despite her siblings’ reinsurance that she’d never be like their parents now that she’s a mother it’s a fear that won’t go away. She knows they’re right but it’s still something that keeps her up at night. Is this the life she thought she’d end up with? No but she wouldn’t change it for the world!

[ophanim-vesper]

hello AVM fandom I'm 5 billion years late but here's my first contribution I hope it's okay

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippet Thursday: Mistaken Identity

Actually quite long (about 42 pages in my tiny notepad), because it's a full one-shot rather than part of a multi-chapter idea. Although that's not to say I won't add pieces later

The distress beacon had been Sig’s, but the shape lying limply in the dust was most assuredly not Sig. The gathered Wastelanders looked at each other with grim expressions: this felt like a trap.

"Circle around," Damas signed to the driver of the second car, "Check for an ambush. I'll see if it's one of ours."

"Be careful," the woman signed back. A dimple between her brows suggested that under her heavy scarf she was frowning.

"I'm always careful."

Even so, Damas took extra care in approaching the crumpled form, gesturing for Kleiver to follow him in case of attack. He'd assumed that the person -- or corpse, hard to tell at this distance -- would be larger up close. But as he drew near, the figure remained small, and slight. They were dressed like a Havenite from the Slums, wearing stained, threadbare layers of clothing. A filthy scarf and dismally battered goggles half covered matted green hair; they didn't seem to have any more protection from the sun than that. Foolish Havenite.

Two small animals lay beside the stranger, breathing shallowly. Pets? That seemed an unusual step for Haven, letting an exile take anything important to them.

Damas glanced at the stranger, but kept his attention focused on the ground, looking for Sig’s beacon. It didn't take long to find, considering it lay beside the stranger's hand. Damas picked up the beacon and turned it over in his hand. There were no obvious signs of tampering. No blood or scorching or anything else to indicate that the beacon had been taken by force.

"How did you get this?" Damas murmured, not really expecting an answer. Whoever this was, they were barely alive.

"Er...lordship?"

It was not like Kleiver to sound hesitant.

"Do you...know this kid?"

An odd question. Damas looked up with a quizzical expression and found the big Wastelander peering down at the face of the figure. Kid?

The king pivoted on his heels to get a better look at their find.

Sunken cheeks. Dark circles under large eyes. A pitiful patch of stubble that might’ve been a first attempt at a beard on an otherwise startlingly smooth face. Precursors, he was a kid, wasn't he? He could've been anywhere from sixteen to nineteen -- in his state, it was hard to tell.

"Scrawny thing, isn't he?" Damas remarked. He took hold of an iron ring strapped to the boy's chest and tried to shake off a nagging sense of familiarity in the boy's features. "A channeler, maybe? We could use one of those. Honestly, I'm impressed that he's still breathing."

He glanced up. "What makes you think I'd know who the whelp is?"

Kleiver looked back at him with an unusually uncomfortable expression. He gestured awkwardly to the boy's face.

"Well he's...I mean- well look at 'im! 'S just weird, is all."

"What's weird?" Damas scoffed and hoisted the boy up by the iron ring.

The boy's head fell back and for just a moment, something around his neck glittered in the fading sunlight. With a curse, Damas dropped him as if he'd been burned. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled back a step, swearing under his breath.

"What fresh hell is this?" he demanded.

That was where Phobos found him after completing her perimeter check: staring in horror down at a much younger version of his own face.

Phobos crossed the space between their vehicles to touch his shoulder.

"Damas?"

"I...who is this?"

"Damas." Phobos shook him gently. "Hey. Hey. Are you just going to leave him lying there?"

The king blinked and inhaled sharply as he seemed to come to. "Right," he muttered, "...right. Pho, take my staff."

"What? Oop-!" Phobos hastily grabbed at the staff Damas all but dropped. "What the-!"

In a daze, Damas knelt and slipped an arm under the boy’s shoulders.

"Gods. He really is scrawny."

He shook his head and hoisted the boy up.

"Kleiver, get the car started. And someone grab those animals!"

Phobos's eyes flicked from Damas to the half-dead castaway, and narrowed.

"Damas...who is that?"

Her husband turned to face her, a disturbed shock stamped clearly on his face.

"I don't know," he said grimly, "but he's wearing a Maridius amulet."

■■■■■■■■■■

The Rift Rider idled, ready to take Samos and the child back in time. Ready to begin the cycle of pain all over again. Jak bit his lip and folded his younger self's fingers back over the proffered amulet.

"No, buddy, you keep it," he said gently. "Try...try to remember something about your family this time. Maybe remember me."

The tiny boy pouted, then threw his arms around Jak’s neck. "Za?" He whispered in Jak’s ear, the closest he'd ever come to saying his name.

Jak closed his eyes and hugged the kid tightly. Precursors knew he wouldn't get a lot of hugs in Sandover. "No, buddy. Za can't go with you this time. You have to be really brave for me, okay? There's...there's a kid on the other side of that gate who really really needs a friend. Can you look out for him for me?"

Sniffling, the little boy let go and nodded. "Brave like you," he signed. Then, rubbing his eyes, he sat back down in the craft.

Jak took a slow breath, then looked to the younger Samos. Doubtless this version of the sage was going to withhold just as much information as the older one. Jak didn't trust him to warn Mar about Errol. And he'd be blasted if he let that swine get his hands on the amulet in any timeline.

"You know, I didn't have the amulet when I got back to the present," he said casually. "I think you locked it up for safekeeping right before we fixed the Rift Gate, but I never saw where in the house you put it."

Samos took the bait too easily. "Oof! Yes, I suppose it would be bad for the kid to meet the Baron with that thing on. Thanks for the heads-up."

All too soon, they were gone. And not long after, so was Jak, headed for Dead Town. It had been a selfish ploy, a bid to give himself some semblance of a connection to his past. He couldn't remember having the amulet yet -- but he'd had trouble remembering a lot of his early years ever since the experiments began. "Traumatic amnesia", Daxter called it.

But if the amulet was there, if his ploy had worked, then maybe he'd get something back.

It took him an hour to sift through all the debris in the old hut, even with Daxter's help. The ravages of time hadn't left many places for treasure to remain undiscovered in. But just when Jak was beginning to fear that someone had found it decades before, his hand brushed over a brick in the old planter circles that lacked the same grout as the others.

Leave it to Samos to hide such an important artifact under a giant, vicious, carnivorous plant. Had he fed it to the thing?! The amulet was down where the roots had once been!

Still, Jak could admit to a sense of relief that washed over him once the amulet was in his hand. Clearly he'd changed the past at least enough to have an emotional connection to the pendant. He tucked it into his tunic, resolving to put it on a chain the first chance he got. He wasn't going to let anyone take it from him again.

■■■■■■■■■■

The last thing Jak remembered was collapsing beside a boulder, desperately trying to stay conscious only to fail seconds later. He could hear a voice -- not Daxter or Pecker -- nearby, and as he focused on that, other sensations began to filter in.

Softness beneath him.

The smell of eco med-gel.

An itch in the crook of his elbow.

A sticky dryness in his mouth, like cotton.

And something off about his skin. He couldn't put his finger on it, but his skin felt different somehow. Cleaner? No, that didn't make any sense. Why would it be clean?

It took a monumental effort to open his eyes, and he regretted it immediately. Light stabbed into his retinas pitilessly, and Jak let out an involuntary grunt of discomfort. In response, a shadow fell over his face, shielding him from the unforgiving glare. First a blur, then a shape, a face slowly swam into focus.

"Ah, you're back with us! Thank the Precursors, that was a close one, eh?"

Jak blinked up in confusion as his brain slowly processed the presence of one of the most beautiful women he could ever remember seeing. Not that he could remember seeing that many women in his life. Her skintone was so deep that the light framing her glanced off her cheekbones in little flashes of garnet and amethyst. Coils of hair spread out behind her head in an artful halo, providing most of the blessed shade across Jak's face. He squinted up at her for a long moment, trying to determine whether he was hallucinating in the desert.

"....'m I dead?" Jak croaked, then winced at the dry soreness in his throat.

The angelic stranger laughed in surprise. "Dead? No, quite the opposite, kid. Although you got pretty close."

"Where am I?" Jak tried to sit up, and something tugged at his elbow.

Instantly, he froze. He knew the shape of a needle.

Bile crawled up his throat, and his heart thundered in his ears as he forced himself to turn his head and look.

A bag of clear fluid hung from a stand beside a cot he'd been laid on. Descending from the bag, a long tube fed the fluid through a needle secured to his arm with bandages. A high whine escaped him, and the room seemed to spin.

"Whoa whoa whoa- kid, kiddo, look at me."

The mysterious woman suddenly took his face in her hands -- rough hands. A warrior's hands.

"Ssshh, hey, you're okay. You're okay, chico. It's just saline, that's all."

"W- what-?"

"Saline. It's a...kinda like a saltwater solution you give to people suffering dehydration."

One of the calloused hands cupped the back of his head, rubbing a thumb comfortingly over stubble.

Stubble?

Jak's breathing quickened and the room spun faster.

"What-!" he gasped, and his breaths began to squeak. "What did you do to me?!"

"Hey now, breathe. Breathe." The woman began to sway back and forth where she sat, dragging him along with the rocking motion.

"Inhale with me, yeah? In and out, in and out. I've got you."

"M- my h- my h- hair-!" Jak squeaked.

The woman clicked her tongue. "Oh, ohhh, you can feel that, huh? Yeah, you were overheated. The mats in your hair were just doing damage to you, longterm. The doctors didn't have any time to waste, so they shaved it out to cool you off."

She continued to cradle his face with her other hand, offering him a full, apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry we couldn't get your okay, chico. But...I mean, you wouldn't wake up! Not even your orange friend could get a response. He gave us the go-ahead."

For the first time since waking, Jak felt something like relief. "D- Daxter?"

"Mm. The mouthy one? Yes."

"Where-?"

The woman pulled back and turned away for a moment. Jak wondered why he felt minutely disappointed by that. He wasn't that touch-starved, was he? When she turned back, she held a cup and pitcher in her hands. The sight of the water trickling from one container to the other made Jak's throat ache all the fiercer.

"Here. Slow sips now, little bird. Don't make yourself sick like your friend did." The woman settled back into her seat at the edge of the cot. She made a vague gesture with the hand not holding the pitcher.

"At least he made a quick recovery. My husband took him back up to our place. When you're cleared by the doctors, we'll take you to him."

Jak gulped down the water, ignoring his visitor's protests. It was cool, although not cold, but even that was like heaven on his irritated throat. Droplets leaked from the corner of his mouth, and the IV tugged painfully as he reached up to catch them. He didn't think he could afford to waste even one drop.

"Hey hey!" The woman reached for the cup, and Jak jerked back out of reach.

"Not so fast, chico, you'll make yourself sick!"

Jak growled softly behind the rim of the cup and hitched up his shoulders. If this lady wanted to take the water away, she'd be in for a fight.

"Whoa!" The woman raised her brows. "Calm down. The water isn't going anywhere, I promise."

"I don't know you," Jak retorted, "How do I know you keep promises?"

Now the woman began to look a little annoyed.

"Fair enough," she begrudgingly allowed. "Considering the state we found you in, am I to assume that if I take that cup you'll bite me or something?"

"I might," answered Jak coolly.

Something bittersweet passed over the woman's face and lingered there at the corners of her mouth as she forced a smile.

"Well that wouldn't be very nice of you, but I can't say it wouldn't fit with every other kid in Spargus."

Jak lowered the cup slowly. "Spargus?" he asked, tilting his head, "What's that?"

"It's home," she answered. "The city of the forgotten and the betrayed -- and the hunter."

Jak raised the cup again and muttered darkly, "Well that's ironically appropriate."

"Let's start over, huh?"

The woman leaned back and carded a hand through her teased-out coils.

"My name is Phobos. I was with the convoy that found you and your friends in the Strider Range."

"...oh."

Jak grimaced. This woman had rescued him, hadn't she?

"I'm, um. I'm Jak."

Embarrassed, he gestured to the cup, the IV, and looked away. "What do I owe you? I don't...I don't have any money."

Phobos shook her head. "It's fine, chico- er, Jak. When people come to Spargus, those who have life debts pay it back by contributing to the overall survival of their new home and neighbors, depending on how old they are when they arrive."

"How old they are?" Jak fiddled with his now empty cup awkwardly. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Phobos gave him an amused glance. "Uh...kids are kids? This isn't Haven, hey? We don't even let people take the citizen applicant training course until we know they're eighteen or older."

She scooted closer and held up the pitcher. "Cup."

"Huh? Oh-"

Jak tilted the cup toward her but didn't let go. He watched her refill it and puzzled over the idea of a city in good enough shape that kids didn't have to work. Maybe there weren't metalheads out here.

"So...do you people normally pick up half-dead people and bring them home?"

"As long as they aren't half dead because they tried to kill us, yeah," Phobos said with a careless shrug. "Strength and survival: it's the two things Wastelanders respect the most. So when we find somebody in the badlands who isn't a dried out corpse, we know we've got the makings of a tough little survivor."

Surviving was, by necessity, Jak’s best skill. But considering the kind of jobs he got when people knew that, and how it had turned out last time, Jak decided not to advertise that fact. It already nagged at him that someone had seen his scars, and the bruises from the arrest, and every other injury he'd gained in the name of helping a city that hated him. Spargus wouldn't get the same freebies.

Eventually, Phobos stood up and put the pitcher back on a low counter that extended out of sight behind a curtain. She dusted off her yellow tunic and stretched her back with a soft grunt.

"Alright. I guess somebody ought to tell Damas you're awake and talking," she said, more to herself than to Jak.

Before Jak could ask who Damas was supposed to be, something careful and calculated slipped into Phobos's voice.

"So...just you and the critters, huh? Your parents know where you are?"

Hands tightened into claws around the wooden cup.

"I never had parents," Jak growled.

One more thing to "thank" Haven for, apparently.

"Ah." Phobos's eyes widened in an oddly dismayed expression. "Sorry, I..."

"Why?"

Jak's eyes narrowed at her.

"Literally no one has ever asked if I even had parents before you. You're fishing for something. What do you want?"

Then it hit him: if the woman had seen his scars, she had seen his amulet as well. Was that what she was getting at? Probing to see if any other ill-fated Heirs of Mar existed?

"Uh..." Phobos puffed out her cheeks and blew the air out. "It's...complicated. I'm gonna let Damas take this one."

"Who's Damas?" Jak demanded.

Phobos made another odd grimace and lifted a radio from the countertop.

"Hey, Damas, the kid's awake," she said, ignoring Jak's question.

A raspy voice crackled through the speaker.

"He is? Has he said anything yet?"

"Well, he threatened to bite me," Phobos joked before growing serious. "Take it easy when you come down, he's pretty worked up. Bring the orange guy if you can."

"Understood. Anything else I should know?"

"Yeah," Phobos sighed. "He doesn't know who we are, where we are, or how he got here. I don't think you're going to get any answers out of him."

"......oh."

The guy she called Damas sounded strangely...emotional.

"Er...alright. I'll...I'll see what I can do when I get there."

Jak glowered at Phobos's back. He hated when people talked about him like he wasn't there.

Out of habit, he reached for his collar to run his fingers over his amulet. That always helped him slow down when his thoughts were racing too fast. His fingers brushed against loose linen; the tunic he was wearing were not the one he'd had on the last time he was awake. Jak's stomach felt like it was plummeting from a precipice as he finally looked down at his body. Someone had dressed him in loose, lightweight clothing. There was no sign of his own clothing.

Or his amulet.

Fighting down feelings of violation and revulsion, Jak gripped the thin sheets in hands like claws.

"Where are my clothes?" he snarled, "What did you do?"

Phobos didn't look overly concerned, which only agitated Jak more.

"They're being checked for trackers or other bugs," she said with a shrug. "Haven's been trying to find our city for years. Can't be too careful. Look on the bright side: it's probably the first time they've ever been washed."

She leaned over the cot, and Jak jerked away.

"Don't touch me!"

There wasn't much room to retreat on the small bed, but Jak tried anyway.

"Who stole my amulet?"

"Hey, calm down," Phobos raised a placating hand, but dropped it quickly when Jak flinched. "Nobody stole it."

"Don't lie to me!"

Jak was over the verge of panic now. He was alone, powerless, right back to being poked and prodded like a doll. Like a lab rat.

"What do you want?!"

Grimacing, Phobos stepped back and grabbed her radio again.

"Hey Damas? Hurry it up, will ya?"

"I'm en route."

"Good. Because he just noticed the absence of a Certain Something and he is losing it right now."

"Rot. Okay, just- rot! Try to keep him calm, I'm bringing it, okay?"

The man's voice rose and fell oddly. It almost sounded like he was running.

Phobos ran a hand through her hair and puffed out her cheeks. This was not going as well as they'd hoped. Could've been worse, she acknowledged, but this kid's reactions were giving her a bad feeling. The scars, the reaction to the IV and having been given new clothing without his knowledge, it all painted a pretty grim picture.

"Damas is bringing your amulet down," she said in what she hoped was a soothing tone. (How did one talk to agitated teenagers?! Why weren't they as easy to calm as toddlers?) "He'll explain everything, chico, I promise. Just...stay here a minute, okay?"

Jak warily watched the woman walk through the curtain, listening and counting her footsteps. By the sound of it, he was in the back of a narrow building. There was someone else up there, wherever Phobos had gone, but they rustled around opening drawers instead of speaking. If there were guards, Jak couldn't hear them. He hoped there were none. In his current state, he doubted he'd be able to fight them off.

A door slid open with the sound of a chime, and Jak stiffened as a heavier tread entered the building.

"About time!" he heard Phobos greet the person, "He's all yours."

"Allegedly," the voice from the radio answered.

"Mmhm. You're cute when you're in denial. Better get back there before the poor kid has a heart attack."

When the curtains parted, Jak was in the act of climbing off the cot to look for something -- anything -- to defend himself with. He froze, locking eyes with a weathered Wastelander covered in scars and armor. He looked like the kind of guy Sig would run with. Jak stared at the man and wondered if this was the guy who allegedly had his amulet. Were those piercings on his skull?! Despite himself, Jak wondered how the man slept without ripping whatever he used for a pillow.

"Easy, young one," the man murmured, holding out his hands as if approaching a skittish animal. "Easy. You're in no danger."

