#going from I’m not a violent dog I don’t know why I bite

[rjgraves]

crash ‘89

[localcuttlefish]

You know what. Fuck it. Classic horror AU Edward Little. Everyone sit down. Today you learn.

The scaffolding of Werewolf Edward Little:

Remember that dog that bit his hand as a boy? Not a dog. That was a whole ass werewolf mauling. He was lucky to have survived, and his father made a point of instilling the idea that he had to make something worthwhile out of his now cursed life, because who else gets a second chance like that.

(I bet the reason why he ALLEGEDLY threw hands and was involved in a court martial during his time on the HMS Dublin was because someone called him the Beast of Gévaudan or something on top of being called blackguard.)

Crozier, regardless of whether or not Ned is the only supernatural entity on the expedition (which he more than likely is not), would know Little is a lycanthrope. You can’t sneak that past Captain Francis Rawdon Moira “it’s not paranoia if I’m right” Crozier. The notion that the crew takes silverware aboard the expedition is also more notable— it’s insurance in the event of a werewolf attack.

Several scenes Edward can be interpreted as showing restraint or bottling up anger. Werewolves don’t only transform under the full moon in many modern iterations— they can transform under extreme stress, anger, fear, or even misery and sadness. He’s not just bottling up anger, he’s preventing himself from becoming a damn horse-sized wolf-monster on a ship barely big enough for most of the men to stand upright in its largest rooms.

(He’s not a violent dog, he doesn’t know why he bites.)

Fanbase characterizes Ned as a guardian dog a lot. It’s a really fun subversion of expectations for Edward’s “lunacy” as a wolf just being an overactive, twisted, violent, haunting need to protect, instead of a merciless bloodlust. He’s a resource guarder. It just so happens the resource is men aboard the expedition. It actually makes him quite a good Lieutenant when not in a massive tragedy, since he takes into consideration the importance of group survival, coordination, and safety.

The months where the moon is just spinning overhead in the Arctic are the worst of it. His skin itches from the inside out and he wants to peel himself to shreds to shed everything he recognizes as human about himself just for sake of his comfort. He can’t go outside. He can’t see the full moonlight.

Scientifically, it probably burns a TON of calories to transform from human to massive wolf thing. He’s spontaneously creating and reallocating muscle and bone. Realistically, he would need a lot of those lead-lined tins of meat to survive and not start looking to. Other meat sources. To stay alive. Which is why he’s so devastated and horrified to find out how all of the tins were poisoned. He needs to keep poisoning himself to keep everyone else safe.

The ending desperation and starvation hurts more if you consider the fact that most of the crew probably expect him of all people to snap and eat a sailor. But if we just change those watch chains from gold to silver… then he’s fighting to the end to remain human, remain calm, and not let the horror and hunger overtake him. And he succeeds in the end, actually.

I bet Le Vesconte told him frank that if the resource shortage continues, they won’t be able to trust Ned not to go feral. Ned takes initiative to PROVE the men can trust him and pierces his face with silver to poison himself and stay human.

Cainids can synthesize their own vitamin C. Scurvy was never going to be an issue for him (part of what made him good on the sea)— it was always going to be caloric deficit, starvation, thirst, and exhaustion. When Crozier finds him, Crozier can tell Ned is too weak to go feral with hunger if Ned transforms. Crozier can take the silver chains off Ned’s face. Ned can stop tearing at his skin and just be the monster everyone thinks he is, and he lies there, wolf head in his captain’s lap, whining with every weak exhale until he stops breathing.

[do-i-look-like-a-doctor]

Solivan with an MC who has a mean/violent sibling that he HORRIFICALLY misunderstands.

Okay, maybe I’m writing this because that’s how my MC lives but honestly can you imagine it? The world’s most possessive creature to roam earth versus a sibling so spiteful, so mean, so intense that it makes him feel threatened? I live for it.

To make it better (or worse) what if this sibling isn’t even trying to be a threat? They’re just being themselves and Sol, as a delusional man, perceives their actions as a distraction. Something that’s getting in the way. Something to get rid of.

Picture this: Sol and MC are eating lunch on the rooftop. Sol made SURE that MC’s sibling had no. Fucking. Idea. How to get up there. Maybe he even locked the doors to cover the tracks. Flash-forward twenty minutes and BOOM the doors fly open. At first Sol think’s its Hyugo but when he sees a pair of eyes that are too similar to his darlings he suddenly crushes the bento box to pieces. In his mind, this parasite deliberately followed them to ruin their date. They even had the audacity to glare at him like he’s some worthless grub. In reality, MC texted their sibling that they’re eating on the rooftop because why not and said sibling is glaring because they don’t like other people. That is just their face.

That’s not it though. Sol knows that this sibling is mean. A junkyard dog with no muzzle. Someone whose brain deserves to be dissected and studied. Granted, they’re not mean to MC and possibly have friends but he doesn’t care. A mean dog can make friends but does that prevent them from biting? So what if they hug MC, give notes to Crowe, and offer to braid Brittney’s hair… they’re still a ticking time bomb.

I feel like Sol would lose his mind.

As time goes on and more instances happen (aka the mutt keeps on “getting in the way” of dates) I think Sol would consider… removing the sibling. At first you’d think a good threat would work but nah, this sibling isn’t falling easy. They’re a bomb that’s constantly going off. They fight people often, they get toe-to-toe with people twice their size, they simply do not care who or what they are punching.

Half the time they come home with bloody knuckles and tears in their eyes like some rabid animal needing coddled before its final moments… and maybe MC does exactly that. Nope, that won’t do. Why would Solivan let anything violent live near his partner? Someday this sibling of theirs is going to turn and bite them. Solivan needs to end this.

Here’s the real kicker: MC’s sibling isn’t even that bad. Sol just has horrible perception because he sees anyone close to MC as a direct interference with his plans. When he says that this sibling fights people three times a week… what really happened is he witnessed them fight some asshole ONCE and chalked it up to incurable rage.

When he says that this sibling has horrible control over their temper and foams at the mouth when told ‘no’… what it really means is that he antagonized them to the point they blew up.

When he says this sibling is just mean and awful for no reason, should be expelled, and has blood on their hands… what’s really going on is some person with anger issues defended themselves.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s probably been times where the sibling genuinely went out of proportion with their temper but in reality it isn’t as bad as Solivan makes it out to be.

Part of me wants to say he wouldn’t kill them because MC loves their sibling. Part of me also thinks he doesn’t give a shit. It’s been made pretty clear how protective he is of MC so who knows what he would do. Either way, I think he’d misunderstand MC’s sibling so bad to the point of harm.

((I typed this out in like half an hour ignore my mistakes I’m lazy))

[chimckenns]

“I’m not a violent dog. I don’t know why I bite.

- Isle of Dogs

Darlin’ never felt like they belonged. When they first turned into a wolf, they were ecstatic. But everyone looked at them weird. Their fur was different to everyone else’s in the pack. Their teeth were sharper, eyes a little meaner.

All the other pups rejected them. David, Asher, and Milo were their only friends. But they didn’t want to burden them. Protecting them meant going against the rest of the pack, and they can’t make them do that.

They had to fight for themself.

It became an instinct, and they would bite before they could think. Mind reeling with the need to survive, to defend themselves.

To everyone else, they were violent, uncontrollable.

When they ran away from the pack, opting to be alone, they came across Quinn. He loved their violent side. Quinn saw Darlin’ as a tool, but for Darlin’, all they needed was acceptance. And that’s what he gave them. Darlin’ was a thrall, and if it meant that they could be seen, that their wolf could be seen, that was fine.

But it was different with Sam.

They never wanted to show Sam their wolf, afraid he’d think of them different, that maybe they were too much for him. Their eyes were probably wild, and one look at them and he’d know - violence was all they were ever good for. With Quinn, that was all they ever were. And eventually that’s what they believed.

The first time he saw them at the inversion, they panicked, immediately shifting back to human.

Yet Sam looked at them with so much love and relief, and with tears in his eyes he said

“So that’s what you look like as a wolf, huh?”

Darlin’ closed their eyes, waiting for the next few words to hit them.

But all they felt was a hug, followed by a whispered “You look so beautiful.”, before he sobbed in their arms in relief.

They’ve never been called beautiful before.

[girl-lostconnection]

Helldiver!Reader, but they’ve never felt the touch of a gentle hand in years, it’s always grabbing, to drag you out of the hellscape, pushing you out of the way of danger, but never gentle,

Helldiver!Reader isn’t even gentle with themselves, their body is not a temple but a machine of war.

I can imagine them flinching away from the 141 whenever they try to touch them, not because they don’t welcome it, but because it’s too soft, a touch from another human being to them, is meant to leave a soft ache, not warmth

Something something I had this thought and kept myself going, vry sorry for the long rant 😭

Anon, I saved you up for a times when I need you. Thank you for this ask and may your pillow always be cool on both sides

Warnings: suggestive themes, violence, self harm (thoughts), Reader is repulsed by touching, Reader has a lot of trauma, dead dove do not eat, description of physical injury, description of losing limb, description of sleep deprivation, Reader is shit with feelings

There is raging discomfort in softness — gentility so foreign you curl away from it, your body twitching at stray touches, your body trying to pull away from stroking.

Frantic “don’t touch me-don’t touch me-don’t touch me-don’t touch me” pounding in your head, just so guilt can settle in your chest a little later, regret making home between your jaws.

It feels nice and you can’t stomach it. It feels good and you want to get it again and you want someone to touch you again but you can’t fucking stomach it.

