#he does eventually overcome the abuse

[jubileemon]

Explaining Huskerdust slowburn

Huskerdust is one of the most popular ships within the Hazbin Hotel fandom, which started with their first interaction in the pilot.

From the outset, Angel Dust shows a clear attraction towards Husk, which is evident from his immediate flirtatious behavior upon Husk's arrival as the hotel's bartender. This attraction is not subtle as Angel Dust is overt in his advances, often pushing boundaries. On the other hand, Husk was initially dismissive and annoyed by Angel's flirtations, responding with expletives and a general attitude of disinterest. Yet, this sets the stage for a relationship that promises to evolve slowly over time.

Although they started off bad, with Husk often finding great irritation in Angel's continued advances, their relationship would begin to deepen as the series progresses.

In the beginning, Husk made it no secret that he was forced to stay at the hotel because of his ties to Alastor and would gladly get as far away as he could if able to. He's addicted to gambling, much the same way Angel is addicted to drugs and sex. He used to be an Overlord but gambled away his bound souls until he got desperate enough to sell his own soul to Alastor.

While his words were poorly timed, pushing Angel's buttons after he'd just suffered a night of abuse from Valentino in "Masquerade", it's hard to deny that Husk is right to be frustrated with Angel's sexual harassment. He's cuttingly accurate when he points out how Angel's lewd and carefree behavior is all a self-destructive act that he hides behind to avoid his problems, and that nobody in the Hotel is particularly impressed with or taken by the front he puts up.

In the episode "Masquerade", a pivotal moment occurs when Husk rescues Angel from a potentially dangerous situation at a club that shows a protective side under his gruff exterior. Afterwards, Husk continues to remind Angel that he can stop his act. However, Angel, shedding tears and expressing his sadness, lashes out at Husk as they argue, explaining he needs to be who he is in order to break himself, both to wash away his misery and escape Valentino.

Saddened by this, Husk helps Angel recognize the parallel misery, which led to them both admitting their regrets and Husk revealing his past as an Overlord to Angel.

Husk getting through to Angel Dust in the manner he does makes a considerable amount of sense when it's taken into account that the first step to overcoming drug addiction is usually getting the addict to acknowledge they even have a problem. Angel hasn't been able to get better despite having some genuine interest because he's been utterly refusing to admit he has a problem to fix, the moment he does his mood drastically improves as does his motivation.

The song 'Loser, Baby' became an uplifting melody for Husk and Angel Dust's relationship. It encapsulates the message that while they may see themselves as losers, they aren't alone in their struggles.

The whole song is just "Stop thinking you're special". Some people may see that as a bad message (at first) considering what Angel goes through, but like him, staying in that mindset of "No one knows what I'm going through, no one else knows what it's like to be me, etc." would not be good for him at all as it would create a barrier of isolation. To be clear, the point is that Husk calls Angel a loser because people, especially very hurt people, need to break their cycle of self-loathing somehow. And sometimes, sometimes, people need to hear that they are, in fact, a loser. But that's okay because a lot of other people are too. This is even reflected in the song, with Angel initially assuming Husk is mocking him, but eventually picking up what he's actually saying. The message isn't "You're not special lmao," it's actually "You're not alone in this, and embracing that is a big step in getting out of it."

A small detail many fans have noticed is that whilst Valentino is very forceful with Angel Dust both emotionally and physically, during the song “Loser, Baby,” Husk is never seen grabbing Angel Dust at all during the song, only ever offering his hand out for him to accept. It's apparent that Husk is expressing more interest in Angel Dust, after seeing that he isn't as shallow as he comes off to be. Since then, Angel and Husk have formed a special bond through being vulnerable and honest with each other. But this scene also shows Husk's concern for Angel's well-being, especially when it comes to drugs and a potential relapse.

In the episode "Welcome to Heaven", Cherri invites Angel and Husk along with Niffty and Sir Pentious to a bar. During this scene, Cherri tries to motivate Angel to take drugs as a way to relieve stress. Husk reminded Angel it would destroy his progress. Husk then admits that Angel succumbing to drugs would really disappoint him. Angel declines the offer, making Husk smile, but later starts heavily drinking, something Husk disapproves of.

This concern is reciprocated when Angel Dust takes care of a drunk Niffty, suggesting a shift from his earlier, more self-centered behavior. The confrontation with Valentino, where Husk is ready to defend Angel Dust, further cements their bond.

Angel was very attracted to Husk and didn't hide it, with his constant boundary pushing flirtation. After being called out for this behavior, Angel not only begins a genuine bond with the cat demon but also stops the annoying, aggressive flirtation.

As they were preparing to fight the exorcists, Husk unconsciously makes a sex comment saying that "Angels won't stop coming", and Angel laughs at this remark. Husk realizes the double meaning of it, and laughs admitting his mistake.

During the bar scene in "The Show Must Go On" an instrumental of "Loser, Baby" plays in the background during Angel and Husks' conversation, which further underscores the hidden depths of their bond. Angel takes Charlie's words to heart about living however you want that night since it may be your last. How does he choose to do it? By simply having a drink with Husk and Cherri Bomb. Husk even notes that he's changed quite a lot since he came to the hotel.

Also, the way he looks at Husk and the little piano reprise of "Loser, Baby" playing in the background. Angel's feelings for him may run deeper than they seem... 😍

[indieyuugure]

Last question, I swear lol Will Casey Jones have an abusive family in this version or a dark past with a criminal past that she wants to leave behind? (I really loved that part of the TMNT IDW comics where they basically adopt Casey<3) And will her relationship with the turtles be a "friends at first sight" or will you make it a relationship where they start as enemies or rivals that evolves to friend to family? P.S.: You might have noticed by now that I love romance, fanfic, and the "enemy to lovers" and/or "found family" tropes (And mixes of them or platonic versions of just friendship) XDXDXD

lol you’re all good 🤣

Uh, not sure if perhaps that was a mistake, but Casey Jones is a guy in my version. Here’s a picture of him and April:

He’s got long hair, but he’s a dude lol 😂

But anyway, BACK TO YOUR ACTUAL QUESTION!