"Usually when people tell me that, they're lying," Jak retorted. He backed up, silently cursing his shaky legs, until his back touched the wall and the IV tugged painfully at his arm. "Where's Daxter? What do you people want with us?"

The armored man lowered himself to sit on the end of the cot and folded his hands in front of him. "Your friend is perfectly safe," he soothed, "Well, unless he tries to use the water wheel as a carnival ride, I suppose. But he doesn't really seem the type to do that kind of thing."

"You didn't answer my other question," Jak said pointedly. "What do you want?"

"Answers," the man -- Damas, probably -- replied steadily, "Just answers."

"Like what?" Jak edged closer to the IV, trying to relieve the horrific sensation of the needle.

Then his visitor reached into a cloth pouch at his belt and drew out a familiar shape.

"What can you tell me about this?" he asked, holding up the amulet.

Forgetting the needle, Jak lunged for the pendant. Pain lanced through his elbow for an instant, hot and dull, and he pulled up short. He'd learned long ago not to rip needles out. There would just be more if he did.

"Whoa!" Damas dropped the amulet on the sheets and reached out as if to steady Jak. "Slow down, boy, you're going to hurt yourself! You shouldn't even be standing right now!"

Jak, unfortunately, agreed. But he locked his knees and kept his eyes on Phobos's friend, just as he had on Phobos.

"Give it back," he rasped, holding out a demanding hand.

Damas frowned thoughtfully. He picked up the chain and considered it for a few seconds before dropping it into Jak's outstretched hand.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

With time-travel being too unbelievable an explanation even to those closest to Jak, he settled for the most open-ended version of the truth he could manage.

"Ancient ruins," he muttered.

The chain slipped down around his neck, and he visibly relaxed once the familiar weight rested against his collarbone.

Damas made an interested sound and folded his arms. "Ruins, eh? How did you find it?"

Evasively, Jak shrugged. "I just...knew where to look."

"And does this happen to you often? "Knowing" things?"

Hm. He might’ve been a little too open-ended there. Jak braced his back against the wall and begrudgingly clarified.

"I'm not a seer. It's just with eco stuff."

Damas nodded. "Ah! I understand. So what made you decide to keep such an odd little trinket?"

He wasn't being very subtle. Jak could do blunt too.

"It's mine. That's it. And I know what you're trying to do."

A hint of tension lined Damas’s neck and shoulders as he tried to play casual.

"Oh? And what am I trying to do, young one?"

Jak curled his lip at the man. "You're trying to get me to say I'm an Heir of Mar, probably so you can get some of his artifacts. What, do you want the Precursor Stone too? Well you're too late."

Any semblance of relaxation dropped from Damas like a cloak. He straightened, and the air filled with an undercurrent of warning. It was almost like eco -- enough that Jak wondered if the man could channel.

"Explain that, please."

It didn't sound like a request.

"What, exactly, do you know about the Precursor Stone?"

Jak gripped his amulet for calm.

"Not a myth," he said shortly, "Not meant to be used as a weapon, and not a rock."

He lifted his chin and met Damas’s hard eyes.

"I opened it. It can't be used anymore."

"Opened?!" Damas recoiled slightly. "You've touched the Stone?"

Suspicion colored his voice, but strangely he didn't seem to be getting hostile.

"Where did you find it?"

Agitated, Jak snapped, "In a tomb designed by some sadistic obstacle-course lover obsessed with "manhood", guarded by a bunch of loudmouth Oracles. Be glad you missed it."

He wondered if he was just setting himself up for problems later. If the Wastelanders knew he could speak to Oracles and traverse ruins, they'd probably make him pay off the medical care by finding artifacts for them. Story of his life.

But Damas looked shaken by the statement, not shrewd. He seemed almost to pale, and drew a hand over his face to rest over his mouth. His eyes bored into Jak's with an unsettling intensity.

"The amulet truly belongs to you, then," he finally acknowledged, in little more than a croak. His fingers pressed into his jaw hard enough that Jak wondered if the man would have fingerprints there later.

"How...how old are you, boy?"

What did that have to do with anything? Annoyed, Jak shrugged.

"Like I know? Fifteen, sixteen, what's it matter?"

"You don't...you don't know?" Damas looked even more shaken. "No one told you your own birthdate?"

Jak didn't want to talk about this. He finally slumped to sit at the head of the cot and crossed his arms sullenly.

"Y'know what, that's none of your business. Where's Daxter? I'm not saying anything else until I see him."

"I can arrange that."

Damas stood and absentmindedly picked up the wooden cup.

"You should er...try to sleep some. Heat exhaustion will leave you weak for a good several days-"

"Are you Damas?" Jak interrupted suddenly, as Phobos's attempted reassurances came to mind.

Damas turned. "Yes?"

He looked like he almost expected something else to follow.

Jak pulled his knees to his chest and rested folded arms on top of them. "The lady who was in here said you'd explain what you people wanted from me. And why you took my amulet."

The Wastelander looked, Jak thought, rather like he had just swallowed a bee. He made a few awkward hand motions -- some of it almost looked like signs -- and tugged on a tuft of hair at his chin.

"Ah...that is..."

He picked up the pitcher and splashed water into the cup clumsily. He was unsettled.

"The crest of Mar has...connotations. Doubtless you've learned by now, but when people see it they form...expectations."

Damas cleared his throat and handed the cup over to Jak.

"I removed it from you before the monks could see it and develop those expectations. I...wanted you to be able to focus on healing without the distraction of history zealots."

Well, that was marginally better than Jak had been imagining. He didn't exactly trust that the man was telling the truth, but at least he hadn't tried to sell it or something. Jak acknowledged his visitor's words with a curt nod and sipped at the water slowly. Idly, he wondered if his general age fit this city's "too young for serious work" bracket or not. After Haven, he honestly didn't know whether he hoped so or not.

Damas was staring at him. It was subtle, but intense, and Jak could feel his eyes. It made his brain itch, and he felt the urge to squirm uncomfortably.

"Are you in any pain?" Damas asked suddenly, apparently in response to the squirming.

"I don't like being stared at," Jak answered gruffly.

"...ah." Damas cringed and looked away. "Apologies. You just...look very familiar. I was trying to place whether I might have met you or someone you were related to in the past."

"Not unless you were in Haven before Praxis took over," Jak grumbled bitterly, "Or you took a tour of his prison labs in the last two years."

You're talking too much, Jak. Wait for Daxter. Why are you volunteering this information?

Well. He knew. He was scared and disoriented and angry, and he wanted to shock someone. Anyone. It was the dark eco talking.

"The labs?!" Damas dropped the pitcher with a crash. A terrible look flooded his face. "Did...was your whole family there?"

"Rot! Why are you guys so obsessed with information about my parents?" Jak was getting tired of repeating himself. "You know as much as I do! Even the freakin Oracles wouldn't tell me what the amulet meant until I got to the Tomb!"

From the front of the building, the third person finally called out.

"My lord, if you keep getting him worked up, I'm tossing you out. He's supposed to be resting!"

"I'm working on it, Petros!" Damas retorted sharply.

He closed his eyes and made a visible attempt to calm himself before turning back to Jak.

"Sorry. I know this is confusing. I am...having a difficult time finding the right words to ask the right questions." He made a helpless gesture. "Finding you, practically on my doorstep, with that amulet has upended my understanding of the world and my place in it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jak demanded.

Damas gingerly took a seat at the end of the cot again and, sighing deeply, reached into his pouch again.

"The last time I was in Haven for an extended period of time was about fifteen years ago, at the end of the last major campaign against the metalheads."

He opened his hand, revealing a second amulet of Mar in his palm.

"After Praxis betrayed me- after the hardships our city has faced over the last few years-"

He shook his head with furrowed brow.

"I- I thought I was the only one left. And now here you are, and I have more questions than answers."

Jak blinked, then blinked again.

"Well," he said in a strangled voice, "That makes two of us."

[stageplayhero]

“There comes a time in everyone’s life where you experience that hilarious moment of avoiding your children’s calls because the thought of speaking to them makes you sick to your stomach. Right?”

[raging-violets]

Under Pressure // Kendall x Riley // Big Time Rush

Summary – Kendall is stressed and under a lot of pressure and only one person can really understand how he feels, especially when it has to do with his father.

A/N: I’ve done something like this before but this one-shot hit me after reading a post about Kendall on tumblr and wouldn’t let me go until I finished writing it. So, in essence, this is a character study on Kendall, lol.

Set during 2x11 – Big Time Songwriters (though it just mentions it more than it being a plot point).

Words: 3069

TW: mentions of child abuse, deadbeat dad, neglect, parentification, parent death

Tightness stretched across Kendall’s shoulders, increasing as the seconds passed. So much so that he stopped to wiggle and stretch them every few steps. Nothing was making the boulders of his muscles melt away. And it probably wouldn’t until peace returned to him and that wouldn’t happen until his father left Los Angeles.

In the meantime, everything was fine.

He was fine.

He was fine.

He was so fine.

He was so not fine.

Kendall turned away from the mirror, pressing his hands into the sides of his head. He paced across the floor of the costume closet, hearing the distant sound of Gustavo’s screams. The screams only slightly accompanied by off-key notes slammed on a piano.

Not a good song writing day, if Kendall had to guess. Not that he even had to guess. The look on Kelly’s face when he arrived at Rocque Records that day was clear enough. The twitching of her eye only stopped long enough for her to ask, “What are you doing here? You’re not scheduled until tomorrow.”

“I just wanted to…” Kendall briefly closed his eyes. Thought hard for an excuse. He opened his eyes and glanced at the empty practice rooms nearby. “Get some guitar practice in. You know…” he blinked hard, forced a smile that was seconds from breaking. “See if we can spruce up the ‘Oh Yeah’ song.”

“Okay…” Kelly gazed at Kendall. Who wasn’t blinking as he continued to smile at her. “Stop it. That’s creepy.” Kendall dropped his smile. Kelly looked him up and down for a minute. “So long as you don’t destroy the place like you did when you and the boys were writing. Everything’s still getting patched up.”

Kendall nodded and backed away from Kelly, heading towards the practice room, stepping over the broken pieces of furniture and poster sized photos of Rocque Records bands that had been ripped off the walls, wincing as he did so. (And that was nothing compared to the wince that went across his and his friends’ faces when they say the bald patch in the back of his head after he’d ripped out the hair extensions he’d put in when dressed as a viking that day).

After a few steps, Kendall turned back as if he’d only just though tof something. “Hey, uh, do you know if Riley’s here?” He ignored the knowing smile that stretched across Kelly’s face before following her head tilt toward the costume closet. “Just…you know…Gustavo’s asking about the outfits for our videos so I thought I’d…y’know…check on it.”

“Uh-huh.”

So there he was, pacing, pacing, pacing, trying not to look at himself in the mirror. Because if he looked in the mirror, he wasn’t going to see himself, he was going to see him. The man who—unfortunately—had given him half his genes and DNA. The same man he had just seen not even an hour before and Kendall barely managed to get through that conversation without his brain exploding from the pressure of keeping his mouth shut.

He hadn’t been that angry since the all-out war he and the boys had when writing their song. But that was even worse; that was a song that needed to be written so it could go on the deluxe album per Griffin’s wishes. And even then, it was even more pressure because they were writing their first song to prove a point to Gustavo and they needed to like it so he would like it so Griffin would like it so that the fans and critics would like it and…

Kendall’s temples throbbed at the mere thought.

If things didn’t go well with the song, then they wouldn’t go well with the band, then all of that time they spent going to LA would’ve been…a catastrophic failure. Which would mean…everything in his life would’ve ended in abysmal failure.

His parents’ marriage? Ruined when his father became a professional hockey player and enjoyed that life more than being a family man. (Where he may or may not have cheated on his mom, Kendall still didn’t know for sure.). He ended up being the “man of the house” at a young age. Had to be the one in charge of anything and everything when his mom wasn’t there. Had to be another parent when he didn’t even truly know what being a parent was.

His mom? Worked as a waitress in a diner just to be able to afford groceries, rent, Kendall’s hockey and Katie’s lacrosse. She worked almost all day every day and he could barely remember when she got a full day off. Sometimes, Kendall wondered if his mom knew how to be a person again. Not a mom. Not a provider. But a person.

Katie? He walked her to and from the school bus every day, made sure she got into the house okay, consistently called in and checked on her while she was there. Took her to his hockey practices when he had no choice but to go and he watched her quietly sit in the stands, bundled up against the cold, sometimes falling asleep on the bleachers. (She got to know the staff at the arena very well, they were her first victims of poker playing).

His friends? They were always going to be by his side. He couldn’t remember the last time he wans’t. If they got detention he was either coming up with a plan to get them out of it or get him in it just so they could hang out. Anyone who dared tried to say anything bad about them (saying James had no talent, that Logan was a wimp, that Carlos was crazy) was met with potential death. The amount of times he’d gotten into fights with guys who tried to bully Logan or with bigger goons on the ice trying to smash James’s face in was enough to give him the nickname “Killer” early in his hockey career. He was nothing without his friends. So much so that even when James was mad about him getting the deal to go to LA to make music Kendall couldn’t imagine not having them with him.

Him? He had to take care of the cooking and housekeeping while his mom worked late into the night. Where he still had to do his homework, study for tests, worked as the captain of the hockey team, hung out and got in trouble with his friends, and keep his job at the grocery store. All the while he kept a smile on his face. He was loyal, compassionate, friendly, kind, caring, smart, and loyal to everyone around him. The people he loved and cared about. He helped Mrs. Magicowski with her yardwork when the time came, bringing her home some groceries when he was able to get some from the store. Giving up multiple areas of his life, growing up fast so that he could make his life a little bit easier for his mom and sister.

Any of that becoming pointless, becoming useless, becoming not worth it…was not a reality he wanted to live. And if that all came crashing down because he couldn’t get his fucking father’s face out of his head…he’d never forgive him.

Not that he ever would anyway.

The more he looked himself in the mirror, the more he saw his father’s face in his own. It was all he could do to keep from smashing himself in the face with a hockey stick just to knock his father’s teeth out. The idea made him smile in that way that had multiple people telling him, “Stop it, it’s creepy” more than enough times that day.

“What are you doing here, Hockey-Head? Aren’t you supposed to be meeting your dad?” Riley’s voice made Kendall turn. She moved into the costume closet, closing the door with her foot as she carefully maneuvered a surfboard through the door. She set the board on the wall and brushed her wet hair behind her shoulders. “You’re not going to tell Kelly and Gustavo I skivved off, yeah?”

Kendall smiled softly. “No, I won’t tell them.”

“Ace.” Riley peered at him closely then moved to sit on the arm of the couch. “I reckon you being here means your meeting with your dad didn’t go well.” She looped her arms around her upraised knees as he collapsed onto the couch next to her.

“Understatement of the century,” he replied. He flopped back, draping his arm over his face. Let out a heavy sigh, the weight on his shoulders only given a slight reprieve while lying down. “I could hardly stand looking at him.”

He could hear Riley hum softly. “What’d he say?”

“That he was happy to see me,” Kendall replied. He dropped his arm from his face, resting his hands on his stomach as he stared at the ceiling. Alternated looking at Riley then back to the ceiling once more. “That he was glad I took the time to meet with him. That I looked like I was doing well. He wanted to know everything about me.”

A bitter laugh ripped from his throat, as if it had been waiting in the wings for the right moment to strike. The harshness of his laugh, he saw, made Riley jump. She blinked over at him, eyebrows coming together in concern.

“My own dad wanted to know everything about me, like I was some random kid he’d just met for the first time.” The reality of the thought, sobering, settled right into Kendall’s gut. His voice was soft when he repeated himself. “To him I’m some random kid he’d just met for the first time.” Even quieter when he added, “He didn’t even apologize.”

“What do you want him to apologize for?” Riley asked. For a moment, Kendall shot her a ‘are you serious?’ look. The tension in his shoulders moved to his head, started to throb with his heart beat. She simply blinked back at him, blue eyes big and round as she gazed back at him, chin then resting on her knees.

“He couldn’t apologize for leaving,” Kendall said. “I gave him so many chances…and he couldn’t even mention how he’s been gone. He just kept asking me questions, things he would know if he was around. He couldn’t even remember how old Katie is!”

An even stronger throb of pressure.

Kendall clenched his teeth together, working to keep from exploding.

“He acted like he’d always been there and just forgot some things. Like we’d always been in LA, he kept talking about places to and things to see as if being out here was normal.” Kendall’s eyebrows came together when it hit him. “It’s normal to him. Because he’s been out here. He’s lived a life of luxury while we’ve been in Minnesota struggling to make rent every day. He’s been living the life anyone would ever dream of while mom was working from sunup to sundown and barely got a day off. And he was out here while Katie was the only girl in her class who didn’t have a dad to go to the ‘Daddy-daughter’ dance at school, so I had to take her!”

“Kendall—”

“And Mom had to deal with all the whispers and rumors of the other hockey moms. And she had to deal with a crappy boss at the diner just to take care of us. And taking me to my hockey practices and hockey games! And she wouldn’t let me quit them to work more to help her! All the while he was living in the lap of luxury as if he had no family to come home to.” He lurched to his feet, hands slamming into clenched fists. “I hate him!”

Lift off.

“I hate him for what he did to you!” Fury couldn’t describe the emotion that flashed over Kendall’s face. Swirled through his eyes. Riley watched him violently place; eyes wide as she slowly stood from the arm of the couch. “How he stood up there and made it so that the guy that abused you for years practically got off scott free. He stood there and told a judge that you guys were practically the reason for Robert to torture you all for so long and work you to the bone for your career just so he could make money!”

“—Kendall.”

Kendall turned to look Riley in the eye. “I hate that everyone knows what he did. That he knows you all didn’t deserve it and still tried to make it look like you were to blame. How he  made other people think Robert was just an innocent man who was stressed and worked out his stress in a bad way. I hate that he did the same thing to you that…” Kendall trailed off.

Riley took in a deep breath then bluntly said, “That’s not what’s bothering you.”

Kendall’s hands clenched once more, twisting in the air, as if he were wringing the neck of a hockey stick. Seconds away from taking it and slamming it over his knee. The thought made him smirk a little, wondering what his dad would think if they ever came up against each other in a hockey game. He wasn’t called “Killer” for nothing. Then again, his dad wasn’t called “Knuckles” for nothing either.

“What do you want me to say?” Kendall demanded.