Bone-deep need for comfort warring violently with your scared creature of a body that never got over that discomfort. That never got over that fear.

You don’t know softness and it terrifies you. You are not familiar with it, not even acquainted at best, you are a strangers in the same train that is your life.

You are looking at each other across rows and then you need to look away and stare out the window because your skin feels a size too small.

Don’t touch me-don’t touch me-don’t touch me-don’t touch me.

Pain you know. Violence you know. Danger you know.

They are old friends, practically family, they have been with you for so long you aren’t even sure how would you function without them.

Pain is good, it clears you up, it pulls your head out of the fog and up the water — it gives you a chance to breathe. It’s a shockwave your system needs to power up and function. It’s a satiation for the ache and nausea, it’s relief for the knot that tests your gag reflex when you try to force yourself into touches.

Softness is so foreign you actively run from it, trying your best to avoid and deflect. Lips pursed thinly, eyes wary and scared heavy, you cross your hands over the chest and shake off all and any palms off your shoulders.

Don’t touch me-don’t touch me-don’t touch me-don’t touch me.

Some Helldivers like the cartoon with the island of dogs, most of them find truth in this old black stray, most of them brand “I’m not a violent dog, I don’t know why I bite” like it’s another insignia. One as prominent as cape is.

Not you though. You know why you bite — you let everyone around you know why you might. It’s not productive to result to this, it undermines your professionalism — not up to someone of your rank to snarl and scramble away like a wounded animal. But sometimes you do want to.

And sometimes this pained, traumatised part of you gets reigns even if for a moment. It’s usually enough.

Fight or flight or fawn, right?

Basic reactions, basic fear responses, basic emotions at the base of you. Who are you without all that armour? Who are you with it?

You don’t hold hands, you don’t cuddle, you don’t make love.

Helldivers aren’t meant for soft, they can’t be soft, not if they want to live. And fuck, do you want to live. Despite everything and anything, despite rage and despair — you want to live. And you do.

You take small bites here and there: you steal a kiss or two when you can — lips dry and bleeding, sweat and grime caking under your helmet, visor of it cracked; you steal a handjob and give one back — mutually beneficial exchange and nothing more, just a little treat to feel alive. To feel like you can still be touched.

Like there is something to touch on your battlefield of a body.

Helldivers don’t make love, Helldiver don’t even fuck — not much time and not much libido but when you do it’s short and to the point, impatient, feral creature falling silent because the rush of your blood and cadence of your breathing is louder.

Because the place between your legs is slick and warm and you are full until you can’t breathe. Or until you are sure that your kisses swallow the quiet sounds of another person’s pleasure.

It’s just a way to let steam off, nothing else.

You both quickly pulling back on whatever got taken off to get to the point as fast as possible.

Maybe your branch is fucked up. Maybe you all are in fact dogs.

But post orgasmic clarity is a bitch, railroading all of you into shaking off whatever sticky uncomfortable feeling is lingering before you pop yourself down the orbit.

Battle is always familiar and pain is a welcome distraction, your whole self arching to it, your mind a fucked up thing aching for more because this is right. This is familiar. This is control.

Bones crack and realign with the push of a stim, cartilage and muscle tears apart, pain so intense you are blind with it, you are deaf with it, you are drowning on it. Tourniquet saving whatever is left to save, harsh fabric digging into bleeding hurt leg of yours.

Squad gets back with your right leg as fast as they can, realigning it back and pushing another stim into your overworked body. There is a horrible sickening snap of bones, your whole body flaring up, teeth grinding together because you can feel how nerves find each other, tying your leg back to you.

Meat of muscle and fatty tissue finding each other, soldering back together. Leaving only a scar as a reminder.

Pain subsides quickly thanks to stims pumped into your system and it’s pure bliss for a moment — not a thought in the head of yours.

And then you are back on the ship and you are lightheaded with exhaustion and Kyle is watching you like he’s concerned out of his bloody mind, but you don’t let him come too close.

Better he stays away. Better they all stay away. Better they do not approach.

And don’t touch-don’t touch-don’t touch-don’t touch you.

You want to sleep so fucking bad, you feel like you are going insane — eyes dry and aching, dizziness forcing you to sway but you can’t because stims take away as much as they give. And for the next 26 hours you won’t slip a wink.

It’s torture and it’s maddening, but that’s exactly why they have this effect.

Too many of you get hooked on the feel of invincibility, too many die prematurely because they need to feel what you all are feeling.

Because you are a fucked up branch, because Helldivers are bloody dogs, because you need to hurt to function.

Soap watches you, offers you to eat something and you agree surprising both of you because god knows you could use some food. Some energy.

What brain won’t get in rest, you will give in sugar.

A little treat for its troubles.

You dive again and again and again. And every time you are met by hell the likes of which no one fucking saw — the hell that takes your friends and your teams and your limbs. The hell that chips away at you when you stare at the knives for too long, when your nails itch to rake over your forearms to dig in, to draw blood, to hurt-to hurt-to hurt.

To get some semblance of control.

Because it’s easier this way, right?

Because if you can say that you chose it, that you did it yourself, that it was self inflicted it would be better. Safe pain, good pain, necessary pain.

Just enough to take the edge off, just enough not to let your head go down under the water.

Simon hums when you slide down the wall and stays there, standing guard, eyes trained on something other than you. He’s the closest person on the team with circumstances similar to yours.

Simon wears mask forever and always, Simon greets you with gloves on, Simon lets you grip his hair when you fuck.

Simon doesn’t judge you.

He’s there, just standing nearby — making sure you won’t open yourself up, that you won’t claw at your fresh stitches, that you won’t fall asleep and slam your heavy head on the steel floors of your ship.

Simon is closer every time he’s there and maybe it’s lack of sleep or too much pain or something else but when he sits down near you, you don’t curl away. Because he doesn’t push. Because he doesn’t try to act like you are normal.

Because he doesn’t try to act like he is.

It gets easier with time. He gets safer.

You feel with him safer.

Unfortunately nothing lasts forever. And neither does this progress, you think when he gets off your bird and takes away part of you with him.

A soft part, a tiny part, a squashed part.

You are alone in the control room, nothing but blue light and coordinates of the next mission, voice in your head hammering down the last nail.

Don’t touch me-don’t touch me-don’t touch me-don’t touch me

[malicedragoness]

Nsft Havik Headcanons

Listen up y’all. This is by far, without a doubt, the weirdest thing I have written for this blog. Havik is not for everyone. So please read the warnings before you decide to read.

I don’t know why I’m attracted to this damn zombie man. But goddamnit!

Let me know if y’all want a part 2 or have questions.

WARNINGS: Havik is his own warning, body horror, limb detachment, lots of blood, manic behavior, Havik saying absurd shit.

-At first, he hates your guts when he meets you. He’s not supposed to want you. Owning things and keeping them in line aren’t his philosophy. A relationship feels like confinement and ownership. There shouldn’t be ownership. And yet he wants to keep you to himself.

He hates it. You represent everything he is against and he hates that he wants you. But if you returned his affections, he would keep you close to him and act like a violent guard dog to anyone that gets close to you.

-Havik is a chest guy. It’s not so much for nipples/boobs, but he has an obsession with your heart. He wants to be able to physically touch it and it tortures him that he can’t. So he settles for being as close to it as possible.

Havik favors positions where he can see and feel your chest and salivate over it. His favorite pastime is to lay his head on your chest and listen to your heartbeat like a thief trying to crack open a safe.

One thing about being with Havik, you need to get used to some of the absurd shit he says. During sex he’ll comment: “Just one chomp. One good chomp and I’ll be eating your heart out of your body, and sip your life’s blood.”

“I can hear your blood singing to me.”

“So sweet. So forbidden. Please, let me just lick it?”

Once Havik reaches a certain point in your relationship, he will let you physically touch his heart. He opens his chest to show you how fast it beats when you’re around. “Only you can make my heart dance like this.”

Even if you don’t want to touch it, he makes you. In his own delusional way, he’s showing you he trusts you.

-Masochist. It should go without saying that Havik enjoys pain, specifically if you’re the one to inflict it. From simple things like nipple clamps and tight cock rings, to drawing patterns in his skin with a knife. He gets off on you hurting him.

And while he loves pain, Havik would never turn away any tenderness you give him. If you stroke his hair, he’ll rub his head into your hand like a kitten. He will take any form of touch and affection you give. Gentle or cruel.

-Havik is proud of how absurdly flexible and detachable his body is. He can arch his body in different ways and put it in angles that aren’t humanly possible. Sometimes he detaches his head and will watch his body fuck you from across the room. There are times during sex where he has you hold his detached head to your chest while he fucks you, so he can listen to your heart beat.

-Licks your blood like it’s a delicacy. If you’re ever injured in a fight or if you have a cut on your finger, Havik is quick to come lick it. He’ll moan in ecstacy tasting your blood and his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Your blood is a shot of adrenaline to his system, and he gets more impatient than usual, and wants to drag you off to fuck you that instant.

-He is loud! There’s no restraint with him. He growls, he moans, he screams, he talks. He can never be quiet. So if you don’t want to be caught in the act, make sure you’re not anywhere public.

-Oral sex can be tricky for him. It’s not that he lacks enthusiasm. Far from it. But with no lips he’s relying heavily on his tongue and fingers to give you pleasure. For men, he circles his tongue around your cock and uses his hands to jerk you off.