Casey’s family is broken, but I wouldn’t say it’s abusive really, his mom is actually quite nice and he had a really tight bond with his dad.

He does have a pretty dark past that will be revealed slowly over the course of the comic and is the reason he is the way he is. It takes him a long time to let go of his past and anger, and at first he really actually doesn’t want to, but one of the main themes/messages of the comic is going to be “forgiveness is the only way to be truly healed” so when the time comes, he does overcome it…mostly.

(Btw, I actually have his past written down, so if you want to know it, you can DM me for it)

Casey and Raph are pretty quick friends, though it takes a bit longer for the rest of Raph’s family to warm up to Casey. Eventually he becomes almost like one of their brothers. (I would say their uncle, but let’s face it Casey isn’t mature enough for that title 😂)

Lol, there won’t be a ton of “Enemies to lovers” but there will be plenty of found family in this story!

Good questions! :]

[themaidenofwords]

My beloved mutuals,

I would like to turn your attention towards the best fucking batfam comic I've ever seen/ heard of. Wayne Family Adventures.

Do we get Bruce being a non-abusive (and dare I say it?) Good Dad for once? Yes.

Do we get plenty of snippets of sibling bonding between the Batkids? Also yes.

Do we still get intense moments and acknowledgement of character flaws and trauma? ALSO YES.

The most recent arc has been absolutely PHENOMENAL and a top tier example of how to do something comic writers mess up a lot right. Joker, Jason, and Bruce. The terrible combination. We see Bruce trying to shut his kids out and ban them from patrol in standard asshole manner, but we also get to see him tell his kids that he loves them and he's terrified and trying to protect them. Bruce has trauma! And fears! And so much love for his kids! And we get to see all of that battle it out in stunning 2D. And for Jason's part, we see his general flaw of going off alone, but we also see it developed and explained. He has trauma and PTSD. He's desperately trying to hunt down the man that killed him before it can happen again. He is stuck halfway between the memories of the scared kid he used to be and the powerful man he is supposed to be. He isn't stupid, but he isn't necessarily thinking. BUT he eventually does ask Dick for help. He overcomes that inherent desire to block everyone out and go it alone in order to ask for help, because he isn't alone.

They have flaws and complicated histories and the authors didn't slap a bright band-aid on that. The critical difference between WFA and other portrayals of Batman and his kids is the fact that they're trying to work past their individual issues in order to be a loving family for one another. No two-faced bullshit where Batman almost beats his son to death. No. They really love each other, and even if they hurt each other despite that, they're going to work through it.

I'm sure that some people get annoyed by the "soft" portrayal of the Batfam, but I personally can't call a character a "hero" if they abuse their kids. Hard line. I don't need the family to be perfect (I don't even want them to be perfect) but I need them to be trying and to love each other regardless.

They'll fall so far, but they're there to support each other when they land.

[compact-turtle]

How would all three yans react to having children? Good or bad?

This is actually such a fun prompt and ask! Thank you for sending it in. I'd actually love to write a full post sometime instead of a small little drabble about this! It'd be so much fun imaging one of their daily routines and lives with a family.

Atticus:

-Isn't really that interested in kids unless his darling wants them. At first, he'll try to talk his darling out of it. Gives lists of reasons on why he can't be a dad. Eventually, comes around to it if his darling really wants them.

-He's a strict and stoic father. Makes sure the kids go to bed at a certain time, finish their chores and do their homework. The kids have to be punctual.

-Not a fan of extreme harsh punishments at all. No taking away meals, locking in closets or any of the sorts. Especially, hitting if they don't listen. (His parents used to do it to him which has resulted in a traumatized farmer)

-More type of look at the consequences of your actions. You don't do your homework, then you fail your class. You don't collect eggs from the chicken coop, no eggs for breakfast. You don't feed the dogs, look at them go hungry. (The doggies don't actually go hungry since Atticus secretly feeds them, they're just always begging for food)

-Shows he loves them through his actions instead of words. He'll take them special getaway trips, go bird watching, catch bugs, make presents, etc. He wants his kids to know that he loves them despite his strict behavior. He's trying to break the cycle of generational abuse that came from his parents. It's hard ngl but he makes an effort every day to overcome it.

For readers who imagine pregnancy:

-kisses your belly when you're asleep. Reassures the baby that he'll always take care of them. He would never do it when you're awake since he's nervous you'll deem him as less than manly or "strong".

-Does not let you work on the farm at all!! He hires extra farmhands to replace your usual help. Lectures and scolds you when you try to do anything. Don't you know that an accident could happen any time especially somewhere dangerous like this farm??

-Your safety and the baby's safety are top priority at all times.

-Watches films and tv shows about pregnancy and families. He makes sure to remember all the details so he can be the best father just like on the tv!

-No sexy time at all when pregnant! He's afraid it'll injure the baby. Only complies when his darling coaxes him into it but even then, it took a while.

Orion:

-Hella yea. The only one who's willing to jump on board and be excited for them. Takes the kids out on daily foraging and exploration nearby the home. Teaches them how to jot down information.

-Shows them his notes on all different types of plants, creatures and landscapes. Tells them which things to avoid and how to survive if in contact with dangerous creatures.

-Kids grow an immunity to his terrible cooking. Actually, enjoy it and treat is as an odd delicacy to be savored.

-The children are taught both languages. Darling's for communicating with other members of the species but his in case they need to talk, and others are listening in.

-Reminds the kids how much he adores them and their mother every day. Tells them tales about his home world and adventures with their mother.

-However, his favorite story to tell is about how their mother heroically saved him from death and starvation. Sometimes he embellishes details like

"Oh, your mother also fell in love at first sight with me. They were just too shy to admit it, but I could tell."