“The truth!” Riley shot back. “How you’re really feeling! You fucking hate him; I know you do. But you don’t hate him for us, you hate him for you!” She jabbed him in the chest with her fingertip. “I hate him for what he did to you and Katie. And I don’t even know him! You’re his son and he did that to you! With Rob…your dad was just doing his job. But for you…he wasn’t doing his job as a dad.”

Kendall dropped his hands back to his sides, then folded his arms. He was silent for a long moment. “Do you want to hear how I got tired of hearing my mom cry every night? When she thought Katie and I couldn’t hear her? Where I saw her stressing out over bills and charges? Where I thought about dropping out of hockey because I knew how expensive it was? How I had to live up to his name over and over because it was all people wanted to talk about? How I always had to hear ‘you’re just like your father?’ and cringe inside? How much I don’t like to look in the mirror because I look like him? How I often wonder if my mannerisms are his or if they’re mine? How I hate how angry I am at him and that I hate how everything Gustavo’s ever said to me just reminds me of him? How, as much as I hate him, there’s a tiny part of me that wonders if this time…” he trailed off, his voice cracking badly, the pressure lessening. “If this time is the time he decides to stay? And I have to act like…like none of that happened? And I have to pretend like nothing’s wrong if he leaves again?

“ I don’t…I can’t…” Kendall brought his hands up to the sides of his head, grasped his hair. His chest heaved, tears trickling over his cheeks. “I can’t take the pressure.” He sank to the floor and pressed his face into his hands. Hated that he was crying and equally hating it was his dad that was making him do it.

He slid to the floor, bringing up his legs and hid his face behind his arms. Allowed the tears to flow as long as they would go. He felt Riley sit down next to him before she put her arm around his shoulders, resting her head against his.

They sat that way for a long time. He had no idea how long. All he could focus was on the throbbing in his back and shoulders that slowly ebbed away with each pulse of his heart. Starting off strong then simmered. A gesture like that, one that his mother usually would give him, would’ve sent him running. (More likely to the hockey rink, where he would’ve done laps until he was dripping with sweat and exhausted). But he simply collapsed into Riley’s shoulder, resting his head under her chin, in the crook of her neck.

“You’re lucky,” Kendall murmured. “Your parents are dead. They can’t let you down.”

Riley’s voice was flat. “Yeah, not being able to have them at any of our milestones…let alone to meet you…I have no idea what being let down means.”

Kendall sucked in a sharp breath, briefly closing his eyes. Was almost too ashamed to open his eyes again, afraid of the ferocity of the anger she’d deserve to throw his way if she wanted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--”

She raised her hand, cutting him off. Not out of anger, but compassion. A tearful compassion that showed she completely understood what he meant and didn’t hate him for it. “Don’t be sorry, Hockey-Head,” she said. “This isn’t about me.”

“I don’t want him in my life.”

“You don’t have to want him in your life. Not just because he’s your dad. Just keep the people you want around.” With the hand by his head, she tapped him on the side of the head. “You’re in control of your life and who’s in it, Kendork.” He chuckled, lightly rolling his eyes at the use of one of her many nicknames for him. “Don’t give anyone else that power.”

Kendall nodded.

He brought up his hand and grasped hers, squeezing it.

His shoulders slumped.

The pain went away.

Relief.

He was fine.

Kendall lifted his head and looked at her. “How did you do that?” He asked.

Riley smiled.

Tag List: @partiallypearl @witchofinterest @mystic-scripture @darknightfrombeyond @arrthurpendragon ​

[magpie-to-the-morning]

.

[whydoyoucare866]

Moonlight

PAIRINGS:

Titans!Jason todd x reader

SUMMARY:

Bruce has taken in Jason Todd as his youngest son and the new robin some months ago, Bruce’s goddaughter also came back to Gotham after being away for a year.

Some months after meeting Jason she starts a friends with benefits relationship with him, suddenly Jason has to move to the Titans tower and two weeks later Bruce sends her too, but, why is Jason ignoring her and acting like he doesn’t know her and why does it get worse when Rose Wilson arrives to the tower??

A/N: in this story Dick and Jason will not have such a big age gap as they do in the show, Dick will be 23 while Jason will be 19, but for the sake of the plot it will, also ignore that there’s already a dc character called moonlight, also the powers I made up for her make no sense at all but we’ll have to deal with it.

TWS: slow burn, angst, blood, canon violence, mentions of death, anxiety, jealousy, friends to friends with benefits to enemies to lovers?, maybe death of a main character (haven’t decided yet) change of plot

Keep in mind that English is not my first language, I also know nothing about guns, human anatomy or fighting in the language so I'm sorry if I make a lot of mistakes

Story Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Superman by Eminem was playing as the car Bruce sent to get you from the airport approached the gothic styled manor you hadn't seen in a year or so, the way everything looked the same brought you a sense of comfort, you knew Dick wasn’t Robin anymore, you were really close to Dick and he had told you all about how Bruce was a bad father and how he didn’t want to become him, you understood him, although you couldn’t help but feel bad for Bruce, you knew he was trying his best and he may not have been the best father, but he was a great godfather, it probably was because he wasn’t 100% responsible of you, he didn’t have to teach you about emotions, life, problems, or shit like that, he just had to spoil you and talk to you, so it was probably easier for him.

As you grew closer to the manor you noticed that Bruce and Alfred were already waiting for you by the door with some guy, he looked a little bit younger than you, but not too much, you couldn’t see him very well from the distance, but he seemed to be in casual clothes so you assumed he lived here, he was probably another stray that Bruce took in after Dick left so you paid it no mind. Eventually you arrived to the mansion and you could cry, it had been a year since you had last seen Bruce and Alfred, it had been a year since your dad had died, he was the only parent you ever knew, your mom wasn’t a deadbeat who abandoned you or anything like that, but she wasn’t “normal” she had special abilities (which you also have) that you didn’t know were special until you showed them to a boy in kindergarten and made him cry out of fear, at that moment you didn’t get why the boy had cried when you just tried to show him how your hands could glow, you then got a long talk from your mom about how most people don’t have the same abilities as you, therefore you have to keep them a secret, otherwise people would be scared or even worse it would put you at risk because there were bad people who wanted those abilities for themselves. You learned to take the talk seriously when your mom got killed by some scientist who wanted to have her powers and it was all thanks to not hiding them too well, leaving your dad and yourself on your own.

The sound of the car’s door opening pulled you out of your thoughts, and you immediately started getting off the car, you started walking towards the entrance of the Manor and all of the memories came flooding back making you emotional, you approached Bruce and just crashed into him with a hug, he became stiff, but he tried to comfort you as you cried in his arms, you hadn’t seen him ever since your dad had died, you had ran away from your problems and went to Europe for a year thinking it would help, but it didn’t, you were completely alone at Europe, at least here in Gotham you had Bruce and Dick and Alfred, you weren’t completely alone, but over there you were, and it just made you realize how much you missed and appreciated them.

When you calmed down, you moved on to Alfred who looked just as neat as always and also hugged him tight, after all Alfred reminded you of a loving grandfather and always gave you comfort, Alfred pulled away and excused himself to bake your favorite desserts, just like he always did whenever you were sad, it all felt so familiar that you felt comfort for the first time in a year. After hugging Bruce and Alfred and breaking down you realized there was still a boy who probably didn’t know who you were and had to witness you being a mess as his first impression of you, poor boy probably would be really uncomfortable after seeing a stranger come into his house and break down while he just stood there, the thought of it made you feel embarrassed making the atmosphere really awkward as you just stood staring at each other not knowing what to do, or say, Bruce took on the tense atmosphere and started introducing you to each other in hopes that the tension would fade away. You learned that his name was Jason Todd and he had just gotten taken in a year ago, some months after you left for Europe, Bruce also told you about how he found him and how he was now the new Robin, Jason have you a short nod as his way of saying hi and then Bruce started telling him about you, he told Jason about your abilities and how you were the vigilante known as moonlight which made Jason look excited, Bruce seeing Jason’s reaction told you how he was a fan of Robin and Moonlight and it sparked a bit of pride inside of you, but then made you feel embarrassed as you realized you had probably disappointed the boy by showing him how weak you actually were.

After the introductions finished, Alfred came out telling you all to get inside and to let you go to your room and accommodate, which you thanked him, You loved Bruce and Jason seemed nice, but you were exhausted after flying and you just wanted to get some rest, Alfred guided you to your room as if you hadn’t bern there a thousand times and insisted on carrying your luggage for you even though you said you could handle it.

“Here we are Miss (Y/N), you already know where Master Bruce’s and my rooms are in case you need anything, and if you ever need Master Jason his room is the one that’s right in front of yours in Master Dick’s old room .”

You thanked Alfred who excused himself and went to the kitchen and you decided you were too tired to unpack and that you would do it tomorrow, so you took the book you were reading and your headphones out of your bag and laid down to read a bit, you were really tired and after some pages your eyes started to get really heavy and you felt yourself drifting off to sleep.

taglist:

@fairyeoll @singitoutgirl26

[plants-are-fun]

sunshine

tw!!!! This is gonna be a multiple parter and will have MANY serious topics. Do not read if you are sensitive to that stuff.

this story contains: abusive dad, mean Chris

Chrisxfemreader

readers pov

————————

I miss how I used to be. I assume I’ll be saying that forever. my childhood was by no means easy, but it was perfect to me.

I had a deadbeat dad and no mom, but I also had the triplets and their parents. I basically lived with them.

I still remember how when I came home from school to their house, marylou would open her hands out as I ran to her yelling “sunshine!” As loud as she could. I don’t think I would have made it this far without her.

me and Nick were the closest. I was the first person he came out to, and although I didn’t know much about what being “gay” meant, I was still supportive. He knew everything about my home life, and swore that he would never tell anyone about it, not even his brothers.

Matt was the one that recognized all of my conditions. He recognized that I was dyslexic when I couldn’t read very well. He would always read for me so I could fall asleep. He also recognized my depression and anxiety, and even my ADHD. Although they couldn’t get me to a doctor or therapist legally, knowing made it much easier to cope. He was honestly like a big brother to me, being two years older.

Chris was my everything. I had the biggest crush on him. I could even say my first love. It was obvious that he didn’t feel the same, but I’m grateful he kept me around anyway. He would never fully speak to me as we got older, but he would always tell his friends to back off whenever they picked on me for my hair, my clothes, or even my smell.

that all changed in middle school.

I was in 6th grade, he was in 8th, and he hadn’t spoken to me all year. I would always walk with him in the halls because I was more comfortable that way. Neither Nick or Matt had a schedule anywhere close to mine, so I never even saw them.

It was in the middle of January when I was trying to find Chris that I heard him and his buddies laughing from around the corner.

“what about y/n?” One of the goons said. I slowed my walking, not meaning to eavesdrop, but just so I would turn the corner and be spotted as quickly.

“what about her?” Chris said with a scoff.

“she’s always following you around, like a little lost puppy. It’s so obvious she likes you” some idiot said

I stopped and felt my ears burn with embarrassment.

“yeah I guess she does..” Chris said. I was so hurt. He used to always defend me against these guys and now he’s agreeing?

“but you let her! Do you like her too? I mean, you guys grew up together” one of his friends, Jared said.

“do I like her?” Chris said. I could tell he was embarrassed and maybe a bit flustered. As I thought he was going to defend me, defend us he said “bro, how could I like her? She lives in a trailer park. I could never like someone like that. Nick told me that it always smells like cigarettes and is always filthy. She needs to leave me be. The smell might rub off on me”.

I know I should’ve let it slide off. Middle schoolers are dumb, and they just want attention. But all I could do was stand there and begin to cry.

I bolted away from the group and into the restroom. I stayed there until the end of the day.

all I could think of was how Nick could have done that to me. I didn’t want him to come over to where I lived, but he insisted. He said that ‘it was only fair because I had basically lived at his house’. When I let him in, he seemed supportive, but I guess he was just grossed out. But he was the only person to even know about me living in a trailer park, and he promised he would never tell anyone.

I wanted to hurt him, maybe even out him. But in the end I just shut my mouth and shut down.

when the final bell rang, I ran out with red puffy eyes, and climbed into the back of marylous minivan.

“hey sunshine, how was school? are you ok?” She said. After squeaking out a quick “fine” she just sighed and tapped the steering wheel, waiting for her real sons to come out. Matt came out and I saw him look at me, then his mom before climbing in the front seat. Marylou just gave me a worried look then shrugged to Matt.

Chris came out looking like he was the coolest motherfucker in the world, slouching and nodding to his mom. He got in without even sparing me a glance.

when Nick came bouncing out, he waved to his mom and Chris before getting in the middle row with Chris. He turned to me with the biggest grin on his face and said “hey girl!! How was your day? I have SO much to tell you when we get back.” I just looked at him.

“hey are you ok?” He said, reaching out to rub my shoulder.

I jerked away from him. “Don’t touch me.” I spat out.

“what’s wrong” he said withdrawing his hand.

“don’t even talk to me.” I glared at him. He just looked confused. The whole car was silent. Marylou was looking at me in the rearview mirror and Matt was fully turned around with his jaw on the floor.

“Ms. Sturniolo, can you please just take me home?” I said startling even myself. I had never called Marylou that. Even when I was a kid before learning her name I just called her ‘nicks mom’.

“sure sweetie, are you sure? You can take a nap in your room if you want-“ “yes I’m sure. Thank you.” I don’t want to be anywhere near Chris or Nick. It wasn’t even my room. It was a guest bedroom with a lot of my clothes because I stayed over so often.

“ok sunshine” she muttered.

the whole car ride was silent. It took everything in me not to burst into tears and tell her everything, to ask her to not take me home. The last thing I wanted was to go back home. But it was obvious that I was bothering the poor family, so I would give them what they wanted.

once we pulled up, I gathered my things and jumped out of the car. After saying thank you and ignoring nicks goodbye, I started walking, before remembering I had forgotten my water bottle on the cup holder. I ran back, to where Chris was waiting with the window rolled down, holding it out to me. I took it and turned away before hearing him mutter “not even going to say thanks?”

I turned to him and said “thank you, Chris. I hope being here didn’t make you too uncomfortable” quiet enough for only us to hear it. “You should take a shower when you get home. I wouldn’t want my smell to rub off on you”. He looked like he had seen a ghost, but I didn’t care. I just walked off and slammed the door on my way into the house. I heard the car start to drive away when I felt a searing pain hit my jaw. my dad was awake.

“What the fuck do y-you think you’re doing here? I told you I don’t want your stupid face in here.” He slurred “I’ll stay in my room” I whispered. I knew he didn’t like me, but I never thought he would hit me in the face like that.

“ok, I don’t fucking care. Stay out of my sight. And if you ever slam my door again I’ll kill you.” I was used to empty threats, but after just hitting me, I didn’t know if it was empty anymore.

“yes sir” I said as I walked to my room.

that night I cried harder than I had ever before. I cried so hard that I threw up. After going to the Bathroom to brush my teeth, I saw the bruise that was starting to form.

I got out my flip phone and texted Nick. I couldn’t have him asking questions.

to: Nicky :))))))

hey, I’m taking the bus tmr, I don’t need a ride there or back.

from: Nicky :))))))

ok, r u sure? It’s rlly no problem. and r u ok??? Did I do something????

to: Nick Sturniolo

yes I’m sure. Night

that would be the last time I spoke to him.

Chris POV

—————

I still stay awake thinking of that day.

I don’t know why I said it. I didn’t mean it, she had to have known.

I wanted that stupid group of boys to like me so bad, and stupid fucking Jared had some sort of obsession with her, so I didn’t want to make him hate me by being her friend.

I didn’t like talking about her behind my back, but what would the harm be if she wasn’t around? It’s not like any of these guys would ever talk to her.

I remember being so worried about her. She would always come to school looking like she never slept, never showered, and never ate. It kept up until we took her in.

one day there was a stench on her, so I confided in Nick. He didn’t want to tell me, but I have a way of wiggling information out of people. He felt so guilty after, and made me swear I would never speak of what he told me, even to Matt. But of course I had to run my mouth to fucking jared.

we knew she lived in a park, but that was it. She wouldn’t even tell my mom.

during that car ride, I knew something was wrong. I would have been an idiot not to see it.

when she whispered those words to me, I knew I had fucked up.

Nick asked me what she said, but I was so worried that I could lose Nick too, that I just told him she said thanks.

Nick was distraught after he got the text saying that she would take the bus.

after it became clear she wouldn’t be coming back, Nick gave me her clothes to give to her. She just took them and walked away.

I began to hate her for the affect her absence had on Nick. Why would she do that to him without even explaining? Was she protecting me?

but she shouldn’t do that to Nick.

I hate her.

————————

not sure how I feel about this but I hope you like it!!!

please leave reviews and comments below!!

[writerblue275]

Heartsteel!Sett Becoming a Dad

Inspiration: Listen I’ve had a hellish week and I need this. The other person who did what I do at work left so I’m flying solo at the moment, on top of training a new hire. Things are just bonkers and I’m fucking stressed and I need fluff god damnit.

Extra Inspo: Also @milksuu has me stuck on the thought of Dad!Heartsteel. (GO READ THIS AMAZING DAD!PHEL HEADCANON POST (HERE) AND CRY WITH ME.)

Genre: Headcanon

Type: Fluffy as fuckkkk

Gender: Reader implied afab/able to carry a pregnancy. Use of “mother.”

TW: Discussion of pregnancy, discussion of a deadbeat dad (not Sett ofc). Swearing.

(I don’t even want kids irl but damn I would have his children without question kthxbye.)

When you tell him you’re pregnant, Sett is so so SO fucking excited. Like over the moon thrilled.

The two of you often talked about your future together and starting a family would eventually be a part of it. So while this baby wasn’t exactly planned, it’s not unwelcome news. The timeline just got bumped up a little bit.

Watching him kneel down (because he’s fucking TALL) and rest his forehead against your not-yet-showing belly is heart-melting.

And it is something he does quite often, especially once your bump starts to show. It doesn’t matter whether you’re standing, sitting, or laying in bed.

Sett loves to softly sing or talk to the baby. He sings his favorite songs and tells the baby all sorts of things. Like stories from when he was little, stories about the two of you, the shenanigans him and the other Heartsteel members get up to, or even just what the weather is currently like. Talking to you and your tummy while you gently play with his hair and ears is his definition of domestic bliss.

He’s so extremely helpful. Like just an absolute angel of a partner. His love language is acts of service, so showing his love by doing things for you is already very natural for him. Crank that up to 11 when it comes to you being pregnant. Also your mood swings don’t phase him like at all. He knows it’s the hormones.