-Love bites and nibbles replace all the kisses he could’ve left on your body. After his face got damaged, he realized he prefers it this way. Bite marks litter your skin and he’s all too happy to run his tongue over them.

-Havik experiences bouts of mania after fighting and being covered in blood. When he’s high in his mania, his masochistic tendencies get extreme. He wants you to slice him up, tie him down, pull his hair, torture him by making him cum multiple times so he gets overstimulated. He wants to feel pain.

Eventually, he will rip his arms off to get out of the restraints so he can take out his energy on you. And when he’s in it deep, he’s loud and sets a brutal pace.

“You feel so gooooood! I want to see your brains spill out of your head!”

(Keep in mind, he would never hurt you like that. But he says things in the throes of pleasure.)

When he goes through these episodes, it seems like it lasts for hours before he finally stops. Once he comes down from his high, he is exhausted from the emotional overload. He’ll cling onto you, shaking and crying. Desperate for an anchor as he rides the waves of his mental crash, loving the feel of you petting his hair.

-After being together for a while, he’ll break off one of his fingers and give it to you. Havik won’t grow it back. He puts it on a cord for you to wear around your neck. It’s his way of proposing to you. No matter where you go, you always have a piece of him.

[icycoldninja]

Can u write the DMC boys with a reader who loves them like a dog

It’s a weird thing but the thing is, she’s not a therian or a furry. I got inspired by this dialogue of a character from the movie “Isle of Dogs”:

———————————————————————————

“I am not your pet

I never liked you

I don’t care about you

I won’t wait for you

I bite.”

———————————————————————————

She’s a violent person who act out on her impulses whether it be devils or people who deserved it; she’s always distancing herself and purposely from the people around her no matter what; she won’t let herself be vulnerable and will never let her walls down ; she’s rigid ,pessimistic…like a stray dog that comes running away from the sight of people

Because of that, a lot of people, whether it be her friends, family members or lovers left her because in their words, she’s hard to love and no matter how much effort they put into trying to understand her, she always back away…like a stray dog that’ll snarl and bite at you no matter how much you try to help it.

———————————————————————————

“My friends think I like to fight but it’s just not true

Sometimes I lose my temper and blow off a little steam but I’ve never enjoyed it

I’m not a violent dog

I don’t know why I bite”

———————————————————————————

But once they really try to know her while respecting her boundaries, be patient and caring despite her conflicting moods, can put up with her impulses and her mood swings, does not try to shun her or forcefully force her to be ‘happy’ and ‘less of herself’ for the sake of others while she’s obviously uncomfortable…they’ll get to know why she acts the way she does…like a violent stray she has always been known as

She’s violent because that’s the only way she can be taken seriously as a person and not be pushed around since; she distances herself from others because she’s tired of having to trail after people like a puppy begging for attention; she won’t let herself be vulnerable because of people exploiting/abusing her; she’s pessimistic because she was let down by people all her life so she learned not to be dependent on anyone.

Because of the amount of abuse, neglect and multiple negative experiences she had growing up, she’ll snarl and bite at people no matter the intention that had with her which inevitably push people further away from her…like an anxious and traumatized stray dog that was once scarred by people so the only way it can protect itself is to bite at those who wander too close for its own good.

And the rest can be the boys and the reader trauma bonding, helping her heal her emotional wounds, etc

P/S: There’s a tiktok video that can sum up her character if u want: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZS22WpWwB/

Have a nice day and pls make it extremely angsty in the beginning to comforting at the end

Yes, absolutely, here you go!

Sparda boys + V x Hurt dog-like!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-When he first met you, he thought you were a real jerk. You were mean, distant, pessimistic, extremely violent, and generally an extremely unpleasant person.

-Dante honestly hated you! You just kept pushing everyone away, never accepting anyone's help and getting abandoned because of it. You never changed, or learned from your mistakes, either, you just kept on being an asshole.

-He was prepared to up and ditch you too, when he happened to catch sight of you crying on a bench in the street. It was weird, seeing a normally aggressive, borderline psychopathic person so broken and vulnerable.

-Knowing he shouldn't and ignoring those ominous feelings, Dante approached you, sat next to you, and waited for you to begin speaking--if you would speak at all.

-You started chatting after a while, and what was first an exchanging of pleasantries became a heart-to-heart conversation where Dante learned a lot more about you than he ever thought he would know.

-You were truly a broken soul. His heart ached for you. He'd have helped you, if he could, but wasn't sure how.

-After this little chat, you started hanging out a lot more often you were slightly less aggressive towards him, though still quite mean and very bristly. Dante was patient, however, and continued to put up with you until your walls finally cracked, broke, and you confessed.

-From that point on, Dante got to see how loving you could be. It was extremely surprising, given your personality, but you were actually the sweetest, most loyal person he'd ever met.

-Constantly tells you that you have nothing to worry about, that he would never abuse or take advantage of you, and that he's here to stay, regardless of what you do.

-It seemed impossible to everyone else and sounds crazy, but Dante might be able to fix you.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil never really liked you from the start. You were a grouchy, closed off, beastly woman.

-He avoided you and tried extremely hard not to get sent on missions with you. Whenever he did, he would immediately go off somewhere, leaving you to fend for yourself.

-Over time, he began to realize how cruel that was, and believe it or not, he began to see a little of himself in you.

-He felt sorry for you, honestly. He knew that no one is that angry inside without good reason--you must have been traumatized in the past, just like him.

-It took him some time, but he finally decided to talk to you. While you continued to push him away, Vergil refused to budge. He was adamant in speaking with you, and he would get what he wanted no matter what.

-Since he refused to leave you alone, you had no choice but to endure his presence, and that inevitably led to having a conversation.

-This was how Vergil learned of your dark and deeply traumatizing paar. It reminded him of his own depressing backstory, which made him start to second guess himself. Maybe he was a bit too harsh on you.

-From that point onwards, he made sure to always make time for you, even if you didn't want to be in his presence. It mattered not; he would try to help you through your emotional struggles, doing for you what someone should have done for him.

-This is how he learns of what a sweetheart you can be when given the chance. Deep down, you're the most loving, precious soul he'd ever met. If only you hadn't been treated so harshly, you could have turned out differently.

-Even if you try to escape him, it is impossible. Vergil has made up his mind to stay with you, standing by your side through everything, be it violent outburst or bloody murder.

□ Nero □

-Nero disliked you when he first met you, there's no denying that.

-However, not long after meeting you, he realized that you weren't such a violent person because you wanted to be. Monsters are never born, they are made.

-You were definitely hiding something, probably some childhood trauma or something similar. Nero knew it would be hard to get you to talk, but he was going to find out.

-He managed to get you alone somehow and in the gentlest way he could, asked you if you were alright. Such an action shocked you, since you never expected anyone to care about your feelings, so you temporarily let your guard down.

-Nero is actually a lot nicer than you thought he would be. You kind of felt comfortable around him, which resulted in you spilling your guts out to him.

-After hearing your story, Nero realized he was right after all; your past was dark, darker than his. This also made him realize that no one was going to help you--no one had anyway, because if they had, you wouldn't be like this.

-Nero started following you around, even when you didn't want him to, continuing to defend your cause even after you lashed out at him. It wasn't out of pity; Nero had feelings for you and wanted to see you happy.

-You started warming up to him after a while, revealing your loyal, loving nature that you kept hidden under an angry facade.

-Nero loves seeing you all smiles and laughter, and promises to never leave you like the rest. He comforts you whenever you need it, and even when you don't.

-You guys can also bond over your shared trauma, which does wonders for both your mental states.

● V ●

-V is the only person in the world who didn't hate you upon meeting you.

-He understood you were a vicious woman and that some would be deterred by this, but he wasn't.

-People are this way for a reason. Since he is part of Vergil, V knows what he's talking about.

-He tried very hard to get close to you, always asking how your day went, if you were alright, and listening if you had anything you'd like to get off your chest.

-You were very hesitant to make conversation with him; understandable, given your past, but he kept trying.

-One day, when you were at a particularly low mental state, you caved and started talking to him. V was patient, and listened to everything, not judging you or getting upset with you for expressing yourself, like so many others did.

-This kindness made you see him in a different light. You really adored this man for being so nice to you.

-You guys hung out a lot after that, talking about your personal lives and all that, bonding in ways you never thought possible before.

-V then got to see how you behaved around people you cared about, and he must say, you're much sweeter than they say you are.

-He loves you beyond imagination, and is sure to remind of you of this fact every time he sees you.