-The real question though, are human species able to get darling's species pregnant???

For readers who imagine pregnancy:

-Does darling get pregnant like a human? Orion will have to find out. However, I imagine the way of getting pregnant to be similar, but they don't give birth. Instead, an egg like thing forms within their reproductive system and they push out something similar to an egg.

-The egg would hatch within two months after growing to full term.

-Orion has built a nest for the egg and watches it every night. Proudly tells the egg about all the adventures they'll go on as family.

-Darling insists that Orion doesn't need to baby the egg since the shell is quite strong. Still, he doesn't listen and frets over any small movement from it. Makes little hats and scarves and dresses the egg in it.

-Orion makes sure to take so many notes during this period. What color is the egg? How long before it hatches? How many times does it move in an hour?

-He takes notes in case darling and him decide to have another egg baby. He'll be more prepared second round.

-Enjoys setting the mood up for some sexy time. He feeds you the right food, sets up the small hut just right and everything. Ofc he'll makes sure to cover the baby egg with a blanket. He doesn't want your baby egg to see anything inapposite after all.

Ivar:

-He'd want to wait a few years into marriage. The idea of kids is daunting. He's seen the worse of man and how destructive the world can be. Really nervous about letting kids out into that type of environment. Still, he does desire a family that you'll raise together.

-He's a fun goofy dad. Takes all the stress of the kids when he arrives home. Plays with them, teases them and drains all their energy so you can relax. I'd imagine that Ivar insists that you be a stay-at-home mom while he goes to work.

-Listens to his kid's problems from boyfriend issues to " I can't believe they cancelled my show". Actively enjoys listening to his kids talk about anything and everything.

-Signs his kids up for self-defense classes. He's aware that there's so many dangers in the world and he can't always be there to help. They've got to be prepared for anything that could happen.

-Supports his kids in all their activities. Shows up to every single game, recital, spelling bee, etc. Whatever it maybe, he'll be there. Wants them to know he cares about them and their interests.

-Doesn't really enjoy mentioning stories from his time at war to them. He's afraid it'll corrupt their world view and he want them to live a peaceful life :(

For readers who imagine pregancy:

-Ivar reads up on all those mom-blogs and pregnancy books. Puts headphones on your belly so your baby can listen to Mozart. Does it actually do anything? Idk the mom blog says it stimulates baby growth or something like that.

-You have a strong craving at 1 in the morning? He's on the case to get it for you. If he can't find it any stores, then he'll drive over to the next few towns to get it. He's so determined to find it.

-loves decorating the baby's nursery. He'll put up decorations and different decals for the baby. Also enjoys building things for it such as dresser and the crib.

-Also doesn't let you by yourself. You want to talk a walk around the neighborhood by yourself? Nope. He's right there holding your hand or pushing you in a wheelchair.

-loves to initiate sexy time with you. During his mom blog reading, he read that it was a great past time while pregnant. Plus, he loves you no matter what you look like even if you're insecure about your changing body.

[aurorialwolf]

so what if i told yall that maybe i had a slightly angsty idea when it came to Sam and Darlin having a kid.. (w/ sams genetics, doesnt have to be genetically darlins) (also the onlyyy part of this that is canon is that Sam's eyes are brown, otherwise im making stuff up)

Sam who anxiously awaits his child's birth, practically pacing a trench into the floor, until the day of delivery, and he finally holds his child in his arms. He's nervous for this new phase of life, but with the support of his partner and the pack, he believes he can overcome any generational problems, ending his family's cycle of abuse.

The baby is healthy, and is growing well. Their eye colour hasn't come in yet, but Sam is hopeful that they'll have his brown eyes, even if it may bring back memories of before his turning.

One day, when his baby has just reached 7 months of age, they're on the couch together, Sam bouncing the baby on his knee and Darlin watching fondly. Then, Sam notices that his baby's eyes look different, and there's a solid colour there, something that must've been coming in gradually for a while. But they aren't brown eyes.

They're bright green, just like his fathers eyes, like his brothers and sisters eyes. His family has had green eyes as a dominant trait for generations, due to a long ancestry of mainly green alleles being present. He was an outlier, as was his grandmother, who also had brown eyes.

But now, all he sees is a reflection of a family he left behind, a family he escaped, a family that haunted his nightmares for years after moving. This doesn't change his love for his child, but every time he looks at them, that's what he remembers.

The kid grows up healthy and happy, and Sam does successfully break the cycle of abuse. They're his spitting image, all except the eyes, and they act like a mix of him and Darlin', reckless, but caring, and kind. They don't remind him of his family anymore, and this is good, as that was a hurdle in Sam's recovery from trauma that he had to overcome.

Eventually, the kids core activates, and they become a Freelancer, making Sam overjoyed, although a bit nervous. It's hard to teach a new Freelancer after so many years without a Freelancer core. He perseveres, and succeeds in teaching the child some small magic, simple elemental command.

He steps back to watch them attempt to mimic his demonstration, only to see a trait he hasn't seen in 28 years; the kids eyes seem to shimmer a brighter green as they focus their magic for the spell. It startles him, reminding him of his brothers eyes before he shocked him with electricity, something he did repeatedly when they were younger, after his brother had unlocked his core. He manages to clamp down any response he might've given, and watches as his child manages to carve a cube from the ground, using only their magic.

They look to him excitedly for approval, their eyes still emitting a faint green glow, and he smiles back warmly, praising them for learning so quickly.

Maybe he really can do this, and be a better parent than either of his parents were to him, despite all the hurdles.