He’s meal prepping healthy and pregnancy-safe meals for you, but he’s also happy to run to the store/to get carry out at night when a craving hits. Sometimes you just gotta have fried chicken and ice cream at 11:30pm. He understands!

Whatever you need, Sett’s going to do everything in his power to do it for you. How could he not? You’re going through so much to bring this child into the world. He wants to make it as easy as possible for you.

He tries to make sure he can make every one of your pre-natal appointments if at all possible. He’ll take the day off to make sure he can go with you. And if there’s ever an appointment he can’t make because he’s out of town or something, he’ll face time in so he can still be with you in some way. He never wants you to feel like you’re facing any part of this pregnancy alone. Lean on him. He’s your rock, your partner, and he’s got your back through it all.

Now of course, not everything is sunshine and rainbows. Sett fully believes you’ll be an excellent parent. But surprisingly, that’s not necessarily a belief he holds for himself…

One night when you two are just relaxing together, enjoying the nightly routine of him resting his head on your thigh and talking to your bump, you notice his expression get a little more serious.

“Can I tell you a secret, nugget? One that I haven’t even told your mother yet?” Sett glances up at you shyly before looking back down at your growing bump. “I’m…I’m a bit scared to be a father,” he murmurs. “I’m so excited to meet you and help you grow, but I’m also terrified I’ll mess up too much. I’m afraid I won’t be a good father to you. My dad wasn’t around very long so it’s not like I have someone in my family to look to as a good example of fatherhood…”

Your eyes widen as you listen to him continue to vent his lack of confidence in himself when it comes to being a good father. It breaks your heart. All of this self-doubt coming from the man who makes sure to never miss an appointment, even when he’s in a different country, who took all sorts of brochures from your OBGYN’s office, ordered parenting books galore and has been reading them non-stop, the man excitedly painting the walls of the nursery and helping you build a crib or rocking chair once he’s home from work.

“Settrigh, look at me,” you say softly as you gently run your fingers through his hair.

He looks up at you, his eyes clearly showing his nerves at what your response might be, though he tries to pass off a small shaky smile. “Uh oh…the full name comes out. That’s never good.”

You let out a soft giggle as you look down at him adoringly and gently move your hand down to cup his cheek. “Do you really think I’d still be here with you right now, 7-months pregnant with your child, our child, if I thought you’d be a bad father? Absolutely not, my love. You know I don’t tolerate fools or bullshit. There’s no one I’d rather start a family with and I think you’ll be an incredible father.”

He leans into your touch. “But I don’t know how to be a good father….not with the way mine was…”

“There’s no fool-proof guidebook for parenting, Sett. Even with your Ma as an amazing example, I don’t really know how to be a mother yet. Parenting is something we’ll learn together along the way, yeah?

He nods. “You’re right baby, as per usual.”

Your smile widens before you continue. “While yes, your father is a shitty deadbeat, that doesn’t concern me. Do you know why?”

He gently shakes his head.

You smile softly again. “He wasn’t the one who raised you, babe, your Ma did. Your Ma is one of the kindest, strongest, most loving beings in this world. Despite everything the world threw at her, she survived and she never let it break her spirit. She raised the best life partner I could ever ask for, and I know you’ll pass on all her lessons to our little nugget. Your heart and your upbringing come from your Ma, Sett, not your dad.”

He nods gently and sighs. “She really sacrificed a lot to make sure we’d be ok. I’m so lucky to have her as my Ma.”

“All it takes is one look to see that sacrifice wasn’t in vain. She’s so proud of you, Sett. She feels so lucky to have you as her son. She’s told me so herself.” You run your thumb along his cheekbone. “You’re not your father. I know you’d never just leave, forcing me to fend for this baby all by myself. Hell, you hate leaving me just to go on short work trips with Heartsteel! You’re a far better man than your dad ever was and you’ll be a far better father than he was too.”

His eyes grow soft as you speak and you feel him relax a bit. “You really think so?”

“I know so!…Also, babe, even in the extremely unlikely case you did leave…you know damn well your Ma would hunt you down and drag you back here herself.”

When he’s out of town with Heartsteel, he’s making sure to check in on you and call/facetime at least twice a day.

During each call Sett has you lower your phone down to your bump so he can say hello to the baby. (And if you’re ok with it, he’ll let the other guys/Alune come over and say hi to you and talk to your belly as well. “They should know their uncles and aunt!”)

Even while he’s out of town you know you’re in good hands. His Ma assures you she’s only a call away and is happy to come keep you company if you want her to. She’s truly a saint, offering advice anytime you or Sett ask her for it while also never going against a decision you and him make. She understands better than anyone how chaotic and unpredictable parenthood can be, and she knows the two of you will always do what you think is best for your baby. She’s just the most supportive woman and she’s utterly thrilled to become a grandma.

The two of you decide to wait to find out the sex of the baby. It’s not really important to Sett to know early. Whatever sex, as long as you and the baby are healthy, that’s all he cares about.

When the moment eventually comes and your water breaks, it’s a little hilarious how panicked he gets, dashing around the house to make sure everything important is in the car.

You grab Sett’s arm to get him to pause his scrambling. “Babe out of the two of us, I feel like I should be the one panicking,” you let out on a laugh, leaning up to kiss him softly. “Breathe. We have time. This is why we prepared early and pre-packed the hospital bags in the car, remember? We’re as ready as we can be, my love, so let’s go become parents.”

As you talk he takes a couple deep breaths and relaxes slightly. As you finish, he kisses you gently. “Let’s go become parents,” he murmurs. Before he steps away completely he kneels down and kisses your tummy. “See you soon, nugget…”

Once he gets over the initial wave of anxiety, Sett gets into the zone. Just an incredible birthing partner to have with you. He’s guiding you through your breathing exercises. He has no issue letting you squeeze the fuck out of his hand or arm. He’s even calm when you cuss him out during particularly intense contractions. He knows you don’t really mean what you’re saying, you’re just in a lot of pain. He calmly keeps wiping off your face and neck with a cool towel and murmuring words of encouragement into your ear, smiling gently and holding you as you eventually melt against him for support.

Hates that you’re not allowed to eat anything. He’s not eating anything either in solidarity. What kind of asshole would bring food and eat it while their partner giving birth can’t have any?? Like Sett doesn’t understand people who do that so don’t worry, you definitely won’t experience that with him.

And once the time comes for you to push, he’s wherever you want him to be, whether that’s right next to you holding your hand, helping the nurses by holding a leg, or even sitting behind you, holding you against his chest. He wants/needs to be useful for you. Wherever he is, he’s encouraging and praising you to high heavens, in absolute awe of you and your strength.

And once the baby comes…🥹🥹🥹

Sett’s eyes are watering as soon as he sees the the teeny tiny ears on top of the baby’s head.

But first he’s hugging you, making sure you’re alright, telling you how amazing you did and how proud of you he is. And as soon as the docs/nurses give the all clear, he’s giving you your fav snacks that he packed so you can finally eat something.

Once he sees you holding the baby, that’s when the tears really start falling. His heart can’t handle it. You, the love of his life, holding your baby, a direct result of your love for each other. It’s one of the most beautiful sights he’s ever witnessed.

He’s sitting next to you on the edge of the bed, his arm around you, looking down at this squalling bundle in your arms with the biggest, most adoring smile on his face.

And when Sett gets a chance to hold the baby? He’s finally able to talk to the baby outside your tummy? Oh he’s so excited! His heart is filled with so much love it’s about to burst.

As is yours, seeing your massive partner holding this small bundle so carefully and protectively in his arms. He’s so gentle and sweet as he welcomes your child into the world and promises he’ll always be there to love, protect, and guide them as best he can. You know Sett means every single word with his whole heart, and it brings happy tears to your eyes as you start this new journey together as a family.

Ah! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! I just really needed Heartsteel fluffiness at the moment and the thought of Sett as a dad is just so cute. (Especially the thought of him as a girl dad oh my fucking god.)

[unicornsaures]

What the FUCK is going on with the Henry-William dynamic and why theyre like That because i think ive put this post off long enough:

tw // mentions of shitty parents, overdose/suicide🤥

Okay so the simplest answer I can give you is codependence. Thats the only way i can describe their dynamic. Henry needs William and William needs Henry! This isnt in a strictly romantic or strictly platonic sense, either. They were both set to meet at one of the lowest points in their life with only each other to go to, so its just easier for them to just stick with each other. Williams trust is fucked up and Henry is just..he just likes having William around because they understand each other. I mean, both of them had suffered through shitty childhoods with Henry having a deadbeat mother and living in poverty and William with an abusive father. They just get each other and it just brought them closer to the point they just couldnt live without each other.

Now, their relationship also isnt the healthiest, either. Its full of jealousy and the whole "I need you" thing just fucks them up a lil bit more. At the same time, though, its worse for them to be apart. I mean, they genuinely need each other to feel okay because each of them posesses qualities the other doesnt, and being apart for too long brings them genuine distress. Thats why theyre always either written, or drawn together. Theyre a pair and its rare for them to be separated if not by force.

Though the main reason I talk about them not being healthy is heavily influenced by how Henry reacts to Williams death: erraticly. I mean, he loses himself the moment William "leaves him."(Thats what it feels like to him, at least.) He becomes impulsive, self destructive, etc because the fact of the matter is, he genuinely needed william to feel okay. William knew Henry for around 25 years, taking up the better part of his life, and when hes always there, Henry didnt really think it was possible to live a life without him there, so ultimately Henry didnt care if he himself died afterwards. He naturally stopped caring because ein his eyes, he was living for william. With william gone, he basically lost the one thing he was living for and the only reason he stayed another 6 months was because he wasnt actively trying to die, it just happened when he was being careless.

On a seperate note, and the question I keep being asked, are they dating? And for that, Its kind of complicated. They arent just friends, but they arent really dating, either. Its something in between, especially post-war when theres no reason that theyre ever apart. They take on an almost domestic kind of style with each other? Like theres more physical touch than one would deem "friendly" whether that be a hand on the cheek, playing with hair, etc. But its for means of comfort. But do they have feelings for each other? By 1785, yeah, but nothing is done about it. They were content being their own thing that isnt romantic and isnt platonic and yayy good for them they were happy with each other and a little bit gay and a LOTTA bit codependent but thats basically their dynamic ^_^

[undead-aurora]

⋆⭒⋆☽❍☾⋆⭒⋆Lana Legacy Challenge⋆⭒⋆☽❍☾⋆⭒⋆

TW: dark themes (drugs, alcoholism, cults, gangs).

@maxismatchccworld

This challenge is (loosely) inspired by some of my favorite Lana songs. It also draws inspiration from other challenges, such as Not So Berry, Rags to Riches, Asylum, Crybaby Whims, etc. 

Required Mods: Basemental Drugs, Basemental Gangs or Extreme Violence, Zerbu’s Venue Changes. 

Suggested Mods: Deaderpool’s MC Command Center, Wonderful Whims (attraction system), Simsmodelsimmer’s Realistic Reactions Cheating Overhaul, Hybrid Through Gameplay (for occult hybrids), UI Cheats (very helpful to deal with bugs), LittleMsSam’s More Wood Works (for gen 8). 

Required packs: Get Famous, City Living, Get Together, Discover University, Get to Work, Cats & Dogs, Seasons, Island Living, Strangerville, Realm of Magic, Vampires, Dream Home Decorator, Werewolves, Paranormal Stuff.  

Suggested packs: High School Years (Gen 2 and 3 traits), Eco Lifestyle (Gen 2 and 8), Spa Day (Gen 1 trait) Tiny Living (Gen 6), Nifty Knitting (more crafts for Gen 8).

General rules: 

Turn neighborhood stories off.

Aging must be set to normal or slow.

Hard mode: start each generation with 0 simoleons and build each home and required lot by yourself. 

Each generation must max out the designated skills and reach the top level of their career. 

If an heir dies, you may revive them or continue the challenge with a next of kin.

You’re free to control the sims in your household who aren’t your heir or related to your heir. They can also be completely autonomous.

For gen 3, you're allowed to live on-campus in university and then move to San Myshuno.

Gen 1: Money, Power, Glory

Career: Actor 

Aspiration: Fabulously Wealthy

Skill: Acting 

Traits: Materialistic, Self-Assured, High Maintenance (or Self-Absorbed).

Home: Empty lot in Del Sol Valley 

Lot challenge/trait: Penny Pixies

You’re the only child of a homeless, deadbeat parent who spends every simoleon that falls into their hands on dope and booze. This has instilled in you the determination to not only get off the streets, but also become rich and famous when you’re older. Slowly but surely, you make enough money to build a small home that one day will transform into a luxurious mansion, or at least one can dream. You grow up to be quite the looker and charmer, not to mention talented, so your goal of making it big on the silver screen is finally within reach. You catch the eye of a famous big shot you end up having more than a fling with, resulting in an pregnancy. But as infatuated as you are with your baby daddy/momma, your eyes are always on the prize first and foremost. You’ve heard the name of the latest lottery winner and can’t get it out of your mind.

Rules:

- Start out with 0 simoleons as a child, living with an unemployed, single, drug addicted or alcoholic parent. - Survive off of fishing, hunting for collectibles, or doing any activity you can do as a child and teenager to make money.  - As an adult, join the acting career. - Buy the Beguiling reward trait. - Work towards affording a mansion and gradually upgrade plumbing, appliances, electronics, and comfort items. - Seduce a famous sim and have a child with them.  - Marry a lottery winner for their money.

Gen 2: Video Games

Career: Videogame Streamer (or eSport Gamer)

Aspiration: World Famous Celebrity

Skill: Beer Brewing (Juice Fizzing) or Mixology 

Traits: Geek, Socially awkward (or Clumsy), Overachiever (or Ambitious).

Home: Influencer house in San Myshuno

Lot challenge/trait: Celebrity Home

Despite having been born with a silver spoon in your mouth and not needing to work a day in your life to survive, you don’t just want to lay around in your pajamas all day playing video games… not unless that could be an actual career, and luckily for you, it can be. Other nepobabies don’t have your drive, your quick fingers, your passion for gaming and social media. You want to prove the world that you’re more than your last name and vast inheritance, so you move into a so-called content house in San Myshuno and throw yourself completely into your career as a professional gamer and influencer. Unfortunately, your new lifestyle has proven to be more psychologically taxing than it has any right to be. The influencers you’re currently living and collaborating with do nothing but cause drama, and you’ve found yourself in deep waters when C-Fuel, the Cowplant based energy drink company that has been sponsoring you, comes under fire for poisoning consumers, roping you into a huge scandal and subsequent cancelation. As a result, your beer brewing hobby turns into a coping mechanism and you become addicted to alcohol to deal with the stress. When an unplanned pregnancy turns your life upside down, you finally decide it’s time to go to rehab.

Rules:

- Move into a mansion or penthouse in San Myshuno and live along 6 famous sims, all in the Internet Personality, Style Influencer, and eSport Gamer careers.    - Become addicted to alcohol. - Have a child with one of your housemates. - Go to rehab and create an A.A. group. 

Gen 3: Body Electric 

Career: Scientist

Aspiration: Party Planner

Skill: DJ Mixing 

Traits: Dance Machine, Genius, Party Animal (or Clubber)

Home: Unfurnished apartment in San Myshuno

Lot challenge/trait: Party Place

Even as a teen, all you wanted to do was sneak out and party. You know your parents are disappointed in your party animal ways, considering they did everything in their power to give you a normal upbringing despite their unconventional lifestyle as influencers. They don’t want you to waste your potential, you’re a gifted kid after all, who effortlessly got straight As throughout school. So, they decide on your behalf that you put your hefty scholarship to good use and study to become a scientist. Little did they know college was the sure way to make you unleash the party beast within in its final form. You party harder than ever, doing drugs, hooking up, dancing the night away in the pale moonlight. You’re living like Jim Morrison, right until a happy accident comes your way: you and your dealer are expecting a child. After graduating, you decide it’s time to settle down and become an adult… well, sort of. You may have a stable job and your own apartment now, not to mention a kid, but maybe that doesn’t mean the party needs to stop. Will you eventually change your ways and go to rehab? That depends on how bad your addiction gets. 

Rules:

- Go to university and major in Physics.  - Become a drug addict.  - Have a child with a drug dealer.  - After graduating, join the Scientist career, move into an empty apartment in San Myshuno and furnish it using the SimRay to transform random items into furniture and decor. You’re allowed to buy the essentials.  - Turn the lot in Sixam into a rave location. 

Gen 4: Sad Girl 

Career: Paranormal Investigator 

Aspiration: Soulmate

Skill: Medium 

Traits: Gloomy, Child Of The Ocean, Child Of The Islands

Home: Admiral Wreckage in Sulani (the ship must remain on the lot). 

Lot challenge/trait: Off-the-grid 

Growing up in a noisy, smoke filled environment around your parents’ sketchy friends in crowded San Myshuno made you crave quietness and a connection with nature. You’re a sensitive person, naturally spiritual and intuitive, which might be the reason why you live with a dark cloud over your head. Many things make you sad: fishing (it’s not ok to eat fish! They do have feelings!), not honoring the islands of Sulani, your new home, and being your significant other’s lover on the side. It almost seems like you were born to be the other woman or man, until an unusual new opportunity for love presents itself when you, as a professional paranormal investigator with the gift of communicating with the dead, meet and fall in love with one of the Sulani island elementals. Your feelings are requited, and you two get married and start a new life… literally, since your ghost spouse has decided to come back from the dead just for you. They've got the fire, and they walk with it. Maybe this is the soulmate relationship you've always longed for.

Rules:

- Have a failed relationship with a married sim.- Eat the mermadic kelp and become a mermaid. - Seduce one of the island elementals and complete the Soulmate aspiration with them.  - Build or download a beach wedding venue.  - Marry your island elemental and have a child with them. - Complete on of the two Sulani collections: Seashells or Buried Treasures.

Gen 5: Freak

Career: None 

Aspiration: Leader Of The Pack

Skill: Charisma  

Traits: Evil, Insider, Erratic.