[fangthroat]

so this is gonna be long but i gotta talk about therian / otherkin feelings about being wolfdog and what that means for me. if you like this stuff i hope you’ll enjoy my rambling. there may be some topics about trauma in here so be warned nothing awful tho, maybe mentions of abuse.

i have been thinking a lot about wolfdog kin feelings and i can tell it really stems from or represents this.. deep desire to be loved. by myself or others, probably both.

but for some reason this year i really just decided to go for it. to accept this part of myself and lean into it fully making it a part of my life and for the first time i can see myself more clearly.

this wolf i always feel and see myself as always feels.. lonely. violent sometimes. especially if i’m angry or triggered, or im feeling an intense emotion or painful experience. a need to defend myself. it’s a bare my teeth ill bite you back the fuck off feeling. i don’t let it out on others. i used to when i was having panic attacks at a very young age, but therapy and emotional maturity helped me move through that. but still, i get images of this black wolf whenever someone makes me angry. i get this urge to bite, to snap my teeth; to growl and put my ears back. i think it represents the abuse ive survived and the way i imagine ive had to transform to overcome these things. it’s my anti social side that refuses to trust others because of what ive been through

i feel because ive been told im a monster who has no redemption, worthless by people who said they love me

this part of me.. that truly believed i was a bad creature (as most wolves are portrayed in fiction- evil livestock slaughterers, liars and deceivers, omens of death) that was only good for destruction and hurting people it developed into. whatever this is that has connected me deeply with this animal. the wolf represents my pain, my rage, my need to fight to survive. at some point i think when i was a more scared, angrier, person that’s when i realized that the wolf was in some way me and i was him. but that thought felt crazy at the time when i was a kid so i brushed it off.

and the dog part of me is so desperate to be loved. seeking to belong and acceptance somewhere between one place or the other. this domestic, soft side of myself i cannot deny. the part of me that kept coming back no matter how many times i was kicked or beaten, because im loyal. i love fiercely and deeply. why would anyone i love hurt me? did i deserve it? and even though ive been hurt before this desperation to be pet, to be taken care of is still there. i want company, companionship, but now i fear it.

idk. these feelings are a lot. i think about how my shifts fluctuate with my trauma and the parts of me that im afraid of when things get scary. even the wolf parts of myself connect in ways to my hare therian feelings… but thats a post for another time.

PS don’t try to label me, change my labels, or anything awful like that. i’ve had too many people lately make assumptions about me based off of one post or my intro post lately. it’s awful being scrutinized for my feelings in a community i’m a part of. if i say im otherkin , therian, etc i am. you won’t change that and gender identity / therian feelings are fluid and changing just like everything in life. i refuse to fit into your weird boxes of what is / isn’t your definition of something. i know my feelings and experiences. you do not :) ill block you if i get any kind of response like this.

[threads-strings]

Eden the Hunter

“I’m not a violent dog.

I don’t know why I bite.” - Isle of Dogs

For some reason I associate Eden a lot with traits of a dog - a flea-ridden, abandoned street dog, a mutt who’ll bite down harder as soon as you try to take something from him, who’ll jump and protest as soon as you try to leave and who’ll wait by the door for you to come back, thinking every time you’re going out, you’re abandoning him again. He is loyal to a fault, and he doesn’t understand why you’d be scared of him when all he’s doing is trying to protect you, he’d never hurt you after all. All he wants is for you to be safe and not leave him because he loves you, and like everything he loves he needs to hold onto you with his teeth so you won’t be taken away from him as well.

[spidermandni]

i’m not a violent girl. (i don’t know why i bite.)

pairing sohee x reader

wc 843

genre angst

notes this was originally an original character/self insert writing but i also imagined sohee as the boy so… take this and yes it’s based off of that one tiktok audio for isle of the dogs and i bet on losing dogs by mitski… i might make a prequel for the “i bite” part… we’ll see

“i’m sorry.”

when he looks up from the pavement and turns to to his left to look at you, you’re not looking at him. your eyes are staring straight ahead but he can see the corners with slightly red veins—your eyes, they’re watering.

“i just-” you voice cracks and you shut your mouth as soon as the squeak makes its way out of your throat, throwing your head down and shutting your eyes tightly. your eyelashes connect to your cheeks, clumped as the tears you wanted to keep in begin to flow down your cheeks. “i don’t want to be mean to you or hurt you, it’s just… i would rather be mean first and push you away before you do it to me.”

he listens to your words and when he finally thinks he found something to say, you cut him off.

“i’m too much. i talk too much, i feel too much—i don’t want you to get overwhelmed, feel like i’m a bother. i can’t, not you.” you pathetically chuckle while wiping your tears with one hand. “if you think i’m just a bitch, that’s fine, but if you get to know me and realize how i actually am, and you don’t like that, i don’t think i could… that might—it would ruin me. so i think it would be best if we just… never speak again.” you ramble but you still refuse to look at him.

his face crumples up at your words, feeling his heart begin to do the same. he has known you for such a short time but the only thing he finds you is captivating. when he is away from you, all he thinks of is you and even when you are near, he can’t take his eyes away from you. he met you and the world before him shifted to something brighter, so how could you, the person who makes him feel the most euphoric, feel like you burden him just with your presence?

“i know you talk a lot. i know you feel a lot, i’ve seen you cry to the narnia movies. i’ve seen you squeal at the sight of deer crossing the road because of how cute you think they are. i’ve seen you get ridiculously excited about hearing a song you hadn’t heard in years that you still remembered all the lyrics to. i’ve seen you at the end of the day when you can finally relax and let your social battery charge. i’ve seen you on days where you don’t feel so hot but still choose to hang out with us because somebody wants to go get dinner as a group.

“none of that is bothersome to me. i know you and i like it all. there’s nothing about you that could annoy me. anything you say, anything you feel, anything you want to do, i’m here. i’m here and i want to be hear with you to hear it all, feel it and do it with you. you matter to me and if you feel that you don’t to anybody else, just know that you’ll always be someone to me. someone that i really like and care for and want to know even more.” while speaking, he had refused to stop looking at you, even going as far as to softly grab your hand.

you look at him with furrowed eyebrows, pursed lips, and sorrowful eyes. his heart clenches again in his chest because he had never seen you look this defeated.

“but how do i know you mean it? everyone i know, even my family, they get tired of me. you don’t have to lie just to try to make me feel better, i’m a big girl, i can take the pain.” a dejected smile forming on your face, the tears from before now dry and staining your cheeks.

“i’m not lying to you to make you feel better. i’ll prove it to you everyday if i have to. i care about you and i want you to know i do. you’re my friend—and more and when you feel like you believe me, believe that how i feel about you is true, i’m here. i’ll always be here.” he finishes, lifting his free hand to softly caress your cheek. his fingers are slightly rough but still smooth, your skin is still soft underneath his palm despite dried tears.

the two of you sit there for a few moments before you nod. he smiles at you, it’s small.

“yeah?” you nod again.

“yeah.”

“can i… can i hug you or is that…?” you smile at him, small like his, and he takes it. his arms wrap around your waist, his chin immediately resting on your shoulder as one of his hands lie on your back as the other rests on the back of your head. he sighs in content when your arms wrap around the same, your hands coming to curl against his shoulders instead.

“i care about you.” your head drops lightly against his, finally comfortable.

[codfanficedits]

Before the mask - Part thirteen

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Because Simon wasn’t born as Ghost.

Wordcount: 2050| Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: mentioning of childhood abuse, an attempt at a decent conversation

A/N: As a true fanfic writer, I have been scheduled to a surgery and I'll be most likely to go MIA for a few weeks while I recover, I'm sorry!

Simon knew it wasn’t fair to take it out on you. He knew it wasn’t your fault, he knew you didn’t raise him to be like this. But in that split second, he couldn’t stop it, his mind was so overwhelmed that he had lashed out.

‘I’m not a violent dog, I don’t know why I bite.’ The quote he had once heard fills his mind, Simon didn’t want to be a violent dog, never wanted to be one, he saw what had happened to violent dogs. But if you mistreat a dog long enough, if you beat a dog long enough. It will only know violence.

His mind is running wild and once more Simon doesn’t know what to do, he could feel you freeze up in his lap, and he doesn’t know if he should wrap his arms around you, beg you for forgiveness, tell you he didn’t mean to, but that he panicked? Or should he keep true to his word, really kick you out and deal with the consequences, he could always make it up to you later.

And oh God. Dear fucking God.

What if you get tired of this? What if he is more broken than you though he would be and what if you grow sick of it? What if you see him for who he really is? A broken boy, with no clue who he really is, just trying to mend his personality to the people he deemed special, so they won’t leave him? A broken boy, who has been hurt so many times before, that he felt as if he wasn’t worthy of attention ever again, especially yours.

A broken boy, who is so angry at the world, because everybody saw what was happening, and nobody tried to stop it.

And those boys live together, making Simon who he is in this moment. All of them together are trying to fight to keep him as safe as they can. And you. You’re dangerously close, you can make him feel vulnerable and that is something Simon struggles with. It goes against who he thought he was.

But maybe, just maybe, he could allow himself to tear those walls down a little bit, to let you in a little bit. Maybe he could allow you to be the guiding moon in the darkness of his mind.

For Simon, this feels like an eternity, while in reality, his little snapping wasn’t more than a few seconds ago.

You blink, once, twice. What the fuck just happened? How did he go from being so.. so.. happy to whatever the fuck this was?

You’re stunned, the way he switched up so fast wasn’t something you were used to.

And his eyes betrayed him. They betrayed how he really felt, they betrayed the turmoil of emotions within. They couldn’t hide the storm that he felt, and you noticed, you could see right through those eyes.

But you weren’t put on this earth to change him, to fix him, to pick up the pieces others had caused and glued them back on. That wasn’t what you were made for, no matter what you had been told.

Of course you felt sympathy for what had happened, of course no one should’ve been raised the way he had been raised, but it was a reason for his behaviour, not an excuse.

“What the fuck, Simon.”

And Simon winces from your harsh words, a sinking feeling in his gut when he realizes he might not get away with this type of behaviour. He wants to open his mouth, to come up with a thousand different excuses as to why he had acted the way he did. But he gets shushed by you.

“No, you listen.” You say, warning him. “We just agreed we have to communicate more, we just agreed to let each other in, and here you are, shutting me out again. You can’t demand that I share my feelings with you, that I share my thoughts with you when things get me overwhelmed, only for you to shut me out.” You get off his lap, feeling that your words don’t have as much power when you’re sitting down. And maybe going for the attack wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but you were only human too.