@nevaroonie :D

[daisies-daydreams]

omg okay so I just found out about your blog and I've been bingereading your fics, and I really want to make a request hehe 🤭. I was thinking of a ghost x fem!reader where the reader likes ghost and tells him but because of him being avoidant when it comes to romance and his fear of getting close to people, he rejects her. But when he eventually realises that he loves her, he notices that someone else is already making a move on her and gets jealous. I just really want to see a jealous ghost😭 and I like the whole idea of ghost having an avoidant attachment style, it seems realistic and fitting for him. But I would like to see him overcome his insecurities and fears when it comes to getting close to people. The poor guy deserves love🥺 Thank you so much!!💖💖

The First Step (Ghost x F!Reader)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader Category: Fluff & Angst, Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Mentions of Blood, Jealous!Ghost, Descriptions of Physical/Emotional Abuse, Descriptions of PTSD/Trauma, Rejection, Cheating, Swearing Word Count: 3.9k+

Song Recs For This Fic: What You Know and On Melancholy Hill

A/N: Hello! Thank you very much for your request and for reading my work! I agree, Ghost does seem like the person who would have an avoidant attachment style. He definitely deserves to have someone to hold and cherish him. 🥺 I hope you enjoy!

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

The First Step (Ch. 2)

Ghost’s breathing stuttered as he clutched on the edge of the sink. A sharp sting radiated from his shoulder, stitches lining the curve of his muscular arm. A more dull ache rang through his chest as he swallowed thickly, avoiding his own gaze in the foggy mirror.

(1 Week Earlier)

Your brows were knitted together as you tilted your head. Your hands worked deftly to curve the last stitches through the lieutenant’s skin. His flesh still burning with pain from the knife wound he received during his most recent mission.

“How many stitches have I given you now?” you asked as you finished your work.

“Too fucking many,” Ghost grunted. The corners of your eyes crinkled as you released a soft chuckle. Ghost felt something faint stir in his chest at the sound of your laugh. You stepped back, eyeing him up and down.

“Alright, Lt. You’re good to go!” you chirped. Ghost gave a nod as he gazed over his wound. Impeccably stitched together, as always. He huffed as he slid off of the medical table. His eyes studied you carefully as you busied yourself with cleaning up. For some reason, he just felt stuck, as if his body refused to move forward. You finished washing your hands before you turned to him. You pulled down your mask, revealing a cheeky smile.

“Need something, Ghost?” you jested. Ghost blinked, snapping out of his daze.

“No. Thanks…doc,” he said as he clasped his hand over your shoulder. Your cheeks instantly flushed red at his contact. Ghost raised a brow as he slid his hand off of you. “Well, I’ll be seein’ you around,” the lieutenant nodded as he made his way towards the door. He froze when he felt you grab his hand. He shifted slightly, his dark eyes locking with yours. Your whole face was a deep shade of red.

“Doc?” he asked. You gasped and slipped your hand away.

“I-I’m sorry! I just-” you bit your bottom lip and shuffled in place. His chest grew tight as you stepped closer. “I…” you released a shaky breath as you fiddled with your hands. Ghost felt like his whole body was turning to lead.

“C’mon, (Y/N). You can tell me,” he said. You hesitantly met his gaze.

“I wanted to ask you…if you want to go out for drinks sometime this weekend?” you squeaked out. Ghost’s eyes widened slightly as time seemed to slow to a snail’s pace. A clash of hope and dread instantly filled his chest as his mind went completely blank. You swallowed a lump in your throat. “Y-You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just-”

“No,” he quickly spat out. Your lips drew into a tight, pale line.

“What?” you breathed, shoulders falling. Ghost’s hands shook as he balled them up into fists, his heart mercilessly pounding against his sternum.

“I said ‘no’. Trust me, you don’t want to make that mistake,” Ghost muttered. All of the color left your face as you stumbled back.

“But it’s not a mistake!” you suddenly shouted. Ghost tried to avoid your gaze as you trembled before him. “Sorry," you quickly apologized. "I just-I like you, Ghost, and I want to get to know you more outside of just sewing you up or making sure you're not bleeding to death," you explained while nodding towards the medical table. Ghost gritted his teeth as he felt his heart sink into the churning pit of his stomach. He flinched when you brought yourself mere inches from him.

“Please, just give me a chance...Simon,” your voice cracked.

His throat hitched at the sound of his name spilling from your lips. Ghost tried to hide how his chest was heaving as he quickly spun himself around.

“My answer is final,” said as he quickly strode towards the door. He heard you choke back a whimper as he approached the threshold. Ghost’s hand trembled ever so slightly as he pushed against the surface of the door. He was tempted to glance behind his shoulder, yet compelled himself to look forward.

The door soon swung closed with a deafening thud.

(Present)

Ghost’s knuckles were turning white as he clenched his jaw. He slowly drew his attention up to the mirror. All he could see was a man torn in two staring right back at him.

“Fuckin’ git-she was right there pourin’ her heart out to you and you just fuckin’ brushed her off,” he thought to himself. Ghost gritted his teeth as he pushed himself off the sink. He ran his hands through his dirty blonde hair before grabbing his mask. He stared down at the empty eyeholes.

“It’s fine. She’s a big girl-she can handle it,” he rationalized. His nostrils flared as he tugged the balaclava over his head. "She doesn't need me," Ghost told himself.

“You didn’t really mean those words you said, did you?” his internal voice rang. Ghost gritted his teeth. He shook his head as he walked over to his locker, throwing on a fresh pair of clothes.

“You actually feel-”

“Stop it,” he scolded himself as he harshly pulled his shirt over his damp upper body. He ignored the weary glances of other soldiers as he stomped out of the locker room, making his way towards his quarters. All he wanted to do was sleep off the nonsense that was stewing inside of him.

Whatever feelings he thought he had for you, it was nothing more than a fantasy. Something to help him feel at ease whenever he was overcome with boredom. That’s all you were to him: a distraction.

A distraction when he heard your warm laugh when he would tell his corny jokes. A distraction when he imagined holding you in his scarred, hefty arms in his bed. A distraction…wondering what your soft lips would taste like when he returned from a long, grueling mission.