Home: Cult compound in Strangerville

Lot challenge/trait: Cursed

You always knew you were special. You can summon volcanic bombs and increase the quality of plants with your mind. You’re pretty sure you were born to rule the world, or at least that’s what the voices in your head have been telling you. You’ve also heard stories of a place called Strangerville, where a bizarre fruit that weakens the minds of those who eat it grows. You need to get your hands on one of those plants, so you move to the mysterious town in the middle of nowhere and start your own congregation. Finding a small group of obedient followers was pretty easy, especially after tricking them into eating your special fruit. Soon enough, the entirety of Strangerville will be yours. Your only concern is that, after you die, no one will carry on with your legacy, so you and your favorite disciple decide to have an heir. Will your child eat the bizarre fruit and make you proud? Or will they leave the empire they were supposed to rule in the dust?

Rules:

- Form a cult using the create a club feature and add 6 members. One of the activities must be stealing.   - None of the members of the domestic unit are allowed to have jobs. You must steal for a living.  - Build or download a cult compound in Strangerville and move in with your cult.  - Feed each cult follower the bizarre fruit. - Infect every sim living in Strangerville. - Have a child with one of your cult members. This will be the eighth member of your club.  - Each weekend, take your cult on a field trip or mini vacation and start a club gathering.   - Become a sworn enemy of your child. 

Gen 6: Groupie Love

Career: Musician

Aspiration: Musical Genius

Skill: Music instrument of your choice.

Traits: Childish, Music Lover, Noncommittal

Home: Tiny Home in Windenburg’s Ancient Ruins

Lot challenge/trait: Small home (max. 100 tiles)

Growing up in a compound full of possessed people with an evil cult leader as a parent is an experience that would scar any young mind, and yours was no exception. You are certain that your parent plans to feed you the bizarre fruit, so as soon as you become a teen, you pack your few possessions and flee to Windenburg, where you find a hidden place to live by the ruins. You need money to survive, and you need to build a proper home, so you start playing music in bars and other public spaces hoping to get donations, and writing your own songs. Music has always been your passion and you’re naturally gifted at it; it’s only a matter of time before other people notice your talent and you start gaining fame and fans. Drunk on the love and attention you’re receiving, you get a little too close and personal with your newfound groupies. You never meant to have seven kids with them, but hey, it’s not your fault you’re so darn fertile, apparently. You might be a little emotionally stunted due to your upbringing, and perhaps committing to just one partner is not the life for you, but one thing is for sure: you will raise your seven children with all the love in the world in your tiny home by the ruins.

Rules:

- As a runaway teen, quit the cult club and move to the Windenburg’s Ancient Ruins lot using the Venue Changes mod.   - Change your money to 0 simoleons. - Make money by playing music in public venues, writing and publishing songs, and joining the Musician career as an adult. - Build or download a small home. - Become a proper celebrity.  - Form a fan club using the create a club feature.  - Have 7 children, all with different members of your fan club.  - Raise the children by yourself in your domestic unit. 

Gen 7: Blue Jeans

Career: Criminal

Aspiration: Public Enemy

Skill: Mischief 

Traits: Hot-Headed, Ambitious, Kleptomaniac.

Home: Abandoned factory in Moonwood Mill

Lot challenge/trait: Filthy

Some say you were born bad, and you’re inclined to agree. You didn’t exactly choose the ganster life, but it certainly did choose you. You’re tough, and you have big dreams, bigger than your parent’s tiny house, so you start living in the streets by yourself as a young adult. There’s an abandoned factory in Moonwood Mill that becomes your gang’s operation center. Despite it never being one of your priorities, love comes knocking at your door in the form of a rich, posh sim whose parents are in the political career. Due to your bad reputation, you’re not allowed to be seen with them in public, until the two of you finally elope together and you realize that maybe you’re not the only reason why your partner’s parents were ashamed of them: they’re a werewolf! They’re an outcast, much like yourself. You two have a baby, and that’s when your partner starts insisting that you quit your gang and the criminal career for your child’s sake. You know they’re right, it’s bad for a young mind to see the things you’ve seen. Sadly, this is the only life you know, and if it’s not good enough for your family, then you’re just not good enough for them. It’s time to leave and start your life over…

Rules:

- Build or download an abandoned factory, or repurpose Moonwood Mill's library. - Max out a drug dealing skill. - Form a gang. - Furnish and decorate your home with stolen items. You’re only allowed to buy items that can’t be stolen (plumbing items, beds, rugs, etc.). - Date a werewolf and elope with them.  - Have a baby. - Move away from your partner and child and either start a new life or return to them once you’ve reached level 10 of the criminal career and are allowed to quit.

Gen 8: Chemtrails Over The Country Club

Career: None 

Aspiration: Emissary Of The Collective or Wildfang Renegade

Skill: Fabrication or Handiness

Traits: Cat Lover, Dog Lover, Loner

Home: Tree house in Moonwood Mill 

Lot challenge/traits: Cat hangout, Dog Hangout.

Being abandoned by your gangster parent as a child really killed your faith in humanity, hence your love for animals that also extends to the beast within yourself. You build a little tree house with your own hands in that particular spot in town that mysteriously attracts all kinds of stray dogs and cats that you love to feed and play with, and some of them become your beloved fur babies. As a werewolf (or someone who aspires to be one), your dream has always been to honor your lycanthropic ancestry by joining one of the local packs and becoming the alpha. Despite the tension between the Moonwood Collective and the Wildfangs, you find your fated mate in the rival alpha. The two of you elope in secret and have a baby. Maybe this will mark a new era of peace and communion between the packs, but that depends on how willing your packmates are to cooperate.

Rules:

- Live with as few sims as you can, the rest of your domestic unit members must be pets. - Craft most of the items in your home using mainly the fabricator and the woodwork table. - Sell crafts and collectibles for a living. - Become an Apex werewolf.  - Become the alpha of one of the packs and marry the alpha of the opposite pack (remember that the first werewolf you successfully flirt with will become your fated mate). - Have a child. - Complete the Moonwood Relics collection.

Gen 9: Wildflower Wildfire  

Career: None (selling flower arrangements)

Aspiration: Purveyor of Potions

Skill: Flower Arranging

Traits: Romantic, Jealous, Family-Oriented

Home: Abandoned house in Glimmerbrook

Lot challenge/trait: Haunted House Residential

If your werewolf community knew about you plan to betray them by becoming a part of the traitor class of spellcasters, they’d probably kick you out, but they’ll never get the chance to do that if you leave first. There’s a boarding school for teenage wizards in Glimmerbrook you’re interested in joining, so one night you sneak out and pay a visit to the principal, who is kind enough to transform you into a spellcaster and welcome you into the school. Your parents aren’t exactly thrilled with your decision, but they want you to be happy, so they support your choice.

Much to your dismay, your new housemates are not what you expected. They know about your lycanthropic origins and bully you relentlessly for them. One day, you’ve had enough and set part of the school on fire using magic right before moving out into a haunted abandoned house you'd discovered some time ago while exploring Glimmerbrook. There is an old flower arranging table in the garden and you decide to put your fascination with botany to the test by learning to make flower bouquets and selling them for a living.

One day, a particularly attractive sim catches your eye, and since your alchemy skills are on point, you don’t think twice before luring them in using potions. You never considered that their personality traits completely clash with yours. Do opposites attract, or is love not the kind of magic that should be messed with? Regardless, there’s already a baby on the way, and you’ve been alone for so long, running on stardust and sheer willpower. You’re better with your new darling. It’s strange, but it’s true.

Rules:

- If your heir is a werewolf, find the cure for lycanthropy. - Build or download a residential boarding school equipped with items from the Realm of Magic pack, especially cauldrons.  - Create a domestic unit consisting of 6 spellcaster teens with the Mean trait, a Virtuoso spellcaster with the Natural Mentor perk as the school principal, and your teenage heir.  - Become a spellcaster. - When the heir becomes a young adult, use the Inferniate spell to set the school on fire and move out of the domestic unit.  - Build or download an abandoned haunted house with a flower arranging table and move your heir there. - Become a Virtuoso and learn all the mischief spells. - Own a flower shop or street stall and sell flower arrangements for a living.  - Use the Potion of the Transcendent Charmer and the Potion of Alluring Aura to attract an Unflirty, Noncommittal, Hates Children partner.  - Have a child with that partner. 

Gen 10: Young And Beautiful

Career: Interior Decorator

Aspiration: Vampire Family 

Skill: Painting

Traits: Snob, Creative, Art Lover

Home: Vlad’s Castle in Forgotten Hollow 

Lot challenge/trait: Spooky

As a result of growing up in a haunted house full of pools of ghost goo and weird markings on the floors, you have a passion for decoration and home renovation. From a young age, you started watching the home decorator channel and learning how to paint so you could beautify your surroundings with art. The way your parent’s flower arrangements decay over time makes you sad. Why can’t beauty last forever? Why are most living things destined to die? You’ve met plenty of ghosts in your time, and they aren’t exactly aspirational. However, there is a type of occult you could praise and enthuse about all day long: vampires! They’re cool, they’re powerful, and most importantly, they’re immortal. So, when the opportunity to drink the ancient blood of a vampire arises, you take it without hesitation. 

As overjoyed as you are with your transformation, you’re keenly aware that eternity will eventually get lonely. You want a family that will never leave your side in the mortal coil of existence. You love your job as a home decorator, you’re superb at it, and your clientele idolizes you, so why not preserve a few of your admirers for posterity by feeding them the sweet elixir cursing through your veins? 

Now that you’re forever young and beautiful (you’ve made sure to treat yourself to a tweak or two under the knife), have seen the world, have done it all, and had your cake, your life couldn’t be more perfect. Yet, you still feel lonely. You start seeing someone you’re convinced is your soulmate in every aspect except two: their taste in décor is awful, and what’s worse, they don’t fancy immortality. In fact, they’re afraid of most vampires. Even though it breaks your heart, you have no choice but to respect their wishes and love them util they’re dead and got nothing but their aching soul. 

Rules:

- If your heir is a spellcaster, ask for the Rite of Dissolution. - Become a vampire and unlock the vampire creation perk. - Marry a mortal with opposite tastes in decor. You’re not allowed to turn them into a vampire.  - Complete the Vampire Family aspiration by turning your clients.  - Get plastic surgery by altering your sim’s features in CAS using the cas.fulleditmode cheat every time they get a promotion. Their dark form must remain unaltered. - Move into Vlad’s castle and redecorate it in a completely different style. - When your beloved dies, re-marry their ghost. 

[starlahuskyz]

Chances - Chapter 12

Summary: In a huge misunderstanding, David's first impressions on Jordan's parents are not good. This leads into brutal fight in Jordan keeping her parents safe.

Surprise new chapter. This one gets crazy so strap in.

Chapter 11 <<< >>> Chapter 13

TW// Dismemberment, Blood

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

Racing upstairs, Jordan is greeted by David, Paul, and Dwayne watching her parents warily. The tension in the room suddenly became thick. Her father looks at her and doesn’t waste any time asking questions.

“Who the hell are these people?” He points at David who looks offended.

“Well if it wasn’t obvious enough, we are her guests.” David pulls out a cigarette feeling a twinge of annoyance.

“That window tells me otherwise! You all broke in!” He points towards the clearly broken window. “Now listen here, I want you all out!”

“Hey old man, chill out. Jordan, you didn’t tell us you had such stuck up parents.” Paul spits.

“Bite my ass Paul! Mom dad, I’m very sorry. I’ll get them out of your hair and we can talk about this later.” She tries grabbing David’s arm to start dragging him out of the house but he swipes at her and shoves her away. “David, I need you out right now. Don’t make this worse.” Jordan warns not caring about what he just did. She feels the presence of Dwayne behind her who holds her in a bear hug keeping her from moving. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Sorry, this is gonna get ugly real quick. We don’t want you to get hurt.” He looks almost guilty. Jordan looks confused until she sees David approach her parents slowly. Alarms started going off.

“No, NO! DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH THEM!” She starts trying to free herself but it’s useless. The others just watch. 

Marko still stands by the door of the basement, he watches as David is watching Jordan’s parents like a predator. 

He looks from each of his brothers who merely just watched and then looked to Jordan who was trying to free herself from Dwayne’s grasp, but he kept her in place. He doesn’t know what to do. The feeling to help Jordan is edging into his mind, but at the same time, David is the leader. He doesn’t like putting David in a bad mood by souring his mood. David speaks again.

“You really shouldn’t talk down to your daughter’s new friends. I think she...no, we deserve a little more respect. What do you boys think?” David turns to his boys and they look at him with unreadable expressions. To Jordan’s horrors they all nod.

“You can’t do this David! Please!” Tears streamed down her face, at this point fighting wasn’t going to work. Marko was still thinking about something.

“I don’t understand, what are you going on about? We love our daughter, and you're not going to brainwash our daughter into thinking we are deadbeat parents.” Jordan’s mother finally pipes up walking up to David pointing at him accusingly. David turns around to look at her with an amused smirk on his face.

“DAVID PLEASE DON’T.” Jordan cries out one last time.

“I’m sorry Jordan, but your parents are going to get a firm lesson about respect. You deserve better.” He reaches for her mother’s throat and pins her to a wall with such force. Her husband tries to stop him but Paul grabs hold of him, keeping him away.

“Hey old man, don't try anything. It’s gonna get ugly.” He tells him.

Jordan finally snaps. With no more tears to shed, her vampire visage takes over and she frees a hand. She grabs a hold of Dwayne’s arm and with a scary amount of force, she rips it clean off taking his sleeve along with it. With that he lets go with a roar and starts getting hysterical. When Jordan is finally released, she sees all the boys seemingly feeling what had just happened which she takes advantage of by launching herself at David. She sends him through the door and they both tumble out of the house, down the porch and onto the ground. David finally comes to and fights back. The fight between them gets brutal with them throwing each other around and tearing each other up. But David overtakes Jordan and pins her to a tree. She finds herself in the same position as her mother like earlier. He laughs at her as she helplessly tries stopping him, but to no avail. That is until he’s pulled away and Jordan gets a chance to breathe. While she catches her breath, she feels arms wrap around her protectively. She looks up to see Marko, he’s staring at David who is watching him with his icy gaze.

“Leave her alone, David.” His voice is firm, and he doesn’t falter under David’s gaze. 

“Marko…” He looks at him pissed. He’s never seen Marko defy him like this. He usually always stands down whenever he's under David's gaze. But no, here he is standing his ground with such confidence and protectiveness for the first time. 

“I hate to do this David. But if you kill her or her parents, then you'll have to kill me first. You choose.” Marko tightens his hold on Jordan holding her close. Jordan clings to him for protection knowing that he’s her only chance at keeping her parents alive. The tension reaches an all time high and both parties watch each other in silence. After a while, David sighs.

“Fine.” David’s vampire visage recedes and he relaxes. Marko and Jordan do the same and Marko releases himself from Jordan to give her room to breathe. David walks away and into the house.

Marko and Jordan both follow David into the house where there is still a commotion going on, Dwayne is losing his mind as Paul tries to calm him down so he can find out how to put his arm back on. He is not quite doing a good job. Jordan’s parents are in the corner watching it all go down.

“Dwayne, you need to relax. Buddy we can’t put your arm back on if you don’t relax first-” Paul has to dodge Dwayne charging at the wall behind him putting a hole in the wall.. He’s seemingly on autopilot and isn’t taking shit from anyone. Jordan then remembers a certain possession she has laying around. She heads to her room in search of it, and as she moves Dwayne tries going after her. Upon seeing him charge at her she moves out of the way only for him to tumble down the stairs. Everything goes quiet.

“Nice job Jordan.” Paul says while holding Dwayne’s arm up in an attempt to do a thumbs up. Jordan looks downstairs and doesn’t see him.

She quietly goes down hoping that he’s incapacitated. When she finally gets a glance at her room. She doesn’t see him. The lighting in the room is dim save for a red glow from her lava lamp. He could be hiding in the shadows so she walks with caution. She heads for the furthest corner of her room where she keeps all kinds of random knick knacks and she searches frantically for something. A while back she had stolen a tranquilizer from an animal control guy she had killed and it was definitely gonna be handy for a situation like this. Before she finds it however, Dwayne emerges from the opposite corner charging at her. But before he could reach her. Marko stepped in to keep him distracted.

“Dwayne, hey it’s me Marko. You know me right? You gotta relax.” He holds his arms up and tries to keep Dwayne’s focus on him. “Look, I'm sure she didn’t mean it. Besides you’ve been through worse, remember when you were electrocuted at the Emerson’s house and you were paralyzed for like two days-” Dwayne grabs him and throws him at one of Jordan’s bookshelves, sending it toppling over.

“DON’T EVEN REMIND ME!” His voice was almost demonic at this point. “AND YOU!” He points at Jordan who starts searching faster knowing that she’s fucked. He runs towards her but before he reaches her, she turns around and shoots the tranquilizer right into his chest. For a moment he staggers and then removes the tranquilizer. His vampire visage is gone and he starts swaying trying to keep himself up. “What did you do? You can’t do this, I-I…dammit.” He falls over at her feet and if she didn’t know any better, she would've thought that he had died on the spot.

“Finally, some peace.” She says dropping the gun.

--------

By the time everything was said and done, the sun was coming up. And with Dwayne’s arm still not on his body, so they couldn’t really go anywhere for the time being. Which meant they were spending the night with Jordan as much as they didn’t want to at the time. But they didn’t really have a choice at the end of the night. They at least finally got to talk and the boys learned something rather important that if they had learned before, they wouldn't have been in this situation.

They are all sat in the basement while Paul crappily uses gauze to hold Dwayne’s arm in place so it can heal while he sleeps. 

“So your parents already know that you are a vampire?” David asks, smoking a cigarette.

“Yes, that’s why I told you not to hurt them. They are the reason I’m still here. I didn’t know that killing my parents was some kind of way to join your cult.” She sat on her bed with Marko sitting next to her.

“It would’ve been nice to know before this whole thing went down.” Paul is still struggling as he pulls the gauze tightly making sure it’s in place.

“It would’ve been nice for you to ask.” Jordan counters. 

“Whatever, we all get to have a sleepover so that’s cool.” Paul finishes and gets up and smiles although everyone is less than thrilled. “Damn, tough crowd. C'mon let’s all get over ourselves and be friends. We now know what we need to know and we can move forward.” He gathers everything into the first aid kit he was given. He sits with Marko and Jordan on the bed leaving Dwayne on an air mattress still asleep.

“When’s he gonna wake up?” David asks Jordan.

“Probably tomorrow night, maybe earlier. To be completely honest I didn’t even know a tranquilizer worked on vampires.” She shrugged, thinking about what would’ve happened if it had not worked. “I say we try and get some sleep.” She looks at everyone and they all nod in unison.