“You don’t know how it is.” Simon muttered.

“Then tell me how it is!” You didn’t want to raise your voice, but it happened anyway, the frustration getting the best of you.

Simon shuts down again, how could he possible explain what is going on inside of him, when he himself doesn’t fully understand what is happening? And on top of that, how is he supposed to share his feelings. He is a man, and men are not supposed to be soft, to be caring, to be sweet, that is not what he has been taught. And how could one man go against the generational trauma that has bestowed upon him?

“Simon.” You sigh his name and it sounds so sweet to him. “I will never be able to fully understand what you went through, I will never be able to say that I get how you feel, because my upbringing has been so different than yours. But, if you shut me out completely, I will never understand even the slightest part of you, and we can’t have that, not if we want to make us work. So please, for the love of God, don’t shut me out.”

His mind is running, and he is unable to fully comprehend what is happening, his mind is screaming one thing, to brush this off, to snap at you again, to tell you to shut up, but the other part, the part that wants to heal, is begging him to let you in.

The difficult thing about healing, is that it takes place outside of someone’s comfort zone.

And being abused means that Simon has been out of his comfort zone for most of his life, and it’s a battle, a struggle, to give up that comfort zone again, now that he has finally found it. His throat feels dry, no matter how often he swallows, he has to make a choice and he hates that he can’t have a little preview about the outcome of his choice would be, and that alone makes him doubt it all even more.

“I..” His voice drowns out, how should he phrase this? Hell, he doesn’t even know what he wants to say himself. “Scared.”

It seems like you would have to lead this conversation.

You lean against his dresser, trying to let your rational side speak and not your heart. “What are you scared of?”

What was he scared of? Losing you, losing himself, being himself, not being himself. Existing while others had made sure he was broken.

“I.. It’s a conflict.” He eventually managed to say, and he is silently pleading for you to be content with this information.

“A conflict between what?” You try not to let your patience wear thin, you know he can’t help it, you know it isn’t his fault, although you still feel as if his reaction is his responsibility.

Simon fidgets with his hands, cursing himself that a simple morning of crafting, of making the mask he wanted to wear for Halloween had ended up with this. If only he had behaved himself better, if only he had just shut up when he got overwhelmed.

“I have been taught to be violent.” He admitted quietly. “And doing this.” He pauses to gesture to the paper mâché. “This is not violent.”

That was something you could work with, that was something a conversation could be build on.

“What is it about violence, that brings you peace?”

His blood runs cold, his stomach churns and he has to swallow the lump in his throat. He hadn’t told you he found peace in the violence, yet you hit the hammer on the head while you looked right through him.

“It’s all I’ve known.” He muttered. “It’s what I’ve been raised with. It’s what comes naturally.”

It’s saddening to see, really. He hides it so well during the day, when he is out with others, yet right now his childhood takes over, the trauma fronting, taking over his personality, and he could be so much more than just his trauma.

“Is it what makes you happy?” You ask, maintaining eye contact, no matter how invasive it might feel.

Simon shakes his head, while it brought him a sense of peace, a sense of comfort, a sense of familiarity, it didn’t make him happy, he had tasted life without violence, and he craved the sweetness of it.

See, your first reaction was to ask him why he did it anyway, but you knew he didn’t know, it was a habit, reacting out of anger, reacting in a violent matter, it is what his father had taught him was right, and it was what the army had praised him for.

“What did you feel when we were done mask making?” A new question to snap him out of it.

Should he tell you? What if you find him to be weird? What if you think he shouldn’t feel like this? But the gentle look in your eyes makes him believe that you won’t judge him, that you would at least try to understand him.

“At first I was proud.” He admitted with a sheepish smile. “I never really did this type of stuff growing up. And then I felt fear. Fear that I was becoming too soft, and all of the sudden I feel this random wave of sadness coming over me. And that was too much.”

Oh, his words tug on your heart string, he sounds so sweet, so vulnerable, so human.

“What’s wrong with feeling sad, with feeling fear or pride?” It is a genuine question, as you really try to understand what he is going through.

“I am not supposed to feel these things!”

“Why not? You’re only human.”

Only human.

Only human.

He was allowed to be only human.

You could see it in his face, his eyes getting a little bloodshot, a little bit of moisture starting to collect at the bottom lid of his eyes, the soft trembling of his bottom lip, the sharp intake of air when he tries to fight it. A little sniffle, and finally a tear.

Simon Riley was allowed to be human.

Your first instinct would be to hug him, coddle him. Tell him everything will be alright. But you also know that not everyone feels the same way, and the last thing you want to do, is to push his boundaries, especially at times like these.

“What do you need from me?” You ask, your voice soft. “Do you want a hug? Do you want to be left alone? Do I need to get you some water?”

Simon just looks up at you, the tears in his eyelashes makes it hard to see, and while he opens his mouth to talk, no sound comes out, instead he holds out his arms, an universal sign that he needed you.

The moment you’re within his reach, his arms wrap around your waist and he buries himself into you, years of build up rage, build up frustration, build up fear, and sadness, they all leave him through his sobs. His shoulders shake after each cry, and all you can do is stroke his hair, murmur sweet nothings, so he knows it is okay to let go like this.

Although for Simon, it does feel pathetic, it feels wrong to let go like this. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t cry like he is, he should hold it in.

But fuck does it feel amazing to let go, to let the floodgates open and just let everything out.

Your nails gently scratch the skin on his scalp. “You’re only human, Si.” You whisper, barely being heard over his sobs. “And I’m really proud of you for not shutting me out.”

He looks up at you, red, puffy eyes, wet cheeks, but the sobs had stopped. “Fuck.” Was all he could muster. “I have no idea how to feel, what to feel, how to describe it.”

“Then just feel.”

[lycoperdales]

I think I’ve realised why a lot of the fandom don’t really like or understand Scott.

It took rewatching the show so many times for me to see that the show doesn’t really like to focus on what motivate Scott’s decisions as they do for others.

You are aware of Stiles insecurities in season 5a because you see him waking up from nightmares, you hear him talk about how the nogitsune made him feel inherently evil and guilty. You also know that during the late stages of his mother’s dementia, she blamed him for her condition. This makes him scared to tell the truth about Donovan’s death.

You understand Theo’s fear in season 6 because you saw him go through a hell loop in which he was repeatedly killed brutally and violently for a crime he was manipulated into doing (because yes, it was revealed that he was manipulated). You also feel bad for him because of his homelessness and loneliness.

But Scott’s anger towards Derek for biting teenagers was hardly explained at all.

Scott wanting to constantly save people that he doesn’t even know is only implied for a few seconds.

In season 4, Scott, by Kira’s sword, experienced a scenario in which no matter what he did, he ended up killing Liam. What was that? I didn’t even understand it until a parallel experience (Theo’s) was created that I was like “Ah. Scott created his own personal circle of hell to punish himself for doing something that he didn’t even do.”

This was such a monumental aspect to add depth to his character but it was just never mentioned again.

And my guess as to why this is his biggest fear?

Because a year ago he was transformed into an angry thing with claws, fangs and a taste for blood. He was controlled to want to kill the people he loved and almost did it. Then after he learned control, he was constantly told that it was now in his nature to kill and him NOT WANTING PEOPLE DEAD was regarded as naive.

And not even a season later after this hellscape, his biggest fear is realised. He is forcibly stripped from his control, again.

While I’m here I want to address the statement I made earlier about what motivates him to save people at his own expense.

Do you remember after the pack read the book about dread doctors and they started unlocking memories? At first I’ll admit I thought Scott’s was so stupid, “The rest of the pack remembered such gruesome things and Scott is just remembering his dog die?? What the hell??”

But then I read an explanation online on what the memory was. Apparently his dog died saving his life.

Now I know why Scott works at the clinic, now I know why he is studying so hard to be a vet, now I know why he constantly pushed himself to stop others from getting hurt (crossing the mountain ash barrier, trying to fight the dread doctors even though he could barely breathe).

All of these decisions had such a pure motive that I had to find out by literally searching “Scott memory explanation season 5 teen wolf”

[simlit]

Chosen of the Sun | | forest // ninety-five

END OF CHAPTER POLL | Vote for your favorite contestants, you may choose up to three. We’ve reached the end of chapter four. Since we’re well into the story now, please keep in mind, the results of this poll will have enormous impact on the story, so choose wisely. Entrants may vote for their own characters.  Vote now!