His footsteps slowed before he eventually came to a halt. That warm, strange feeling writhed in his chest again. Ghost felt it spread and course through every inch of his being as thoughts of you flashed through his mind like a film in full-color. His breathing stuttered.

“You actually feel the same way about her,” the voice inside him echoed.

He collapsed his hand over the place where his mouth would be. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Ghost felt his eyes sting as tears glazed over them.

He loved you...he loved you.

Ghost let his hand fall from his face. He balled it into a tight fist as a renewed sense of boldness bloomed inside of him. He couldn’t just stand here dumbstruck with this realization. Ghost felt his heartbeat quicken as he rushed towards your office. This wasn’t the end of the line-he’d be sure to set things right.

A small smile graced his face as he rounded the corner. A slit of light shone through the crack of your door, and that’s when he heard it: another man’s voice reverberating from the room. Ghost’s blood ran cold as his movements slowed to a crawling pace. A flicker of your laughter spilled out of the room not long after the man’s. Ghost narrowed his eyes as he inched forward, his footsteps barely making a trace of noise. He peeked through the crack in the door.

He recognized the man-a newer recruit, Sergeant Johnson. He’s seen him before, and despite his usual friendly demeanor, something just felt off about him. Ghost’s jaw clicked as he watched the Sergeant hover near you.

“You’ve got a cute laugh,” Johnson drawled. Ghost felt a sudden feeling rip through his heart. It wasn’t anger…no-it ran deep like an open, festering wound. You tucked a strand of frizzy hair behind your ear, avoiding Johnson's gaze.

“T-Thank you,” you said sheepishly. The man wore a wide grin as he leaned his hand onto the wall, boxing you in. Your eyes widened.

“Are you free tonight?” the man lilted. Your blush rushed up to your ears as you held your hands together in front of you.

"P-Probably not. I'll most likely be busy with work," you stated. Ghost felt relief wash over him, only to feel the jealously flare up again as the Sergeant leaned in closer.

"Tell you what- why don't I get some dinner from the mess hall and bring it back here? That way you won't have to worry about leaving your office," he suggested with a smile. Ghost waited with bated breath for your answer.

"Okay," you finally replied. Ghost heard the sound of his heart cracking as Johnson leaned away from you.

"Great. I'll be back so don't go anywhere!" he said. You nodded and gave a small wave.

"Okay. See you soon," you grinned, though Ghost didn't miss the misty look in your eyes. Fuck...you were still hurting. Johnson strode towards the door, blinking when he met eyes with the lieutenant.

“Oh! You must be Ghost. Heard a lot of stories about you-good ones, don't worry," Johnson chuckled as he held his hand out. The lieutenant raised a brow before clutching the man's hand. Johnson winced slightly. "Oof, got quite a grip there," he laughed nervously.

"So I've heard," Ghost rumbled. Johnson awkwardly looked around the hallway before giving a firm nod.

"Sorry for keeping you from the Doc. I'll get out of your hair," Johnson stated as he brushed past him. Ghost grunted as he followed the man with his eyes until he disappeared around the corner. He turned back to see you standing stiff as a board against the wall. Ghost cautiously stepped towards you as if approaching an untamed animal. He paused a few feet away from you.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," you replied. Both of you avoided each other's gazes. The silence only seemed to emphasize the tension growing between the two of you. Ghost cleared his throat.

"Listen, Doc-(Y/N)," he quickly corrected himself. You rubbed your arms as you poked at the inside of your cheek with your tongue. Ghost sighed as he nervously cracked his fingers. "I just...I'm sorry for being such an arse last week," he grunted. You remained quiet, the only sound being the humming from the fan in the corner of the room. "It wasn't fair to you, and-"

"It's fine," you curtly replied. Ghost closed his mouth, his skin crawling with goosebumps. He's never heard that kind of tone come from you, the kind that cuts deep into someone like a knife.

"But-you see, I-"

"No, I see perfectly well, Ghost," your voice cracked with bitterness. Your eyes were glossy as your mouth was curved into a deep, sullen frown. Ghost felt his heart turn to stone as you stepped forward.

"(Y/N), please listen to me. I came in here because-" he suddenly choked on his own words. You released a shaky sigh as you gave him a dejected look.

"Because of what, Ghost?" you asked. He screamed at himself as tears began to pour down your red cheeks. Ghost suddenly felt a wave of dizziness crash over him, a cacophony of his own internal monologue mixing with the fragmented voices from his past piercing through his mind. The walls around him felt like they were growing closer with the intent to crush him. Everything felt like it was going too fast for his own mind to catch up.

"I..." his gruff voice trailed off. You sighed as you clutched your hair, your eyes puffy and red.

"Please, don't do this to me again," you murmured beneath your breath. Ghost's throat tightened even more.

"Just tell her! She's right there!" the internal voice screamed at him. He unclenched his fists.

"I just came to tell you that you...shouldn't go out with Johnson," he spat out. Your face shifted from a look of anguish to confusion.

"You should be with me instead," he said internally. But the words remained lodged in his throat.

"I've seen him around the base. He doesn't seem-" The sound of thudding footsteps cut him off. Johnson stood in the doorway, a bag of takeout in his hands. He frowned when he saw you wipe tears from your cheeks.

"Everything okay?" he asked as he rushed to your side. You nodded, tearing your eyes away from Ghost.

"Fine," you huffed. Johnson stared between the two of you.

"I just got some pizza-I hope that's okay," he beamed. Ghost felt like he was already being shoved out of the room. You glanced over at him one more time before looking back to the Sergeant.

"Pizza's great," you smiled as you accepted the food. Ghost slowly stepped out of the room, the tendrils of jealously encroaching into his heart. His body felt cold as he walked down the hall, a bitter taste coating his tongue.

"It's just one little dinner," Ghost told himself. But no matter how hard he tried to rationalize the situation, he couldn't stop the poison from leaking from his heart and through his entire being.