“Finally…something I can agree with.” David throws out his cigarette and he looks up at the pipes in the ceiling and removes his shoes.

“What are you doing?” Jordan tilts her head in confusion and Paul gets up and does the same.

David grabs the pipe and Jordan watches as his feet become bat-like which horrifies her. She then watches as Paul does the same and motions for Marko to join him. Marko looks at him then turns to Jordan.

“Are you good on your own tonight?” Jordan thinks for a moment as he watches her.

“I don’t know. I mean I’m not technically alone.” She motions at the three other vampires in her room. Marko chuckles and smirks.

“Well do you at least want a kiss goodnight?” He stares at her with his doe eyes.

“Hmm…I think Paul needs it more.” She nods behind him.

“Yea Marko, listen to Jordan. If you love her so much you should kiss me goodnight. Do her bidding.” Marko sighs and looks at him. 

Before getting up, he kisses the tips of his fingers and places them right on Jordans forehead. “Goodnight.” He says before removing his shoes and hanging alongside Paul who wraps himself around him and purrs contently after he's given his kiss.

Jordan shakes her head and she gets comfortable and soon falls asleep.

------

She doesn’t know what time it is, but she is awoken by the sounds of shuffling in her room. Her eyes finally adjust and she sees Dwayne is standing up examining his arm. He seems to still be swaying a bit, but not as bad as before. He notices her looking and he growls at her remembering what she did.

“Woah, hey look I’m sorry. I got worked up, look you can have some blood from my flask if it’ll make you feel better.” Jordan reached under her pillow and offered her flask to him. His expression softened, and he relaxed. He stepped forward and took the flask from her. Sitting down on the bed with her he gulped down all the contents within it. Once he finishes it he hands it back to her and they both sit in silence for a while. “Feel better?” Jordan looks at him.

“Yeah.” He calmly responds. He seems weirdly content after everything that happened.

“Are you still mad at me?” She asks him. 

“Nope, don’t have a reason to keep hating you.” He shows his previously missing arm was starting to gain feeling again.

“Huh, that was fast. Think you're gonna be able to sleep?” She lays back onto the bed and he gets back up.

“Now I can. Thanks for the blood.” He holds his fist out for her and she bumps it. He heads for his mattress but trips over it not being 100% stable.

“No problem big guy.” She watches as he goes back into his daysleep. She also saw Paul and Marko holding each other as they both slept. They looked so cute together, she wondered why Marko didn’t just date Paul instead. And David just slept closer to the stairs and had his back to the group.

Despite everything that happened that night, the whole room felt fairly content. Almost as if nothing happened at all.

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

Taglist (If you wanna be tagged, just ask ^ ^)

@blog4horror @ria-coolgirl @oceansrose2002 @hypocriticaltypwriter @deliciousfestsalad

[carcasstohounds]

how i wish it would be all the time

BENADRYL TW!!!!! (slash jay slash jay)

“I hope you get into a car accident just bad enough that it gives you brain damage that makes you not suck to be around.” Kayla slams her orange juice down on the infirmary desk, then the rest of her body on the extra-stained office chair.

“Are you mad at me?” Will asks. Until Kayla stormed in like a green-and-auburn tornado, he’d been enjoying the gentle calm of the empty infirmary, chimes twinkling on the porch, birds singing, nymphs laughing in the woods, and campers yelling in the fields. None of the shouts are shouts of pain, so he doesn’t worry quite yet. A warm breeze blew through the infirmary, ruffling his hair now and then. 

Kayla spins a full rotation on the chair, and then a second, and slams her foot down, glaring at him. 

“Whaddya think, William?”

Will sighs. “Is this because I had Chiron schedule you for the canoe race instead of me?”

“Yeah, it’s because you–” She pauses. “Wait, what the fuck, William? That was you?”

“No.” He answers immediately. Nico was competing, so how is it his fault that he wants to watch his hot boyfriend fall out of a canoe? Whatever. It’s basically Chirons fault, at that point. Then, Will's body betrays him, and his eyes start to water. He and Kayla make eye contact, and they both sit in complete silence until he coughs, throat tight. Kayla sighs, deep and tired like she just got home from her 9-5 in 1977. She tosses him some Benadryl, and he washes it down with her orange juice. It’s not his favorite these days, but it always leaves him with nostalgia for following his siblings around, sipping cold orange juice from the infirmary fridge. Kayla snatches the juice back, and takes a massive, loud, and completely obnoxious slurp for seemingly no reason other than disrupting his peace again.

“Whatever, you fucker. No, it’s because you put me on godsdamned Arts & Crafts with the Aphrodite cabin and now Valentina thinks I’m a terrible older sister and my reputation is probably in tatters in her eyes and I’ll literally never recover from this shame.” She says. Her face has twisted into such an adorable pout that he realizes how young she is. Then, she starts fiddling with a celestial bronze arrow, which is like, completely normal for her but weird for any mortal 13 year old and he has to stop thinking about it completely, lest he get a fifth gray hair. (Nico has counted.)

“Okay,” Will nods carefully, trying his best to project understanding older brother . “And this is my fault… Why?”

“Because your damn little siblings are absolute hellions and I yelled at Gracie because she tried to light Yan on fire and then Gracie started crying and then Yan started crying and then Jerry came over and started crying for fun, because the other two were crying. And Valentina watched the whole thing. And now she probably thinks I suck.”

“You have to understand your role in this, right? Those are our siblings, not mine.”

“I can’t do this. I’m gonna pull a Hyacinthus and become a flower.” Kayla groans. Most of her has vacated the stained office chair and now rests limply on the equally as stained infirmary floor. Will wants to tell her to get up, that’s disgusting, it was your job to mop last night and you didn’t so now the floor is super gross, but whatever . He doesn’t, because the last time this exact scenario played out and he tried to tell her to get up, she licked the floor instead, and threw up five minutes later.

It’s no wonder their dad is kind of a deadbeat, being a parent is hard .

“First of all, don’t do that. Second, I really don’t think Hyacinthus like, wanted to become a flower. At all, actually. He literally died first. Also, he didn’t become a flower, you know that, right? Am I seriously the only one who actually reads those books on dad?” Will wonders outloud, only stopping when he can see a murderous glint appear in Kayla's eye. Well. She really could stand to read some more, instead of spending all day, every day out on the archery range. He doesn’t say this, lest she try to commit fratricide for real this time.

“Ghrrrrmmmmarrrrggggg.” Kayla says. Will nods in agreement.

“Look, Kayla, I don’t think Valentina thinks you’re a terrible sister. What were her siblings doing when you guys were in there?” He asks. It’s a leading question, because he knows exactly what happened while this was going on, because Lou Ellen and her two younger siblings had been in Arts & Crafts at the same time, and watched it all go down. She’d immediately come to find Will after, because gossip is fun and morally okay.

Kayla’s face scrunches the way it always does when she’s trying to remember something. “They… uh… oh shit, I think Lacy actually did light Jonah on fire.”

“See? We aren’t the only cabin with absolute nightmares for little siblings. Lou Ellen told me that Lacy was able to get away with lighting Jonah on fire because Valentina was too busy watching you to stop them. So. You know, maybe you have a chance.” Will says, aiming for as casual as possible. He can’t help but smile anyway when Kayla shoots upright from the floor, bright eyes wide.

“Really?” She gasps. Her hair is wild and she's covered in dust from lying on the gross floor that she forgot to sweep, gross, but it's very charming anyway, and Will gets a rush of affection for this goofy kid. 

Will laughs. “I said maybe you have a chance. Not like I know Valentina at all.” It’s true, he doesn’t. But he knows all of her older siblings, and he can get the gossip from them later.

Kayla is already on her feet, orange juice forgotten on the desk as she rushes off and out the door. Will has no idea where she could possibly be going, since he knows her well enough that she’s not going to talk to Valentina immediately. Maybe she’s going to go giggle with Billie behind the Demeter Cabin or something, since sometimes that's where she goes when something like this happens. Who knows, it's none of his business.

Will spins back to his paperwork, sipping at Kayla’s abandoned orange juice. It’s gotten a little warm, but it’s alright. The A/C in the infirmary has never been good, so he’s honestly more used to lukewarm orange juice than cold, at this point. He’s nearly done anyway, and then he’ll go find Nico and the two of them will find Lou Ellen and Cecil, and they’ll dick around together until dinner, and then dick around more until the campfire, and then through and after that.

This kind of peace is nice, and he wouldn’t give it up for the world.

[starwarsmum]

Day 4 of the Maribat BioFamily September event!! Taking a different route today with a BioDad Bruce Wayne look for the prompt: Child Support

@maribat-calendar-events

TW: death

Marinette stared at the smoldering wreckage of her childhood home. She had been over at Alya's for a sleepover when she got the phone call from the police, asking her to come to the station. She had agreed, nervously, and told Alya that there was no need to come with her. She had regretted that decision when her parents hadn't appeared to accompany her, and Officer Raincomprix was treating her so gently.

She had gone numb when he had explained that a fire had broken out during the early hours of the morning. It had spread out of control and the firefighters had been unsuccessful in pulling her parents out before they succumbed to the flames and smoke.

So she stood outside the ruins that had once been the most popular bakery in Paris, still unable to feel anything beyond disbelief. Which she would consider a lucky thing once her head cleared enough for her to breathe properly.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, we found a fireproof safe box in a wall of the bakery,” Officer Raincomprix said softly. “The contents are mostly legal - your birth certificate, the deeds to the property, their wills, and the signed copy of the insurance - but there's also a recipe book in here. We'll need to keep hold of everything for now, but I suspect it will all be yours once we determine the cause of the fire.”

“Thank you,” she whispered numbly, staring blankly through the man. She didn't listen fully and, eventually, a social worker stepped forward and took her in hand. She nodded along as they said something about a foster home and emergency provisions. She was grateful when she was put in the back of a car and she passed out from exhaustion.

_ _ _

Jason Todd was having a fairly ordinary day. He had woken up early for school and had a large breakfast. Even after three years of living with Bruce, he still worried about whether each meal would be followed by a long fast. He went to say goodbye to Bruce before heading to school, only to hear him speaking in hushed tones on the phone. Again, not an uncommon occurrence and Jason decided he would just try to find out what was going on later.

The day went a little off the rails when he returned from school to find a Pixie-like girl sitting at the kitchen counter. She had the dead-eyed look he had seen on many street kids, and he was immediately concerned. She was pretty, and elfin, and had clean cut hair, nice clothes and a pink bag strung over her shoulder. 

All this to say, she didn't look like a street kid. But for the life of him, Jason couldn't work out what she was doing in Wayne Manor. And he didn't want to approach her and give her a scare, as he'd learned from the street kids he had encountered before his life with Bruce. So he went in search of either Bruce or Alfred to give him some answers.

“...tell you if I didn't know, Alfred! I barely remember traveling in Europe and Asia, it was a blur of training and drinking. But clearly I introduced myself to one of my…dalliances, because my name is on the birth certificate! And they did a DNA test,” Bruce said, sounding slightly dumbstruck. And maybe a little sick. Jason decided he should announce his presence before he heard anything else.

“So, I take it you owe a hell of a lot of child support back pay?” He quipped, pushing the office door open. Bruce flinched at the remark and Alfred looked unamused. “What? It's not like she can hear me, she's still sitting catatonic in the kitchen. But seriously, how did you not know you had a whole child somewhere? I didn't have you pegged as a deadbeat dad.”

“Jason, this is not the time,” Bruce said grumpily. Jason snorted but didn't say anything more, choosing to let Bruce fill him in in his own time. “Her name is Marinette, she was living in Paris with her mother who never told me I was her father. And then, sometime last week, her parents died in a tragic fire and they found her birth certificate in the safe.”

Jason whistled, long and low, glancing at Alfred to see what he thought of the situation. As usual, the butler was wearing an unreadable pokerface and Jason gave him a grin. They stood in contemplative silence before Alfred suggested they rejoin Marinette.

She was still sitting exactly where Jason had found her twenty minutes before, staring at the wall behind the oven as if it was the only thing to see. Now that Jason knew she had lost her parents, he felt insurmountable pity for her. His own mother was still lost in the wind, although he thought he was close to tracking her down, but he couldn't imagine her being gone.

He took a seat next to her, pulling his school bag up onto the counter. He figured he might as well get started on his homework while the adults figured out what to do with the girl. It was disconcerting, though, filling in worksheets while she sat there, unmoving.

“Miss Marinette, what can I make you for dinner?” Alfred asked at last, and she turned her glassy stare on him. He frowned minutely when she shrugged and tried again. “You haven't eaten since you arrived, miss Marinette, I must insist. I saw in your files that you have no known allergies, but I would prefer to make something you would enjoy.”

“Je ne veux rien,” she said at last, quietly. I don't want anything, Jason translated mentally, grateful that Bruce had been expanding his language set. She coughed slightly and Alfred immediately filled a glass of water, setting it in front of her. Hesitantly, she reached out and took a sip, which quickly turned into gulps. Jason wondered, distantly, how long she had gone without anything.

Eventually, Alfred began cooking, the smell of beef and onion filling the kitchen as he made her onion soup. When he finally set the dish in front of her, tears welled in her eyes and she began to shake. She didn't make a sound, but slowly and dutifully ate the soup. When she was done, Jason offered to take her to one of the rooms, which she accepted with another small nod.

“This room is next to mine,” he said, opening a door to a large room with an ensuite. She stepped in behind him, staring at the floor, and his heart squeezed. “I'm sorry,” he said gently, lifting a hand to place it awkwardly on her shoulder. But when she saw his arm move, she turned and threw her own arms around him, wailing into his chest.

He floundered momentarily before carefully running his hand down her back soothingly. They stayed like that for several minutes, until her shaking subsided and she began to pull away. She looked exhausted, her blue eyes bloodshot and puffed up.

“Listen, if you need anything, anything at all, come find me,” he said, speaking slowly to make sure she understood. She nodded before flopping onto the bed and closing her eyes. He hovered in the doorway for a moment, but she curled onto her side, facing away from him, and he took that as his cue to leave.

He was fairly sure that she was asleep before he closed the door.

[infinite-orangepeel]

rating: as explicit as explicit gets with heavily angsty steddie

and for obvious reasons, this post is 18+ only !!!!!!

hi ! this post contains a VERY SMUTTY excerpt from pt. 4 of the current steddie fic i’m writing on ao3, it’s rotten work (loving a heart like mine) and this is my attempt to convince you to read the rest of the fic bc it’s my literal baby !!! thx <3

TW: feminization kink, daddy kink, memory loss, mild dub-con, religious imagery in non-religious contexts, heavy angst, sh behaviors, ed behaviors, bdsm dynamic, eddie’s a bit of a mean dom, ref. to past trauma (including homophobic parents, usage of homophobic slurs, domestic abuse), questionable decisions, blood, risk taking

note: i’ve placed the “read-more” where things start to become more sexual in content, but pls note this fic is utter chaos. it’s incredibly angsty and i strongly advise you read the full list of tw’s/tags at the link above before proceeding. i’ll be listing the main ones here but just please read at your own risk/pay attention to the tws. i don’t ever ever ever want to trigger someone accidentally !!

The cabin is a solid three miles from his house and his body feels every bit of the distance.

If it weren’t for the years of regimented physical conditioning, protein powder, and animalistic need to force his own body into submission—Steve probably wouldn’t have made it without having to stop by the emergency room for medical assistance.

His lungs are on fire, his chest feels about thirty seconds away from caving in, and his hair is plastered to his forehead by a sticky sheen of sweat.

Nevertheless, ignoring the constant bitching and moaning of his muscles, Steve runs.

The car was never an option. Too dangerous, too obvious. Burgundy beemer that everyone and their mother knew belonged to the Harrington kid.

Steve runs and the only thing that keeps him going, the only thing that propels him through the eternal damnation of this illness is the knowledge that Eddie is just across the finish line.

Eddie. His Eddie.

The lighter is with him. Eddie’s lighter. Bouncing in his pocket, as he reaches the crest of the last hill in the woods with chapped lips, thin blood, and blistering feet.

Hardly alive, he employs the final stores of energy in his ever-weakening body and knocks at death’s door to beg for desperate relief.

Which just so happens to double as the dilapidated entrance to Hopper’s seemingly abandoned cabin.

He bounds up the set of three stairs that have been eaten alive by an obvious termite infestation.

Hideous and cold and complete with temperamental plumbing—this is the place he’s dreamed of for nights on end.

“Steve,” Eddie whispers—cautiously opening the door and blowing a cloud of thick smoke over his shoulder, as he ushers him in and hurriedly latches a complicated series of locks over the door, “You’re not supposed to be here. What the fuck are you doing? It’s the middle of the night. How did you even—“

“I can’t go back home. Please don’t make me, Eds,” he’s heaving for oxygen, supply empty, “I’m not—I’m not good when I’m there.”

“Baby,” Eddie pouts and slants his mouth to kiss him, restraint quickly eroding under the waves of desire that push them together, “It’s not safe for you here,” he nips at his tongue as if chastising him for making such a careless decision, “You need to go back home. As much as I want you to stay, as happy as I am to see you—you have to go. It’s not worth it.”

Steve tastes the acrid bite of tobacco on his mouth, which is predictable, but there’s something less familiar beneath it. A deeper layer of bitter medicine that sparks anxiety within him as it crosses his tongue.

He licks over Eddie’s ruddy lips to identify the source—disguised as filthy passion—finding a clearer hint of rum or whiskey. Probably borrowed from Hopper’s old stash before he went sober.

The thing is Eddie doesn’t drink for fun anymore, save for the occasional beer or social glass of wine.

He doesn’t drink, because his deadbeat dad was a wretched alcoholic whose tirades were fueled by liquid gasoline.

Eddie’s been drinking alone and smoking and there’s salt on Steve’s tongue when he moves his lips in the direction of Eddie’s stubbly cheek.

“You’re hurt,” Steve pulls back to break the spell of shared touch, “You’re not okay, are you?”

Eddie laughs, turns his head, and swirls a crystal glass Steve hadn’t realized he was holding.

As predicted, the liquor is dark like molasses and smells about as sweet as germicide.

Poison.

“Is anyone? Are you?” Eddie spins on his heels, out of control, tires hitting black ice. Stumbling and catching himself on the edge of the couch.

Eddie recovers and straightens up quickly. Luring Steve closer to run a hand up his side at an aggressively slow pace. He smiles lazily and blushes at the way Steve squirms and stares at the row of silver rings waltzing over his ribs.