next / previous / beginning

HIGH PRIESTESS: Solana tells me the curse has been broken. How are you… feeling? KYRIE: I’m fine. What is this about? HIGH PRIESTESS: I told you afterwards we would find some way to proceed and I have done so. This is Elion Maharis. Formerly a member of the Elune Order. As of today, he’s been assigned to your personal guard. KYRIE: You’re hiring an assassin as my bodyguard? The irony is incredible. HIGH PRIESTESS: I hardly think anyone more suitable to protect you than someone with his skillset. KYRIE: I asked you not to do this. HIGH PRIESTESS: You asked for my trust. And then broke it. Again. That’s beside the point now. We must do this, for your safety. Please, Kyrie. Don’t fight me on this. KYRIE: Why do you keep saying “please”? You’ve never asked for my permission before. Why are you acting so strange? HIGH PRIESTESS: I— KYRIE: You know something, don’t you? This is about Al. Is she— HIGH PRIESTESS: Calm down. Alphanei is alive— KYRIE: Alive? How do you know? Have they found her? Where is she? HIGH PRIESTESS: Not here. I received a letter— KYRIE: A letter? From her? Can’t I read it— HIGH PRIESTESS: No! No. You need to focus on your duties, and improving your health. KYRIE: But why— HIGH PRIESTESS: Enough! You may go. Elion. ELION: Yes, My Lady. KYRIE: What an unfortunate change of pace for you. From special operations to babysitter. ELION: I’m more than happy with my position, Your Grace. Given you cooperate, the two of us could get on famously. KYRIE: I suppose that depends entirely on you. I don’t need Elora’s trained dog biting at my heels. ELION: I wouldn’t worry about that. Though, at the end of the day, it’s not really your choice, is it? You moon brats are a special breed of vulnerable. Though, you do have your... talents, don’t you, Your Grace? And even that has its drawbacks. I wonder, what will your darling mother think when she finds out you’ve been toying with the head cleric’s thoughts? KYRIE: How do you know about that? ELION: You’re my charge. It’s my job to know everything about you now. I could… intervene in that problem, if you’d like? Make it “go away”, so to speak. KYRIE: I’m not interested in violent solutions. ELION: Violence? Now, now. I’m a very diplomatic person. Don’t be quick to judge, my lord. KYRIE: And… what would you want in exchange for that service? ELION: I told you. Simply your cooperation. I’d appreciate you not making my job any harder than it need be. We’ll be spending a lot of time together from here on out. It’s best we build some trust, no? KYRIE: I suppose we should. ELION: Excellent. Then, by all means, lead the way, Your Grace. Consider me but a shadow. KYRIE: I doubt I’ll get used to that. ELION: Everything in due time, Dear Moon.

[cecilysass]

Shine On (12/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 12: Flesh and Blood

Farrs Corner, Virginia February 23, 2015 8:35 am

Mulder comes back inside shivering violently, his hair flattened like a dog who’s been out in the rain. Scully wraps him in the same quilt she slept under on the couch and pushes a mug of coffee into his hands.

“Where have you been?” she demands, sitting down across from him at the tiny kitchen table. “You don’t even have a coat.”

Mulder still seems to be trying to stop shivering, leaning against the table on his forearms, staring at the coffee cup. Jackson can tell there is something important inside of him, something that needs to get out.

“I was looking for someone,” he says in a tremulous voice, hesitating. “Sort of.”

“Who?” Scully draws back, her eyes shrewd. “Someone outside?”

“Scully,” he says painfully. “Scully, I need to tell you something, and I’m not sure this will be easy.”

“You spoke to Rose,” Jackson interjects, unable to contain himself. “Didn’t you?”

He moves to sit down directly at Mulder’s left elbow. He finds that he wants the man to look at him, to reassure him that he understands why Jackson had to keep secrets. Mulder’s eyes lock on his. “Do you understand who she really is, Jackson?”

“Who?” Scully says sharply. “Rose? Who are you talking about?”

“I can’t shine her,” Jackson replies to Mulder. “But yeah, I do think I know who she is.”

Scully’s frustration is rapidly rising. “Someone you know, Jackson? The person who brought you here? Who are we talking about?”

There’s a rap on the door, loud and urgent, that keeps Jackson from answering her question. All three of them startle.

“Is that her?” Jackson asks Mulder in a small voice.

But he already knows that it isn’t. Mulder’s doing that thing he now associates with his biological father—face completely frozen, mind moving at dizzying speed, trying to calculate and rearrange puzzle pieces rapidly. Scully’s eyes dart anxiously from Jackson’s to Mulder’s, and the three of them sit at the table, paralyzed for a moment.

“I’m going to get up and try to see out the window,” Mulder whispers slowly. “Jackson, do you sense…?”

“No. There’s nothing to sense. Nothing to shine.”

Scully bites her lip hard in response to that. “You still have the stiletto, Mulder?”

He nods and then gives them each a reluctant glance. “I don’t suppose I could convince the two of you to go upstairs and lie low,” he says.

Jackson is surprised when Scully reaches across the table and clasps each of their hands in hers. “No,” she says firmly. “No sending people away. Let’s stay together to do this.”

Just like in The Incredibles, thinks Jackson childishly, pushing down a stab of fear. He watches Mulder nod again before crossing the room to look out the window. Except Scully isn’t Elasti-Girl and Mulder doesn’t have super strength, and Jackson’s own super powers are pretty overrated.

Scully gestures to the center of the room, motioning for him to stay low, and Jackson ducks down, again getting random images of bullets flying in her mind. Her mind also moves very fast, but its movement is different from Mulder’s. She leaps step by step, like hopping from rock to rock across a creek, or swiftly snapping together a model, or constructing a tower lightning quick, whereas Mulder’s goes everywhere at once. Jackson decides her brain’s patterns feel more familiar to him. More similar to his own, or at least how he tries to be.

It’s going to be okay, Jackson tries to reassure himself. These two aren’t superheroes, but they’re smart and brave. And they used to do this kind of thing all the time. They’ll protect me.

Scully has picked up Mulder’s other gun and is crouched near the desk, just a few feet from Jackson, her hands on the gun and her eyes on Mulder.

“Two men on the porch,” Mulder whispers, leaning carefully to see out the front window. “One of them…”

Jackson pushes the words out for Mulder in the same way he did for Rose, concentrating in his mind. You know you don’t need to say things out loud for me to hear.

Mulder’s eyes meet his across the room. A look of understanding. He presses his eyes shut.

Tell Scully they look armed. One of them is a Kurt Crawford. But he looks older than when we knew him.

“They’re armed,” Jackson whispers across the floor to Scully. “Mulder says one of them is a Kurt Crawford, but he looks older?”

He feels something like a cool blast of surprise from her, but she nods to show she’s heard.

“What do you want?” Mulder calls loudly through the door. “Why are you here?”

There’s a knock on the door again, then a pause. “We have no issue with you, Agent Mulder.” The voice through the door is low and unemotional. “Let us inside.”

“Come on now,” Mulder calls back with false jocularity. “You must know I’m not going to do that.”

“We know you have the boy.” There is a pause. Mulder doesn’t flinch in the slightest. “You can’t hide from us indefinitely. We’ll get to him eventually.”

Jackson wraps his arms around himself and hugs himself tightly, trying to hold back a jolt of terror. Mulder’s eyes pop over towards him abruptly. He must have felt Jackson’s fear.

“Why are you doing this?” Mulder asks, still staring at Jackson, and this time his voice sounds more on edge. “Why can’t you leave the boy alone?”

“Let us in, and we can discuss it.”

“Don’t,” hisses Jackson. “Don’t believe him.”

Mulder presses a finger to his lips in warning. Jackson, I would never in a thousand years. You’re okay.

“You, out there,” Mulder calls through the door. “The one who looks like a man we used to call Kurt Crawford. I met a group of hybrids like you years ago. I don’t know if you’re personally one of the men I met or not. They told me they were trying to stop what the Syndicate was doing.”

“We were,” comes the fast response. “That’s right.”

In hazy confusion Jackson sees images from this scene—Mulder and a group of identical blond men in a laboratory, looking at vials, having stiff and formal discussions—but these visuals are sketchy and incomplete. Peering across the room, he realizes why: this imagery is coming from Scully. It’s her impressions of what happened, not a true memory. She must not have actually been there, but she can imagine it. Her face is impassive, stony, but he knows she is afraid, too.

“Back then, you said you were subverting the project to protect your birth mothers,” Mulder continues. “To stop them from suffering.” Now Mulder’s eyes fall on Scully and remain on her as he talks. “So you understand what it is to want to protect your flesh and blood, don’t you? We want to protect the boy in the same way. Can’t you respect that?”

There is another pause. Some murmuring on the porch. Jackson instinctively strains to shine the two men, even knowing rationally it’s impossible.

“We understand your position,” the man’s voice replies. “But we wish you’d rethink it. We have no plans to harm you and Agent Scully. We would prefer not to.”

“Why?” Scully’s voice cuts through the living room now, crisp and angry. “You didn’t seem to mind killing the boy’s parents. You seem to intend to harm him, a child who has done nothing to you. Why turn squeamish with us?”

“You were once our allies in working against the group you call the Syndicate,” the man’s voice replies instantly. “And you and Agent Mulder are also our flesh and blood—or at least some members of our organization feel that way.”

Scully frowns in confusion, and Mulder laughs bitterly. “Then the boy is your flesh and blood, too,” he calls back, his tone sardonic. “You should want to protect him. Maybe you didn’t hear the big news back in 2000. He’s our biological son.”

“He’s more than that,” the man’s voice calls. “He’s a Syndicate project left unresolved.”

Abruptly Mulder slams his hand against the wall, rattling some framed artwork and the panes of the windows, making Jackson jump. “You’re a Syndicate project left unresolved, too,” he shouts back. “For that matter, so am I, and so is Scully. Who are you to decide which projects need to be pruned?”

“He’s dangerous. A potential liability. We regret the need to do it,” the voice calls back, stoic and unruffled.

Jackson feels sick with despair. This isn’t the plot of a movie. These men are ready to murder him, just like they murdered his parents, and for reasons no one can control. There is nothing Mulder can say to convince them.

“Let me make a deal with you,” Mulder says, his voice calming and smoothing out again, his eyes locking back on Scully. “We’re about to be back on the X-files again. We might have … resources or access that could help you or your organization. We could give you that in exchange for leaving Jackson alone. Whatever you need.”