+++

A whole month has passed, and you were still dating Sergeant Johnson. Ghost told himself that it didn't bother him at first, that the whole "love realization" was just wishful thinking. But the more he saw the two of you and Johnson together, the worse the jealously inside of him festered. It corroded his heart each time he heard you laugh at his jokes, saw you holding his hand.

He was talking with Soap and Gaz in the mess hall one evening. His dark eyes followed you as you walked into the room and leaned down to Johnson's ear. He couldn't see your face, but he could tell you were whispering something to the Sergeant. He watched with clenched fists as both of you left the mess hall in a hurrty. Something inside Ghost snapped into a thousand pieces, his veins bulging in his temples.

Ghost immediately rose from his seat, ignoring Soap's barrage of questions as he trailed not too far behind you. Other soldiers looked at him like he was a bat out of hell as he stormed towards your office. His nostrils flared as he grabbed the doorknob, only to hear a harsh wail crack through the air. Ghost hesitantly shuffled at the door before cracking it open ever so slightly. Johnson stood in front of you with his arms held up as if in surrender.

"Babe, please! I can explain," Johnson said. You scoffed.

"I saw your tongue down her throat, Logan!" you shrieked. Your voice dripped with anger as you growled. Johnson huffed as he straightened his posture.

"It's not my fault you've refused to sleep with me this whole time," he spat. Ghost heard you gasp quietly as he opened the door slowly. He held his finger up to his lips and you swallowed, shifting your gaze back to the man before you. "You're a prude little bitch, you know that? Maybe if you had done what I asked of you, I wouldn't be running off to see other girls," Johnson hissed as he raised his hand. Ghost instantly launched himself forward, grabbing the Sergeant's meaty wrist.

"What the fuck-" Johnson was cut off when Ghost quickly grabbed the man by his shirt and threw him against the wall.

You yelled as you slid behind your chair, your hands clutching onto it as if it were your shield. Ghost felt satisfied with the way the Sergeant's head snapped against the hard surface of the wall, nearly putting a dent in it.

"Don't you ever treat to her that way, you fuckin' git," Ghost snarled as he shook him by his collar. Johnson's eyes popped out as he shivered in his tight grasp. You muttered a few incomprehensible words as you peeked around. Ghost's heart was pumping as the veins in his hands threatened to pop. He lowered Johnson enough so he'd remain face to face with him.

"Here's what's going to happen: because I witnessed you abusing (Y/N) and threatened to strike her, I'm going to write a very, very detailed report," he explained with a cold tone. Johnson swallowed a lump in his throat, his legs still dangling above the ground. "You’ll most likely to go to jail, Sergeant. When you do, I can guarantee that whatever happens to you there will be downright merciful compared to what I have in mind," he rumbled lowly as he curled his fist. The Sergeant's lips quivered as he shook his head vigorously.

"I-It won't happen again, I promise," Johnson wheezed. Ghost scoffed as he dropped him onto the cold, linoleum floor. The man scrambled up to his feet, his legs knocking together as Ghost pinned him against the wall, pressing his tattooed forearm against the Sergeant's throat and his legs against his.

"You should be glad I'm just a Lieutenant. Price is the one who makes the final calls around here," Ghost said as he subtly grabbed at his phone in his back pocket. He shook at it gently, hoping you'd get the message. You paused for a moment before slipping beneath your desk. He narrowed his eyes as he loosened his grip on Johnson.

“Y-yes sir! I understand completely. I-I'm sorry, really, I didn’t-”

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to, you fuckin' twat," Ghost scoffed. He looked over towards you. You whispered a few more things into your phone before pressing a button. You glanced up and nodded at him, your face still pale and wet with tears. "Apologize to her," Ghost said gruffly. Johnson's mouth snapped open in protest. "That's an order, Sergeant!" Ghost snapped. Johnson huffed before slowly turning towards you. Large streaks of tears fell down your face as he straightened himself.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)," he said with a lowered head. Ghost strode up and placed a hand onto Johnson's shoulder.

"Go on," Ghost commanded with a tight squeeze. Johnson licked his dry lips.

"I'm sorry...that you don't know how to attend to a man's needs," he snarled maliciously. Your eyes widened as you gasped. Ghost sneered as he grabbed the man by his short hair, readying to slam it against your desk.

"Simon don't!" you cried with outstretched arms. Ghost froze, his eyes falling on your weary face. Johnson laughed bitterly.

"Simon? What, were you cheating, too?" the man derided. Ghost's fists shook as he threw the man across your desk with a loud thud. You gasped and shuffled back before Ghost tossed the man onto the floor, his body crumpling like a ragdoll's. Johnson groaned as he rubbed a sore spot on his chin. He scowled as he wound up a fist to strike.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Price's voice boomed. All of you froze as he stood in the doorway, his arms crossed and eyes lit with pure rage. He shifted back as a few military police officers filed into the room. Ghost made his way towards you as they surrounded the Sergeant. You were still hidden beneath your desk, your body curled into itself.

"(Y/N)," he called softly. You peeked up at him, your eyes red and puffy. He knelt down on one knee and slowly held his hand out. "It's alright. You're safe now," Ghost whispered. You cautiously took his hand as he guided you to your feet. The cuffs clicked across Johnson's wrists as one of the officer's kept their hand on his neck.

"You can't do this to me! Do you know how hard I've worked to get here?!" he shouted as he was being roughly escorted out of the room.

Price had no words to offer, only a cold gaze that could make any person shiver. Johnson's face turned red as he protested wildly before one of the officers told him to shut it. A sense of relief washed over the room as he was finally dragged out. The Captain shook his head before setting his attention on the two of you. Price's brows furrowed when he saw a red mark on your wrist. Ghost felt the anger inside him reach a boiling point when he saw it, too.

"I'm going to fuckin' kill him," he snarled.