He wants to suck them off his fingers. He wants to get sloppy and dirty and gag around the silver. Let his fearless knight choke him on the likes of chainmail and steel.

He’d polish them day and night with globs of spit and messy worship.

He’d kill for it, Steve would. Slay any dragon to get those piano fingers down his throat, let Eddie play him dumb like a fiddle. Out of tune and grotesque. Gothic and ugly.

“I saved you once before. I could do it again. We can keep each other safe,” Steve appeals, following Eddie like a giddy Labrador as he rounds the front of the paisley print couch, “If we can beat Vecna and a hoard of Demobats together, we can definitely take on the town mob.”

Eddie’s hair is pulled into a messy bun and his white tank top leaves little to the imagination. Steve’s speaking plainly, but just looking at Eddie is making him ravenous.

“Maybe,” Eddie sips from his cup too calmly and Steve wants to shatter it, “Or maybe I was always meant to die. Maybe it was supposed to be me all along. Maybe Chrissy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Black ink swirls visibly beneath the fabric of his tight shirt, as he bends to replenish the drink—filling it to the brim. Chugging poison like it’s pure water.

The head of the demon on his chest peeks out from beneath the low neckline. Tempting Steve to sell his soul and commit the crime of sodomy.

Give into the illness at long last.

“If you’re not gonna leave, you might as well make yourself useful, princess,” Eddie winks and stretches his arms overhead.

It’s pompous and douchey and makes Steve’s dick ridiculously hard.

”I haven’t forgotten how warm and sloppy that mouth of yours is or how good you look on your knees.”

”Really? You’ve—you’ve thought about me like that?” he replies dumbly, head a little fucked by the idea that any of this is actually happening.

Steve’s eyes track downwards, following the natural path of Eddie’s taught waist and widen as he notes the dark line of hair that is exposed beneath the jaggedly cropped shirt.

”Oh, sure. Gotta have something to keep me occupied while I’m out here living off the land like it’s the 1800’s,” he palms his cock roughly, dragging his hand over the head with slow force, “Turns out thinking about my wife’s pretty pussy makes the time pass faster than you’d think.”

Steve can’t even begin to process that comment, because he still hasn’t moved past the point he’s heavily fixated on—Eddie’s exposed stomach. Scars and ink and porcelain skin.

”Oh,” he sighs shakily and adjusts his stance to modestly cover his throbbing hard-on, “I’m—I’m glad."

That shirt, that stupid fucking shirt.

The hem is fraying and looks to have been cut with little planning. He’s now certain Eddie altered it himself with kitchen scissors or garden shears—haphazard and bizarre as is true to his nature. Kin to the wild things that dance in the shadows.

“See something you like?” Eddie croons in the cheesy tone of a chick-flick heartthrob.

It's infuriating how much it makes Steve genuinely swoon.

How much it makes him want to fill a girly diary cover to cover with Eddie's name in loopy cursive; little red hearts above the 'i's.

Honestly, he'd wear a dainty gold locket around his neck if it happened to have a picture of that fucker in it.

Steve is so royally fucked up. There's no coming back from this.

Not that he wants it to end, but still.

“You can touch me, Stevie. But I have to warn you, I do tend to bite," Eddie comedically bares his teeth and hooks a finger into the side of one cheek to showcase his canines-parodying a costume vampire, "Can’t blame me for wanting to mark up such a cute little victim with my teeth, though. Naughty habit, I know, but I’ve never been any good at sharing and it's only fair to claim what’s rightfully mine.”

His.

His.

His.

Steve audibly gulps and allows Eddie to pull him back in by the hand, giggling as their hips bump into each other. It's immature and clumsy-bringing his friend along to play make believe in clothes that don't quite fit either of them right.

Eddie maneuvers his limbs for him like an amateur puppeteer. Graceless and awkward, a colt fumbling his way through the meadow on needlepoint legs. He's drunk and it shows. Tucks Steve’s arms around his waist and leaves a claustrophobic distance between them--which is to say none--as he sucks onto his neck and grazes his pulse with sharp incisors.

His drawstring sweatpants are tented absurdly and reveal the thick line of his cock. Steve hasn't forgotten just how big Eddie is.

He thumbs at the head—noticing Steve’s lustful gaze—betraying his own discipline and moaning pornographically as he gets a hand on himself. Massaging the length as best he can over the obstruction of his pants. A shiver runs down his spine and Steve responds with a series of open-mouthed kisses along his broad shoulders. Unable to resist tasting him in one way or another.

“If you put the drink down and promise not to pour another drop tonight, I’ll let you fuck me,” Steve cants his hips into Eddie—somehow already rock hard despite the fact that his body should be incapable of such a thing considering how he’s treated it over the past few weeks, "Use me instead, c'mon. Show me where it hurts, so I can kiss it better. I know you want to. You're just as hard as I am-ah," his cock is so close to bursting, "I can feel it."

Eddie doesn't respond. Just stares at the glass in his hand and weighs the scale. They're both down on their luck, they both have so little left to lose--sitting ducks in a row. What's the point in denying themselves this one final pleasure?

If their story is destined to end in scattered ashes or twin graves, then why not masquerade as a pair of fortunate lovers in the interlude?

“I’ll be your pretty housewife. We can play pretend and forget about everything else. You can do whatever you want to me, but you’re not allowed to drink another drop of that shit,” Steve wagers, adopting the face of Bully #1 from his early days at Hawkins High--terrified to be known beyond his generic title, "It'll kill you before anything else ever has the chance to and that's a fucking waste of a way to go, Eds."

Eddie doesn't argue, in fact he doesn't say anything. Instead, he casually turns, sets the lurid glass on the dusty coffee table, and motions for Steve to trail him the rest of the way to the couch.

He does as he’s asked. Following Eddie’s orders without complaint.

He needs this. He wants this. It makes him feel safe. It makes him feel loved.

Eddie sits on the antique coach and opens his legs wide. Steve stands in front of him—sweaty and vastly unappealing after his suicide mission of a run. Feeling like a mere mortal in the hall of a god.

Patroclus at the feet of Achilles. What a tragic Greek myth of a duo they make.

“Why do you want me to fuck you, Steve?” Eddie asks inquisitively, palming his own cock again and rolling his hips to meet his open hand-its gotta hurt, the way he touches himself like its punishment, “It’s one in the morning. We both know you’ve always had your pick of the litter. You could be fast asleep with practically any girl in town curled up naked next to you. So, why me? Why here? Why now—when being in this cabin could very well cost you your life?"

Steve drops to his knees between Eddie’s thighs—more in complete exhaustion than in an intentional show of submission, but Eddie bites his lip just the same and moans at the view.

“Because I don’t want them, Eddie,” he stares at him through the dim light that a small lamp in the corner provides, laying his head in Eddie's lap and watching the hypnotic movements of his veiny hand, “I want you.”

“You shouldn’t. I won’t be good for you. Not long-term.”

Eddie’s hand stops moving, he lets it fall from his lap and retrieves an almost empty pack of Camels from his front pocket. He taps the bottom and tucks the resulting cigarette between his lips.

Then, as if needing to occupy his hands with something else, he curiously paints a thumb over Steve's lips-tugging at the bottom one and pinching down hard. Tears prick in the corners of Steve's eyes from the sudden jolt of pain.

Every move he makes with Steve holds careful intention, curated thought. Nothing is accidental and Steve knows Eddie's hinting at something more with his wandering fingers.

“I’ll ruin you, Steve. I’ve held back so far. This is about more than just tying up your wrists and silly little games of roleplay. You think you know me. You think I'm some interesting, open book with plenty of fun stories to keep you entertained,” he says condescendingly, which causes Steve to roll his eyes in budding annoyance, “but you only know the parts of me I’ve wanted you to see. You only know the stories I've wanted to tell. You don’t know the rest. Getting attached to me isn’t fucking good, I break everything I touch and I promise-I will break you. Whether I want to or not.”

There’s an eerie darkness behind his eyes. A black hole of pain that distorts his features into something previously unseen by Steve—sickeningly beautiful, terrifyingly alluring. He can't look away.

Steve has the urge to dive in and take the fall from heaven— down, down, down they’d tumble —with Eddie writhing above him in sinful release. Excommunicated for the greedy satisfaction they find in holding each other close and moaning into each other's mouths until the sun comes up. Passing catastrophe back and forth for all eternity like a bottle of cheap wine. Drinking their fill until all they have left is each other and the devil.

“Show me,” Steve says in a threateningly calm tone, “If you really are the big bad wolf, then quit holding back and give me everything you have. Just this once. Just tonight. And then–let me decide for myself.”

As more tears streak Eddie’s jawline and his cigarette loosely hangs–unlit and meaningless–between his lips, Steve realizes he isn’t in love with him. Not really.

He’d told Robin the truth, after all, it seems.

“Steve, I killed her. I killed Chrissy. Maybe not with my own hands, but with this stupid curse that seems to follow me everywhere I go. I can’t escape it. I’m bad luck, I’m a fucking nightmare. That shouldn’t read as an invitation to you. It should send you running as far away from me as you can get, but instead you've done the dumbest fucking thing in the world. No matter what I do, you keep running straight towards me like I can save you. Like this isn't the last fucking place you should be right now,” Eddie sobs and his voice is garbled by a thicket of pain and the obstacle of the cigarette, “I can't even save myself! I’m bad, Steve. At my core. I’m not–I’m not a good person. I’m not like you. I’m not the fucking human incarnation of the sun.”

No, he’s not in love with Eddie Munson.

Love isn’t the word for what Steve feels.

It would be a sheer fucking insult to sum up his feelings in such universally applicable form.

Love isn't nearly enough, but it's all Steve has for now.

And, even if it kills him, even if it leads him right over over the cliff's edge-he's going to love Eddie Munson until the very last second.

“You think I’m the sun?” Steve’s not sure if he’s breathing–he’s not sure how he got here in the first place or if he’ll see the light of another day.

But Eddie’s eyes are on him and maybe, that’s enough.

Maybe he can die on the floor of Hopper’s cabin.

Maybe he can die the beautiful death of a Shakespearian tragedy. Wax the poetic, hopeless dream of Juliet as his eyes fall shut.

Maybe he can find the romance in the suicide.

Maybe Eddie will kiss him as he takes his last breath and hold him as his heart ceases beating.

“Yeah, but that’s not–that’s not the point. I’m trying to get you to understand that I’m all sorts of wrong for you. I'll break your heart and I'm not–”

He leans forward and Steve is painfully sober and in need of a vicarious buzz, so he kisses Eddie without first asking for permission. Tangles his hands in the hair of the boy he’s not supposed to touch; not supposed to dream of; forcing his father to roll into a premature grave. Wherever the man may be in the world at this very moment. Steve doesn’t know. Hasn’t known for most of his life.

He kisses him until he's convinced it may very well be his last breath and with Eddie wrapped around his tongue--he thinks he can accept that fate.

“Eddie,” he feels hesitant hands wrap around his waist and scratch down his spine, “Eddie, I don’t care–”

Eddie kisses him back–kisses him harder. One upping him and raising the stakes of their game. Eddie kisses him murderously. As if trying to slaughter the words right on Steve’s tongue, as if trying to devour the sacred truth before it can make contact with the frigid air around them. Blue to red, dead on arrival.

They lick and moan and whine at each other.

Play with each other like they're regal pawns on a chessboard.

They sink teeth into reddening lips and make up for lost time, smashing the clock under Eddie's heavy boots.

And, at a certain point, Steve really does think he may pass out from lack of oxygen, but he doesn’t care. Trusts Eddie to catch him if he falls.

But then, Eddie releases him and Steve has to breathe on his own whether he likes it or not.

This isn't how it was supposed to end. Not with alarm bells ringing in his ears.

“Fuck, Steve. Don’t make this so hard, please. I’m going to want you for the rest of my goddamn life, okay? However long that may be. And that's enough, I've done my best to accept that," Eddie laughs bitterly and curses at the ceiling, staring up at the crooked wooden boards, "But, you? You deserve someone better. Someone that can give you a normal fucking life and a family and the ability to hold hands in public. Someone without a fucking mob out to get them. Someone who can actually keep you safe. Someone who doesn’t see you the way I do.”

You have no idea–no idea the things I want to do to you–

A monster, he'd called himself.

“How do you see me?” Steve stands and straddles Eddie’s lap; drinking in the moans he draws out of him, drunk on the power of being held by this man, "I promise you won't scare me away."

Eddie’s rock hard beneath him and Steve knows it’s wrong, knows it’s a bit manipulative, but he’s also a human livewire after seventeen whole days of separation–so he rolls his hips down and presses heat into Eddie's lap. Eddie hisses at the contact and grits his teeth as if Steve’s tied him to the electric chair.

He observes closely as Eddie’s hands cautiously trace the scars that have been revealed by Steve’s ratty, green Hawkins High basketball shorts riding up around the tops of his thighs. Deformities conceived by an experiment gone horribly wrong. By misadventures in self-reflection. Repeating the same mistakes over and over again.

“No, I’m not, We’re not doing this–” he shakes his head fervently, kissing the spaces between the lines anyway, “We can’t–”

He touches the gruesome scars like they're precious, soft as silk, and valuable as the commodified diamond. Keeping his touch featherlight.

“You told me you wanted to talk, Eddie. You told me you couldn’t resist the ‘Harrington charm after all,’” Steve–in an unusual display of decisiveness–grabs him gruffly by the jaw and watches the dull cigarette fall from grace-never achieving its' purpose, “So tell me. Let me decide.”

“I’m fucked up, Steve–” Eddie says through a river of tears.

He doesn’t take his hands away, rather creates half-moon indents in the flesh, digging in and growing roots in the soiled skin.

"I'm so beyond fucked up-"

“And I’m not?”

Steve pulls his sweat stained t-shirt over his head, tosses it aside, and moves one of Eddie’s hands to read the sullen language of ridged scars on his abdomen. Leading his fingers over the furled ruffage, illustrating the reality of the last few weeks. The damage he's done to himself in Eddie's absence, new and lasting.

“Whatever this is–whatever you feel, do me a favor and tell me before one or both of us dies without knowing the goddamn truth. Now or never, man."

“Shit. Shit. Shit. You promised,” Eddie brushes his hands over Steve’s chest, thumping a fist into the center—beating a drum that’s lost the will to make music worth listening to, “You told me you’d stop. You told me you were doing okay–”

“I lied, Eddie. I fucking lied to keep you safe,” he kisses him, nips at his jaw, gets his fingers back in those curls and wonders if this is how it feels to jump from the edge of the universe–to dive straight into the black, “Just like you. So, we’re even, I guess. We can put a tally mark on both sides. One, one. And if I can take the training wheels off, so can you.”

In a montage of profound rebellion–against his own rationale–Eddie locks a hand around Steve’s throat and pins him horizontally to the length of the couch. Penultimate domino collapsing as he bites him on the shoulder.

“Full honesty?” Eddie questions and tightens his grip enough to bruise, as if trying to squeeze the response out of Steve’s esophagus.

“Full honesty,” he pants, lightheaded and floating through space–Eddie the center of his universe.

“I–I think you’re the fucking sun. I do, but I actually think you’re brighter than that," he takes the bud of Steve’s nipple into his mouth and maintains the collar-like hold around his neck, "I think you’re a fucking supernova or whatever it’s called–Henderson taught me a long time ago at a Hellfire Club meeting.”

And then, in a display of ultimate humanity, he compassionately kisses a line down Steve's torso and whispers apologies along the way. Stopping at each scar to pay his respects, to mend the carnage. Tenderly pecking at each of Steve's veritable missing pieces.

If only Steve didn’t have to breathe, he’d beg for Eddie’s hands to keep him on the brink of suffocation at all times. It’s better this way, the bad shit doesn’t hurt as much when all he can feel is the harshness of Eddie’s wicked affection.

Taking his time, Eddie moves back up to Steve's chest.

Lavishing over the hardening nubs of his nipples, Eddie circles and hums around them–a simple tune that makes Steve squirm and whimper like he’s trying to fight off a violent predator. He likes it this way, the implication of violence. As if reading his mind, Eddie taps him on the cheek with a reprimanding little smack and kisses the red that blooms beneath it.

Ice to a burn, always ice to a burn with him.

If he could properly speak, Steve would beg him to hit harder. Beg for the imprint of his hand to become permanent on his face.

“You’re the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think of before I go to bed and I dream of you,” Eddie removes his own shirt with his free hand and the chain around his neck dangles teasingly over Steve’s mouth as he tosses it aside, “God, I dream of you every time I close my eyes. No matter how much I drink, no matter how much I smoke–I can’t get you out of my head. I dream these horrible, filthy fucking dreams of you. It’s so fucked up. It’s so fucking fucked up. I'm so far gone for you, I told you."

Instead of being scared, Steve is intrigued.

Desensitized and enticed by the suggestion of squalor.

Wanting to roll in the mud and see what's it's like to have filth cover every inch of his body.

“What do I do in those dreams?” he coughs dryly, as Eddie releases his neck—hacking into his hand, “What do you do to me, Eddie?"

They’ve been inching towards this all along, since the beginning, since before it.

Since Steve's dad first told him about the illness that queer boys spread with leeching hands and parasitic defilement.

Since Eddie showed up on his porch and made his lips the tourniquet for every last one of Steve’s hellacious wounds.

“I make you choke on my cock until you can’t breathe,” he pushes his pants down to his ankles and shoves them off the rest of the way with his feet–completely bare except for the silver that adorns his fingers and neck. Dressed for the occasion.

“I fuck you until you cry. I tell you what to do and you obey my every command.”

The word makes Steve’s cock leak into his already damp shorts. Eddie laughs meanly and licks him over the fabric–reminiscent of their last illicit rendezvous. Squeezing him at the base of his clothed dick and warning him not to cum.

For good reason, because Steve is already aching for release.

“That’s the thing, Steve–in my dreams, you let me touch you and use you however I want. You don't complain, you don't say no, you let me hold you under as long as I want."

Eddie pushes Steve’s shorts down too, a delighted smile meeting his lustful gaze as he nods his approval at the lack of underwear he finds beneath. Kissing Steve on the tip of his cock and thumbing at the head until a bead of slick covers his finger.

He instantly shoves it into Steve’s mouth and orders him to suck. Plunging past his lips and rubbing over his gums, before settling on his spit-soaked tongue.