Scully’s face turns pale, and her thoughts leapfrog around anxiously. Dangerous offer. Corrupt. Unethical. Illegal. To Mulder, she nods, her eyes hopeful.

They will do literally anything, Jackson realizes at once. Nothing is off the table. That should be a comforting thought, but it’s somehow scary, too, like they are also out of control.

“Unfortunately you don’t have anything we need,” the voice says in reply. “There is no information you have or could access that we do not already have. We have always known more than you, even back in those days when you were trying to cure your partner’s cancer, Agent Mulder.”

With a boom, the door frame slams with impact, like it is being kicked by someone very, very strong. By someone with super strength, Jackson thinks.

“Scully,” Mulder calls in panic, eyes on the straining door. “You have to get him out of here.”

Bam. The door is kicked again, and the whole side of the house shakes ominously. But the door hasn't broken yet.

“Jackson.” Scully is at his side instantly, grabbing his arm, her fear roaring inside of her like an injured animal. She drags him towards the stairs with one hand, her weapon extended in the other and he scrambles to get his feet underneath him.

“Go, Scully,” barks Mulder. “I’ll cover you.”

Jackson feels Scully pulling him at the same time he picks up scraps of her jittery thoughts and feelings. Won’t be able to cover us. Guns don’t work. He’ll die if he shoots.

With a sickening crash and tinkle of glass, the door explodes open, falling onto the floor of Mulder’s living room. Scully slows for a half second to take it in, and for the first time Jackson can actually see the two men standing in the door frame: an older version of the blond man Scully pictured before, and a younger dark-skinned man in a blue puffer coat. Both hold weapons extended in front of them.

“Stop,” Mulder demands, holding his gun on them. “Stop where you are.”

“It will just make you sick to shoot us,” the older blond man says calmly. “Possibly kill you.” He takes a step towards Jackson, and Scully starts up the stairs.

“Out of the way, Agent Scully,” he instructs loudly, aiming his gun directly at Jackson.

Scully slides her own small frame in front of Jackson. “No,” she says in a low, simple voice.

“I can shoot him through your body,” the man says with a sigh. “I would rather not.”

Mulder quickly steps between the barrel of the gun and Scully, his hands up, gun to the ceiling. “Come on,” he pleads. “Don’t do this. Let’s talk. There’s got to be something we can bargain for.”

The man purses his lips, his shoulders rising and falling. He exchanges a fast glance with the younger man next to him, who nods grimly. And Jackson sees what’s about to happen, even without being able to use his shine.

Mulder and Scully are both so brave, and they will never, ever give up on trying to protect him.

And this man is about to give up on trying not to hurt them. He’ll shoot both of them. Just like he did Jackson’s parents back in Wyoming.

Then he’s going to shoot Jackson anyway.

All that death for no reason.

Jackson knows he can’t keep standing behind Scully, using her as a shield. He’s not a little kid. He’s not William, not that baby she tried to protect all those years ago. He’s Jackson now, and he has to find some way to defend himself.

He tries to clear his head, watching the man’s gun extend. Maybe he can move something in the room to hurt the men, using telekinesis like he could when he was little. He hasn’t been as good at that lately, but he could try. He looks around desperately.

Lightning-fast, he scrambles out from behind Scully, hopping off the stairs onto the floor below. He swings his body around to concentrate all his effort on the coffee pot in the kitchen. It successfully flies through the air, past him, aimed squarely at the man extending the gun.

It doesn’t make it there.

A shot rings out, and the coffee pot instantly drops to the floor, several feet short of hitting the gunman. Did the shot hit the coffee pot? It doesn’t look shattered, only broken in a few pieces.

Jackson looks behind him to try to see what the bullet hit. But there’s no sign of a bullet hitting anywhere, only the kitchen looking just as it did before.

Suddenly he feels something strange, something warm and wet spreading over the front of Mulder’s old shirt.

He looks down to see the bright red of blood at the same time he hears Scully’s screams in his ear.

The next few seconds pass strangely.

Disconnected, but also in a kind of slow motion, like he is underwater.

He staggers to the side, watching in bewilderment as the man with the gun looks at them regretfully and walks out the door, his companion behind him. Mulder and Scully don’t pay attention to them at all.

Then, somehow, the next thing Jackson knows, Mulder’s holding him, lowering him to the ground in front of the couch, his gravelly voice shaky and desperate. “Easy, easy, you’re going to be fine.”

There is fear, fear, dread, guilt firing at him from everywhere. It turns out that’s much worse than bullets, he thinks. None of this is anything like in GTA. He wants to tell this to Mulder and Scully, but when he opens his mouth, it seems to be full of blood. It bubbles from his lips.

In the next moment, Scully is ripping apart his bloodied shirt, her eyes unnaturally bright and wild. Her hands are pressing down on his torso. Her mouth is crying out something that Jackson can no longer hear.

After that, he can no longer focus on one thing at a time. It’s all happening at once. Like Mulder’s brain come to life.

In and out. Slices of heat and cold, light and dark, cacophony and silence.

Mulder’s wearing that old shirt of his, holding a tiny baby in a blanket, leaning over to kiss Scully. Who knew he could be so happy? They're both so happy.

Darkness creeping around the edges more and more. Mulder and Scully’s sobs and cries, audio fading in and fading out. He thinks he sees the two of them clinging to one another, and he thinks: I’d have liked to learn to love them.

But the last thing he feels isn’t love. It’s grief. So, so much grief. Their grief is like a weight. And it pushes him down, down, down.

***

[aemiron-main]

I’m Not A (Violent) Dog, I Don’t Know Why I Bite: Henry Creel Vs Cujo

So, all of the references to dogs and rabies in Stranger Things got me thinking about the ST narrative (specifically Henward’s narrative) versus Cujo.

(Also, everything in this post as of right now applies to both Henry and Edward Creel (especially with how TFS “Henry” seems to not be Henry), but I’m just saying Henry for simplicity’s sake since that’s how they refer to him in TFS.)

So, we all know that on the very very surface level of things, Henry Creel is presented as evil and violent- just like Cujo.

But the reality for Cujo is that he was scared -a scared dog who contracted rabies and had no control over his actions.

And Henry, ESPECIALLY in TFS is the exact same way. A scared boy who contracted the shadow and can’t control his actions. Not an evil boy. Not a violent boy. A scared boy.

And while Cujo works as a fantastic way of explaining Henry’s story, I also think that the Henry-Cujo parallels are 100% intentional. Let’s go through some of them.

So, in TFS, it’s revealed that Henry was in a cave in Nevada when he contracted the shadow/when he changed- just like Cujo, who contracted rabies and changed when he was bitten by a bat in a cave:

And also, Cujo was chasing a rabbit into a cave, which has me staring at a.) all of Henry’s rabbit imagery, and b.) the fact that in TFS, Brenner mentions a pet Creel rabbit that Henry supposedly killed- but we don’t ever see this rabbit or get any other crumbs about it when the Creels are in Hawkins, which to me, implies that the rabbit died in Nevada.

Which makes me wonder if the family pet rabbit got loose, and Henry chased it into the cave, and ended up killing it after being flayed because it was afraid of him (and like I talked about in this post, fear seems to be what triggers the shadow into killing people/animals such as Prancer).

Also, in TFS, when Henry’s seizing, he begins to foam at the mouth- much like a rabid dog/like Cujo. And in ST, Henry talks about how his parents had hoped to cure him by moving to Hawkins, but it didn’t work- much like how there’s no cure for rabies.

And also in TFS, Henry has a line where he says “the monster doesn’t lie,” versus the line in the Cujo book that says “the monster never dies”

Also, when Cujo gets bitten, his only thought is hoping that his owners won’t scold him/call him a bad dog for getting bitten- which makes me think of Henry and how often Virginia scolds him throughout TFS (even for non-shadow related things, which implies that her scolding Henry predates the shadow/cave incident), and makes me wonder what Henry was thinking when he contracted the shadow. If he was just hoping that his mom wouldn’t scold him- hoping that she wouldn’t scold him for losing his Captain Midnight spyglass, perhaps (which was a birthday gift given to him & he lost it in that cave).

Especially with the footage from that ST VR game, where a shadow version of Virginia is scolding Henry & the vibe is that it’s a memory of when Henry just returned from somewhere (based on Alice yelling his name as if she’s searching for him), and I actually think that whole scene is Henry’s memories of when he reunited with his family after leaving the cave in Nevada, which tracks with Alice yelling his name as if she’s been searching for him (as he was missing for 12 hours) and Victor and Virginia both asking Henry what happened/Virginia scolding him.

And especially with how TFS Victor emphasizes that Henry is a “good boy,” it makes me wonder how often Virginia referred to Henry as bad, much like Cujo hoping that they won’t call him a bad dog for getting bitten.

Also, Cujo specifically didn’t want to go home after getting bitten because he was worried that he’d get called a “bad dog”- which makes me wonder how long it took Henry to go home. And if the shadow could’ve been “cured” or even just helped slightly if he had gone home, if even just a warm bath would’ve been enough to expel the shadow in its very early stages (after all, they got a fairly late-stage shadow out of Will with a few heaters and a fire- it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that Henry could’ve expelled the shadow if he wasn’t afraid to go home/had gotten home & gotten help/gotten warmed up etc etc- JUST like how a rabies post-exposure prophylaxis only works before you start showing symptoms, so if they’d gotten Cujo a post-exposure prophylaxis before he started showing symptoms…)

Would a warm bath- a bath just like the one Joyce filled for Will in S2, too hot for the shadow but not physically too hot for Will’s skin (see: Joyce testing the temperature with her hand), have saved Henry?