"Easy, Ghost," Price said. Ghost grunted as he swallowed down his rage. The Captain turned to you, reaching his hands out. "I know a lot has just happened, but we need to get as much as we can while the memories are still new. I promise you, (Y/N), that fucker's going to pay for what he did," Price stated with a nod. You sniffed before releasing a heart-wrenching wail.

You sobbed as you wrapped your arms around your shivering body. Ghost and Price exchanged weary glances as you shrank into yourself.

"Stupid git," Ghost heard his father's acerbic voice echo inside his head. His own wrist stung slightly as he remembered every terrible instance involving that wretched man. That quote about time healing all wounds never resonated with Ghost-the wounds still cut deep and ran with blood. Ghost blinked as your aching sobs drew him back to the present.

"I-I was so stupid," you shook. Ghost tilted his head as you rested your head on his chest and winced. "I should've known. I just-I shouldn't have-" you broke down, your forehead falling onto Ghost's broad chest as you and clutched his black t-shirt. He looked over to Price. The Captain gave a small nod.

"Just make sure to come to my office when you feel ready," the Captain said as he made his way towards the door. Ghost nodded as Price left the room.

You continued to stain his shirt with hot tears, your chest heaving as you trembled. Ghost felt unsure of what to do in this moment, his hands twitching at your sides as you wept. Suddenly, a faint memory popped up. Ghost leaned his face forward, his covered lips nearly brushing against your ear.

"Can I...Can I hold you, love?" he asked. Your head snapped up as your mouth flew open. You wore a look of shock on your face, your chin trembling. Ghost studied you carefully as he released an uneasy sigh. "Well, y’see, my mum-she would, she would hold me...when…” his voice trailed off as a hard lump formed in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut as if to shield himself-both from the memories that pierced his mind and the act of confessing such a vulnerable thing.

His eyes snapped open when he felt you softly wrap your arms around him. You released a shaky breath as you squeezed him tightly, pressing your body against his. Ghost's hands slowly came up, his bulky arms curling around your smaller form. You were so warm-your skin soft and glowing like sunlight on a spring day. Ghost gently rested his chin on your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your shampoo.

His breath hitched when you splayed your hand across his rugged upper arms. Ghost let his own hands fall across your lower back, his chest purring ever so slightly. He felt you relax in his grasp as the two of you continued to hold each other.

Eventually, you started to withdraw yourself from his embrace. He slowly blinked his eyes open, his vision blurred with tears. You gave him a warm, tired smile as you wiped your eyes and sniffed.

"Thank you, Ghost," you sighed. Ghost took in a deep breath as hot tears rolled down his face from beneath his balaclava. He looked down and slid his hand close to yours. You gazed up at him with parted lips before taking it into your gentle grasp. He smiled down at you as he pressed his thumb to the back of your palm.

“Please...call me Simon”.

____

Thank you for reading! ❤️

[mangoshorthand]

A rough outline to rewrite S4

We didn't need a big apocalypse. We needed the umbrellas to symbolically overcome their childhood abuse.

We begin...

A few months post-reset. Nobody remembers the Umbrella and Sparrow Academies. This Universe kinda sucks too: Reggie's monopoly on everything has created some serious wealth inequality and social issues. The family are all kinda screwin' around, finding their feet to varying degrees of success.

Luther's tirelessly looking for Sloane

Diego and Lila are preparing for parenthood, both freaking out but excited over it. Diego is very protective. Cute, but suffocating.

Allison's got everything she ever wanted, but it still feels hollow and (surprise) she still has her powers and is still abusing them to get what she wants. Her and Ray are on the rocks because he's now a social-justice advocate, and Allison doesn't want to rock the boat with Reginald.

Klaus is loving life. Addiction's easier to battle with no ghosties to blot out. Being mortal sucks but he only found out about it a few days ago anyway so it doesn't change much.

Five is stuck in juvie getting mandated therapy, gets diagnosed with PTSD and, against his will, starts to work on feelings of anger towards his siblings for their lack of appreciation. (Hmm sounds familiar...I actually have a fic....)

Viktor, loyal to Luther, is trying to help him find Sloane and is sort of taking the lead role on it because Luther's struggling.

Ben starts off being a selfish asshole, but it all feels empty and lonely, so he semi-reluctantly joins Luther and Viktor trying to find Sloane, his only sister.

Essentially, everyone's setting themselves up to have satisfying character arcs that resolve the shit brought up in previous seasons.

MEANWHILE

We discover that, because Reggie was interrupted resetting the universe, it's all kinda fragile.

At different rates, the Umbrellas slowly start to gain back their powers. It turns out they lost them temporarily after Reginald used their marigold to power the reset machine, but it's effectively bound to their DNA, so it regenerates within them just like any other cell would, (explaining why Viktor removing it from Harlan didn't work in S2). And then we discover that Reggie's autocracy and constructed happiness with Abigail is contingent on continually maintaining a 'hole' in the universe left after the incomplete reset. He needs a Marigold battery on hand to try and plug the gap. And we discover Sloane, memories wiped and constantly hooked up to a machine that sucks out her Marigold as quick as she can regenerate it, (and Reginald has his eye on them all as potential backups).

So...

The band gets back together! Time to rescue Sloane and defeat their Dad!

Ben is PUMPED, starting to realise that maybe the Umbrellas are family too.

Luther goes hulk for love.

Diego is terrified Lila will get hurt and wants to effectively lock her up in a closet again like in S3, but he learns he can't do that, and Lila kicks ass while super pregnant.

Five initially refuses because he's salty they left him in juvie and is sick of them undervaluing him but eventually gets his shit together and rides in at a crucial point to save the day. He finally gets a fucking hug.

Allison feels guilt, and anger at Reginald. The way he's exploiting people is nakedly obvious now, and she finally joins Ray in the fight

Viktor's leading the charge. He's unashamedly the leader and the rest are looking to him for guidance.