Steve does so gladly, just happy to have Eddie’s fingers inside of him. Pretends the thumb is Eddie's cock, rolls it across his tongue, and fucks his mouth around it. He knows Eddie likes mess, so he lets drool spill out of the corners. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, as he tastes himself. Bitter and tangy and putrid.

Eddie grins wildly and adds another finger. This time his index. Steve greedily latches onto it like a starved animal.

“But, it’s not just the sex that I dream of. Though, I’ll admit that’s a lot of it,” Eddie ruts his dick against Steve’s–dry and near unbearably painful with the amount of dragging friction the act creates.

“It’s all this everyday stuff, too. I don’t think I was kidding about making you my little housewife,” Eddie groans as Steve bucks up into him and flicks at his own nipples–putting on a bit of a show for the man hovering above him.

He tugs on them and pulls on the surrounding blanket of chest hair. Circling the buds and pinching intermittently. Moaning out sweet cries of pleasure and never taking his eyes off of Eddie. He’s so sensitive, wonders if he could cum just like this—grazing his nipples and letting Eddie watch him with rapt attention.

”That’s it, baby. Touch your pretty tits. So sensitive,” Eddie leans down to kiss the top of each bud and Steve sobs at the vulgar contact, “Making you feel good aren’t I? You like hearing how much I want to control you? Is your pussy getting all wet just thinking about it?”

“Yes,” Steve whimpers, shaking as he brushes a hand over his cock to further tease, “All slick and dirty for you. My clit hurts, 's throbbing so hard. What else did you dream about?”

“Hmm. Well, I make you eat and sleep on a regular schedule,” Eddie captures Steve’s wrists in one hand and sits down atop his bare thighs with the entirety of his weight, "You're right baby," he looks down thoughtfully, "Your clit looks downright pathetic."

He pinches the head of Steve's dick between two fingers and laughs as Steve mewls and kicks out his legs beneath him.

“I give you a bedtime and rules and punishments,” Steve gasps as Eddie reaches for a bottle of lube behind one of the cushions and douses his fingers in it, "I make you eat your vegetables and brush your teeth."

“I make you go to doctor’s appointments for your head and hold your hand when they do the x-rays," Eddie kisses him softly on the forehead and tucks a stray strand of hair behind Steve's ear.

“Gimme your color, baby or we can’t keep playing. Wanna play with my favorite fuck toy, really wanna play. But I gotta know your color first.”

“Green,” Steve yelps, as Eddie bites down on his lip, “Green. Green. Green.”

“Good girl,” Eddie says in that sickly sweet patronizing tone that Steve recognizes as his signature, “Such a good girl for me.”

He lifts himself onto his knees and instructs Steve to curl his legs against his chest. Then, scoots backwards to give himself space for what he's about to do.

What is he about to do?

Steve almost vocalizes the thought, but Eddie beats him to it. Ready with an explanation.

“Need to open you up, angel. Your pussy’s so tight, ‘s never been touched before,” Eddie uses the tip of his index finger to circle Steve’s rim methodically–slowly inserting it bit by bit, “I’ll talk you through it. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

It’s a strange feeling–this sudden intrusion. Eddie has an inch of a finger inside of his ass and it feels, good?

Strange and different and kind of painful, but overall good.

Steve’s never really thought to touch himself there and no girl has ever offered to, but he thinks there might be something to this. He wants more, wants to explore and play with Eddie until it all clicks into place.

But, despite the sensation being altogether foreign and odd at first, when Eddie eventually works him down to the last knuckle and curves his finger upwards—Steve swears he reaches nirvana. Stars burst behind his eyes and he practically cums on the spot.

What the fuck is that?

“Fuck. That’s–oh my god. Fuck,” he writhes and Eddie holds him down by the hips so he can slowly begin slipping another finger inside, “More, Eddie. More. Please, touch me. Touch me anywhere. I don’t care, just please don’t stop—fuck.”

"Cute. Looks like babygirl's enjoying getting her prostate fingered for the first time," Eddie licks a stripe up Steve's abdomen and sucks marks onto his hips, nosing alongside his weepy cock, "Just can't get enough of having my fingers in you, can you?"

Steve shakes his head somberly-borderline ashamed to admit it, "Uh, uh. Need you to keep me full. Wanna stay full. Please don't stop, Eddie. Please."

He adds a second finger, slowing sinking in, and working Steve open with gentle scissoring motions, edging him and licking up all of his wanton sounds.

“Let’s see where was I?” He feigns innocence and verbally ignores Steve's whining, but continues to press his fingers up against Steve’s prostate with increasing speed, “In my dreams, I make you do your laundry,” he rubs circles around that little perfect nub of pleasure that Steve never realized he had, “I make you give me a daily report of what you’ve accomplished and what you still feel you need help with,” he’s thrusting his fingers in and out of Steve’s hole at a punishing pace and the only thing preventing him from screaming is the vague memory that this is a man on the run and the walls are only so thick, “I make you take care of yourself in all the ways you don’t want to. In all the ways you think you don’t deserve.”

There are three fingers in his body somehow and it’s wet and messy and sloppy and gross.

He’s leaking profusely and swears he could cum from Eddie’s words alone. The control, the ability to submit fully, the offer on the fucking table–sends him into a state of irrepair. All of his senses converge to communicate the single fact that this is what he wants. This is what he needs.

Eddie Munson. Steve needs Eddie Munson.

He’s not the source of contagion, Steve’s dad had that all wrong.

He’s the cure–the narcotic sedative that may be the only thing capable of stopping Steve from unearthing the pistol in the basement and aiming it at his own head.

“And if I want all of that? If I agree to be okay with everything you just described? What then? Will you have me? Will you make me yours?” Steve secures his hands around Eddie’s neck in a binding clasp–lacing his fingers as a symbol of the oath he’s prepared to profess.

Locked in.

Permanent.

Eddie removes his fingers and furrows his brow in concentration, gazing down at the boy below him. Looking like he wasn’t quite expecting that answer.

“Then, I–I suppose we could do this, be whatever this is. But, Steve, I still don’t think you understand. Even if you are okay with a dynamic like that, I’m never going to be able to–”

Eddie’s doubts are silenced by another kiss. Steve doesn’t need to hear them, he already has them memorized like the back of his hand and he’s ready to battle them along with his own.

If the house was on fire, if the world was ending, if a bullet came spinning through the air and only one of them could survive–Steve would save Eddie every single time.

He’ll choose him in this universe and every other one. Born back again and again into his arms through time and space.

“You’re the moon,” he says, unable to put it into words, terrified of how lucid he feels when he looks into Eddie’s midnight eyes.

“What?”

“You’re the moon, Eds,” he kisses him unapologetically and thinks of how he got here-following the moon with nothing but Eddie on his mind, “You’re the light surrounded by darkness and I choose you, regardless. I don’t care about the consequences, as long as it’s you. As long as it’s you.”

“Steve, no one’s ever–I’ve never had anyone say something like that to me–” Eddie blinks back tears and everything is worth it–the pain, the risk, the unstable future.

It’s a disease, y'know. It can be passed from person to person. Make sure you stay away from boys like him, Steven.

Boys like him.

Boys with eyes as dark as the midnight sky.

Boys with quick wit and sarcastic bite.

Boys with bruised knuckles and scarred skin.

Boys like Eddie.

Boys like Steve.

“Ruin me,” he whispers brokenly, “Make me yours and ruin me.”

With that, Eddie rolls a condom onto his cock–retrieving it from behind the same cushion, as if he’d anticipated this very moment.

“Beg, babygirl,” he teases the head of his dick at Steve’s entrance and fists a handful of hair into his hand, “Tell me what you want with your words and maybe, I’ll give it to you.”

Steve cries out at the way Eddie prods against him, trembling and mewling in a fragmented cacophony. A fitful melody that could only ever appeal to a seriously fucked up audience of two.

“Need you inside me, Eds. Need your cock to fill me up, need you to make me forget about everything else,” he groans and tastes blood from where he’s been biting into his own cheek, “Please.”

“You’re learning,” Eddie grips the arm of the sofa with his free hand and Steve inhales the musky scent of him–trying to get high on it, “look at that,” his eyes are trained on where he stretches him out on his cock, “my bashful little virgin is going to get turned into a needy cockslut in no time.”

Steve fucking purrs. Greedy for more, desperate to feel himself split all the way open by Eddie’s dick. Wanting Eddie to break him all the way, sink his teeth in and never let go.

“That’s it, baby,” Eddie sinks further into the clutch of Steve’s ass and groans deeply–primal in essence, “Your pussy’s so fuckin’ tight, ‘s so warm too. Gonna stretch you out so good, make you nice and loose so I can fuck you easy whenever I want.”

“Wanna be yours,” Steve arches his back and sucks in a sharp breath as Eddie bottoms out inside of him–closer than ever, two becoming one, “Wanna be yours and make you proud. Wanna behave.”

“I know you do, princess. Can tell how good you are, how good you wanna be,” he stills his body, allowing Steve to adjust to him and pets at his face lovingly, “Of course you’re mine, baby. You’ve been mine since the day I first laid eyes on you. You belong to me.”

Fuck.

Steve cries out for a God he’s long since stopped believing in.

No one’s ever wanted him like this. No one’s ever wanted to claim him as theirs. To build a foundation atop his decimated grounds.

“Yours,” Steve replies weakly, rocking his hips and indulging in the painful stretch of his gaping hole, “yours, yours, yours.”

“Mine,” Eddie begins thrusting sloppily–with no rhyme or reason, other than the overwhelming need to reach his own end and take Steve down the rabbit hole with him, “You and your perfect pink hole. All mine. All fucking mine. Gonna ruin you, baby.”

Eddie presses his knees further into his chest beyond what should be naturally possible. But for Eddie he’ll do anything, bend and contort into any position necessary.

He slams into Steve, holding his ankles next to his head, and pistoning his hips.

“Mmmm,” he mewls and gawks at the bulge that pumps in and out of his lower abdomen, “Gonna cum soon. Gonna cum. Gonna cum. Feels too good, pussy’s gonna be so sore tomorrow. So full, so fucking full. Don’t ever want you to leave.”

“Fuck, Stevie,” Eddie takes one of his hands and flattens it over Steve’s pelvis, covering it with his own, “Do you feel that? Do you feel how deep you're taking my cock, princess?”

Eddie smacks his hips into Steve’s–whining high in his throat at the sight. The two marvel at the shape of desire, how Steve’s body molds to fit Eddie seamlessly. Like the cocoon of a dormant butterfly, shaping unique perfection.

“Next time, I’m gonna fuck you raw,” he sucks a hickey onto Steve’s neck–more purple to poke at in the morning, “Gonna make your belly all fat and pregnant with my cum. Breed you like the slut you are until it’s dripping out of every hole.”

“Yeah,” Steve moans sharply, canting his hips to meet Eddie in the middle–deepening his own pleasure and edging ever closer to a mounting orgasm, “Want that. Wanna be the mama to your kids, Daddy.”

I see myself as much more of a ‘Daddy’ than a ‘Mommy’—for your information.

It slips his mind, runs the length of his tongue by accident, and exits his perverted lips before he can comprehend the gravity of the situation.

But it scratches an itch that Steve hasn’t been able to reach since Eddie first spoke those words aloud in the produce aisle of the local grocery store. And he can’t take it back.

He doesn’t want to.

Daddy.

It feels right.

It suits him.

And, well, he doesn’t exactly seem too unhappy about it-

“Oh fuck,” Eddie trembles and fights for air, fucking into Steve with no remorse-balls slapping against his body rapidly,“Say that again,” he takes Steve by the throat and squeezes harder than ever before as if he actually plans on suffocating him right here on the couch, “Fucking say it, Stevie. Right fucking now, I swear to God–”

“Daddy,” he leans up to capture Eddie’s kiss-bitten mouth in his and smirks at how much the simple name affects the man’s composure, “Your wife, Daddy. No one else gets to play with my pussy and make me cum. Just you. Only you. Love being your pretty toy, want you to use me until I cry. Make it hurt Daddy, make me bleed.”

Stuttering in his rhythm and cursing relentlessly, Eddie slaps the outside of Steve’s thigh with a heavy hand and unsheathes himself.

”Fuck-what are you-“ Steve whimpers at the loss, desperate to get Eddie back inside him.

“Turn over, baby. Hands and knees. Wanna fuck you from behind so I can spank you while you cum all over my cock.”

Steve’s never moved so fast in his goddamn life. He scrambles into position-ducks his head between his elbows and teasingly wiggles his ass back and forth for Eddie to see.

“Gimme spankings, Daddy,” he pants, dick spilling out more slick onto the pillows, “Hit me hard so I feel it tomorrow.”

Steve’s never even spanked one of his girlfriends. Let alone gotten spanked himself. But there’s no doubt in his mind that this going to become a fast forming addiction for him, the second Eddie’s palm makes contact with the roundest part of his ass. He cries out at the overwhelming sting and hears himself pleading for more.

“You’re beautiful, Stevie,” Eddie says softly and tugs his head up from the pillows by the hair as he slides back into him, “I’m sorry about earlier, baby. I’m sorry I asked you to leave. Don’t ever wanna let you go, don’t ever wanna say goodbye.”

” ‘s okay, Daddy,” Steve moans out as Eddie pounds into him and lands another harsh spanking on his ass, “I got scared too. Don’t ever want anything bad to happen to you. Wanna keep you safe.”

“You’re the sun, Stevie. You’re the sun,” Eddie repeats in pure religiosity and closes out the prayer with a final, gorgeous virtue, “Gonna fuck you slow and cum inside you. Gonna take my time. Gonna savor this and never forget it.”

Tears fall when Steve hears him say this. He wants to promise the same. So badly. But he knows it’s one of the only things he can’t say back. He can’t give Eddie the blessing of his memory and it sends shrapnel flying into his heart.

“You’re the moon,” he says instead-figuring it’s the next best thing he can supply, “You’re my moon. Mine.”

“Yours,” Eddie says on the edge of a breath, “Always, yours.”

His hips stutter, slowing, and rhythmically brushing against Steve’s prostate which sends them both into an overwhelming orgasm in no time at all.

Steve spurts over his stomach and Eddie cums while still pressed deep inside him.

Twitching from oversensitivity and the aftershocks of pleasure, as he collapses onto Steve’s chest to bury his face in his neck.

Steve knows Eddie’s crying, can feel the tears pooling in the hollow of his collarbone. Opalescent in the moonlight.

Trying to make him whole, even now, even there.

Trying to save each other the only way they know how.

Within a matter of breathless minutes, stolen kisses, and mindless pillow talk; they drift off to sleep in each other’s arms.

”Need you to cut my hair tomorrow,” Eddie softly snores atop Steve’s chest and speaks through a half-formed dream, barely a whisper in the dead of night, “All of it.”

He almost asks, almost wakes him fully, but decides—without council—that the rest can wait ‘til morning.

When the sun will rise again.

[chaosandcrimson]

no way is that ROXANNE ‘ROXY’ FLOCKTON.. they’re a 25-year-old HUMAN notoriously known for being MANIPULATIVE & VINDICTIVE but there are some people who have seen them being ALLURING & METHODICAL. if you ask me, they remind me a lot of specks of body glitter falling down onto a computer keyboard, purple bruises covered up with cheap concealer, and using your body to get men to do your bidding, but that could just be because they’re considered the FEMME FATALE around town. just keep an eye on them & see if their true colors shine through..

I never trust a narcissist but they love me So I play 'em like a violin and I make it look oh so easy 'Cause for every lie I tell them they tell me three This is how the world works, now all he thinks about is me

OVERVIEW

Name: Roxanne Satine Flockton

FKA: Nicole Lisa Shaw

Nickname(s): Roxy, Daydream (D4YDR34M)

DOB: July 22, 2099

Age: 25

FC: Kaylee Kaneshiro

Height: 5'8"

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Demiromantic Pansexual

Occupation: Dancer at The Kit Kat Club / Hacker

Relationship Status: Single (Closed)

[+] alluring, methodical, street smart [–] manipulative, vindictive, unscrupulous

BIOGRAPHY

tw: parental neglect, abuse, implied csa

Roxy was raised by a single mother who was always very blunt about her origins. She was the result of an affair with a married man who had paid them a laughably small fraction of his net worth to go away and pretend like they didn’t exist.

It was a fact that was thrown in her face whenever she had something to say about how her mom refused to parent her, or how her rotating cast of deadbeat boyfriends treated her—that she should be grateful that they were even willing to acknowledge her. Feeding and clothing her was more than her dad had done.

Eventually, one of her mom's regular boyfriends got elevated to permanent man of the house, and things only got worse from there. Altercations between her and her new stepdad were frequent and often resulted in violence, a fact which her mom refused to even entertain, always choosing to side with her husband.

They frequently had friends over, causing Roxy to spend a lot of time barricaded in her room with her computer, learning all about hacking while they were busy getting drunk and high. On a good night, they forgot that she was there and left her alone. On a bad night, either her stepdad would get angry and find a way to make it her problem, or one of his friends would decide to sleep in her room.

In her teen years, she tried to run away from home several times and was brought back each time—sometimes by police, sometimes by her parents' shady friends. She didn't understand why they insisted on keeping her when they made it clear that they didn't care about her. It wasn't until she overheard them talking to their friend, who was their drug dealer, that she learned his late-night visits to her room were how they paid for their drugs when they couldn't afford them.

As soon as she turned 18, she hitched a ride out of town with two goals in mind—first to get the fuck out of dodge, and then to track down her biological father and give him a piece of her mind. Unfortunately, she didn't have a lot to go on.

She bounced around from place to place for a few months before arriving in the Metroplex. Settling in the lower district, she took a job as a dancer at The Kit Kat Club. Her time there has made her quite adept at manipulating men and she uses that ability liberally. She has never stolen anything, but if a patron willingly gives her their expensive watch, she isn't exactly going to give it back to them.

She is mean, vindictive, and spiteful, but she genuinely cares about the other dancers at the club. She is very protective of them and has several times taken matters into her own hands when a customer was getting too friendly.

She has continued to hone her hacking skills and has been a part of R4P7UR3 for the past few years. Their leader, Draven Thorne, has become something of a hacking mentor to her; although unbeknownst to both of them, they actually share more than a love of ones and zeros. They also share a father.

MISC

She has a tattoo on her left wrist that is a series of zeros and ones in an 8x8 grid. Each row actually represents one character and reads "FUCK YOU" in binary.