It would explain why Virginia’s shown with the tub so much- if a simple bath could’ve saved him if he’d gone home sooner but he was afraid to go home because of Virginia.

And Brenner also says something during TFS that totally aligns with everything I’ve said here re: good dog/good boy vs bad dog/bad boy and not wanting to go home- TFS Brenner says “you think you can run back home to mommy and be a good boy again?” Much like how Cujo couldn’t run back home and be a good boy again.

It’s got that exact “Henry felt like he couldn’t go home to Virginia after the caves because she would scold him/tell him he was bad,” vibe. Especially since Brenner in TFS tends to pick at Henry’s already-existing insecurities/trauma.

Which ALSO reminds me of Joyce waiting at home for Will in S1/waiting in Will’s room with all of the lamps versus how Virginia in TFS waits in the attic for Henry so that she can scold Henry when he gets home- which would totally track with Virginia and Joyce being opposites/Joyce waiting for Will so that she can welcome him home vs Virginia waiting in the attic for Henry so that she can scold him AND Virginia waiting at home in Nevada when Henry went missing in the caves & waiting there to scold him.

Hell, Virginia during the “waiting in the attic”, scene in TFS even has a DIRECT dialogue parallel to Joyce when she’s waiting in Will’s room:

Also, jumping over to Victor, in Cujo, the father of the family is named Vic. And the son of the family, Tad, is literally described as “sensitive,” just like Henry is:

Henry seems to be what would happen if it had been Tad that went rabid in the Cujo story- if the boy and the dog had swapped places. Henry seems to be a combination of Tad and Cujo.

Which also has me staring directly at 7 year old Henry’s dog:

And how TFS Brenner mentions Henry killing dogs:

And how Henry’s dog looks eerily similar to Will’s dog, Chester, and how Chester was scared/barking at the door on the night Will vanished & how Chester may have started barking at Henry & being scared of him after Henry returned home flayed- and then awhile ago, James also brought up what I talked about in that previously linked post re: fear triggering the shadow & James tied it to the idea of Henry accidentally killing his dog because his dog was scared of him. Which, again, would be sort of like a reverse Cujo situation.

Hell, David Harbour even talks about how he suggested to the Duffers that they should kill pff Chester- which, they may have implemented a similar storyline with Henry having accidentally killed his dog:

And also, in the book, Tad dies of heat exhaustion (he ended up stuck in a hot car trying to get away from Cujo) right as Cujo is killed- which makes me think of how the shadow made Will sensitive to heat/heat was hurting/killing him and how TFS Henry says that he “likes it cold”- and just how both Tad and Cujo’s deaths are paralleled vs Henry being a mixture of Tad and Cujo.

And I’ve talked in this post and this post about the rabies references surrounding Henry, and so we already know that the rabies references are tied to him.

I also talked in this post about the whole “I’m not a dog,” line vs “you’re not a child,” and how that connects to Henry, which, again, demonstrates that Henry is connected to the dog references in ST just like how he’s connected to the rabies references.

Henry Creel isn’t a violent boy- in TFS Victor’s words, Henry’s a “good boy.”

And so, when it comes to analyzing Henry Creel, especially in TFS, it would perhaps not be amiss to point out that he had always tried to be a good boy. He had never wanted to kill anybody. He had been struck by something, possibly destiny, or fate, or only a degenerative disease. Free will was not a factor.

Just like Cujo.

They were both good boys.

[sugarwithsarcasm]

Ludwig never really considered himself socially inept, sure, but this, this was just embarrassing. He knows he should be more focused on when did Feliciano consider themselves a married couple, but right now, he's arguing with Feliciano about cars.    And he kind of doesn't hate that.

---

“Ludwig, can I ask you something?” Feliciano sipped his espresso, smiling at Ludwig who hummed as he reviewed hastily typed work documents Alfred had sent him at 2 am. 

“I’m not lending you any more money.” Ludwig deadpanned, his eyes never leaving the astonishing amount of grammatical errors written in comic sans on his computer.  

Feliciano laughed, shaking his head. Ludwig shifted to look over at the bubbly Italian briefly, smiling to himself as Feliciano calmed down.

“Let’s do something stupid.” Ludwig sighed, powering off his computer. “Something dumb and mortal and fun and not work related-“ 

“Feliciano get to the point! We don’t have all day, we both have better things to do then listen to you ramble.” Ludwig side-eyed Feliciano, who giggled and took a bite out of his pastry.   

“Let’s go on a date!” Ludwig’s face turned a bright red as Feliciano rambled on. “We can both get all dressed up and I can pick you up and we can go to a fancy dinner and get gelato and then maybe walk around a garden or something with some coffee and then we can go to this lovely little bakery-“ 

“A date? Like a romantic kind?” Ludwig’s mouth went dry as he struggled to make up a coherent sentence. “ALSO WHY DO ALL YOUR DATES INVOLVE FOOD?”

“Yes, like a romantic kind! Luddy, I didn’t think I’d have to explain this all to you, really,” Feliciano paused, “I really should start listening to your brother but it’s just so much fun to disassociate whenever I see him!” 

Ludwig tried to ignore the butterflies that were violently attacking his stomach as he looked at Feliciano’s smile. “What makes you think we should go on a date romantically? Are our nations requiring an alliance? Did I miss an email-“ 

“LUDDY NO!” Feliciano reached over the table and smacked Ludwig who had been reaching for his phone. “I mean it in a romantic way! Not! Because! Of! Work!” Feliciano took one last bite out of his pastry and a swig of his espresso as Ludwig stared at him in confusion. “Plus, come on! We’re practically a married couple at this point!” 

Ludwig clutched his chest as he felt himself have his third heart attack of the day. “WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?” 

“Oh come on!” Feliciano threw his hands up dramatically. “We are having breakfast together for the third time this week! I made you coffee! I’m literally petting your dog in your pajamas! We slept in the same bed last night!”  

“You broke into my house! If I could, I would have you banned from the entire nation of Germany centuries ago!” Ludwig swatted Feliciano with a nearby notepad, causing the bubbly man to squeak, muttering apologies in rapid (incomprehensible) Italian. Ludwig’s German shepard Aster, let out a soft yelp as Feliciano took his hands off his silky, shedding fur. 

Felicino vigorously shook his head, his auburn bedhead hair flopping around his head like his arms had when Ludwig had first tried to introduce him to weights years ago, a childish pout gracing his soft, tan face. Just as Ludwig began to apologize for being rude (Just as Ivan’s therapist had told Ivan to do, and Ivan had eagerly told just about every other nation in the Northern Hemisphere.), Feliciano began to shake his head and laugh.   

“Oh Ludwig,” he started, his laugh dying down into a soft smile, “you don’t mean that. You know you,” Ludwig watched Feliciano bite his bottom lip and fiddle with his hands that were now both placed in his lap,“you know you like me!”  

“No I do not.” 

“Yes you do.” Feliciano hummed as he got out of his chair, taking his dishes to the sink. Aster lay down at Feliciano’s feet as water began to flow from the faucet as Feliciano washed his dishes singing, “Luddy’s got it bad for me, Luddy’s got a crush on me”, to himself. 

Ludwig paused for a moment and smiled as he watched Feliciano dance and sing to himself as he washed the dishes, the sunlight streaming through the sheer, gaudy floral curtains Feliciano forced Ludwig to put up. He found himself standing up and taking a few steps over to Feliciano who stopped singing and dancing, looking over at Ludwig with a kind of teasing confusion, a daring look in his eye unique to Feliciano. 

Well, Ludwig reasoned to himself, maybe he did feel a little less lonely, a little less hopeless when he was with Feliciano. Maybe he slept a little better near him and wouldn’t push Feliciano off of him immediately when he would find the smaller man clinging to Ludwig and nuzzling into his chest. “Maybe if I have a few hours of undisturbed work ,” he swatted Feliciano’s mischievous smirk with the back of his hand, hiding a playful smile, “then we can have dinner at home and, um-” 

“kiss!” Feliciano dramatically cradled his cheeks in his hands making a kissy face while closing his eyes. 

“NO!” Ludwig yelled, his face burning and his voice cracking. He muttered indignantly to himself and attempted to regain control over Feliciano’s hysterical laughter, “I WILL NOT HESITATE TO STOP EXPORTING YOU YOUR STUPID LITTLE ITALIAN GERMAN CARS.”  

Feli gasped before grabbing a clean, metal spoon and shaking it in Ludwig’s face, “NO PLEASE NO, LUDWIG THAT'S OUR CHILDREN YOU CAN’T-” 

“IT'S A BUNCH OF CARS FELICIANO, ALL IT IS IS A METAL AND ENGINE AND-” 

“YEAH WELL HOW DO AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT YOUR NOT A TOTAL HUNK OF METAL AND I’M ACTUALLY AN ENGINE-” 

Against his better judgment, Ludwig let out a warm laugh, Feliciano quickly joining him in laughter. They stood for a few quiet moments, stupidly laughing together, smiling together, happy together. 

“Feliciano?” 

“Yeah Luddy?” 

His heart skipped a beat, “Make dinner tonight, we’ll clean the kitchen together and walk the dogs in the evening.” 

Feliciano’s eyes lit up, “Can we watch a movie together afterwards?” 

Ludwig smiled, “Deal.”