Klaus is suffering again. The ghosts and immortality is back, and meanwhile the little girl in the void is being super cryptic and annoying, making veiled foreshadowing comments every time he ends up in the void, but she does reveal that she is why he is immortal begin with. It was never his power, it was her sending him back every time.

And...

We have a showdown with ass-kicking and Reginald screaming that they're dumb kids who don't know what they're messing with, but screw him! And when they're confronted with Reginald's hole (heh heh), everything the little girl in the void said becomes clear to Klaus. He has to touch Reginald's hole (never gets old) with his powers activated to act as a conduit for the girl, the creator of the universe. This will allow her to fix the universe back to her original design without all Reginald's tampering. Klaus is the connection between the world and the void and, powered by his Marigold, she can use his memories to put it all right. It's a Deus ex machina.

The only problem is, he will die in the attempt. This is the 'use' she told him she had for him in one of the previous seasons, (or maybe that was the comics?). Klaus realises that this might actually be his one opportunity to die. The alternative is to live forever, never fully reuniting with Dave and watching his family die off one by one. So he does it. He fingers Reginald's hole, (harshly, with no prep). Klaus makes a heroic, Christ-like sacrifice and boom, the reset completes. We are effectively in the first timeline, in the Academy courtyard with no apocalypse on the horizon. Reggie is dead, all most of the symptoms of his autocracy are gone. All is well, except our heroes are just sad. Klaus fixed it, but now they've lost their glue.

But...

Klaus awakes in the void, happy and at peace. Dave is there, and the reunite, but it's clear he's sad about what happened. The little girl is there too, and she offers Klaus one last go at mortal life, because she finds him kind of annoying to have around anyway.

Klaus agrees, saying goodbye to Dave until they meet again, and then he falls out of the sky and lands with a smack in the courtyard. He explains, and many Jesus jokes are made.

After the revelry is over, there's a moment where the siblings go: "Huh, what now?" as they realise they still have a lot of their old problems and a lot of inner work to do.

And then Lila goes into labour. We finish on a birth montage. Everyone holds the baby, tears are shed and they end the series together. Not perfectly happy and still dysfunctional, but at least they have the chance to get better now.

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

The C person is not even worth the trouble for him

Unlike Syd

So are we now finally ready to address the fact that when Carmen Berzatto REALLY LOVES SOMEONE and that person hurts him or disappoints him, he either lashes out walk-in style

OR cuts them off, puts distance between them, he doesn’t really fight back.

(Michael-Donna-his father whom he never tried to find or reconnect with, I’m sure there are more ppl we don’t even know about).

BUT

when he really loves someone and HE is the one who disappoints or hurts the other person or fucks up bad, he tries to make it up in the best way HE CONSIDERS fair (Syd, Sugar, Pete, Richie)

The good news is:

The C person doesn’t fall in either category because HE fucked up and HE didn’t try to make it up to her in any way, shape, or form, he cut her off.

SO

That can only mean 3 things coming from him:

1- He doesn’t love her therefore he doesn’t feel is necessary to make it up to her, even though he feels guilty about the whole thing, she’s not enough of a priority for him, hence: he doesn’t even bother in repairing that relationship, even though he’s fully aware HE fucked up.

OR

2- He doesn’t even feel he fucked up at all, he actually deep down thinks he did the right thing, he’s only PARTIALLY sorry about the whole thing, he’s absolutely NOT sorry about what he did, said, chose, etc. He’s ONLY sorry about C getting hurt as a result, but then again, since she’s NOT that much of a priority to him and he does have more important things to do like getting a star for Syd to make it up to her for having failed her repeatedly and having left her alone, etc, which ARE indeed his priorities, then he just keeps putting the whole apology to C in the back burner and kinda hopes it eventually dilutes in time… like a “I’ll deny it till it goes away bc she moved on and what’s the point of apologizing now anyway…” kinda thing.

OR

3- A combination of both <— my pick.

He will have to grow at some point and understand it just doesn’t work like this. That he can’t keep on cutting people out of his life because he’ll wind up alone. That he can’t be his own judge and choose his own sentence when he commits a crime and that nothing he just buries deep down inside, actually goes away just because he chooses not to address it.

And I think that the lesson this fucker taught him:

by breaking him and making him realize that he’s actually better than his abuser. (Carmy is a better person than that asshole even as fucked as he is) Is actually one of the tools he needed to turn this whole thing around and reach that level of maturity he’s lacking and therefore make a real change after he overcomes this crisis he’s going through.

I already addressed his immaturity here:

The other tool is that Sydney keeps believing in him. He cannot lose that, not totally, he has to continue counting on her for motivation, she’s the heart of his whole support system.

And Syd needs her own support system too, which in her case is now expanding. It’s no longer just her father. Everything she can't let go of is now her support system, her found family. They are bound already, whether she likes it or not.

So I’m sure they will be OK. I’m just sorry that trauma is the way Storer chose to go about it. There were easier ways.

But since the whole plot is based on their real lives, as I mentioned here, trauma it is.

S4 is gonna be glorious!

Carmy has already reached the breaking point this season:

but S4 is gonna be THE TURNING POINT.

[haine-kleine]

Fulfilling my quota of Touyadoomposting by going back to this theory and expanding it. This is mostly a crack theory except instead being funny everything is just horrible lololol

Ok so as silly as the Tenko's entire life being orchestrated by AFO pretty much since he was born reveal was, it also gave us the fact AFO used to have drinking dates with his father specifically for the purpose of making him as abusive to Tenko as possible.

Combine this with the weirdly OOC fact that Enji gave up on achieving the number one place at the ripened age of 20. Sure, Allmight's shining beacon of hope and strength may have been a source of great jealousy for a young and upcoming number two pro hero but come on now. 20 is still a teenager, why are you giving up without even trying.

Enji's admirable hero quality is determination.

No matter how insecure he secretly was, giving up at 20, with a perfectly healthy body, and putting all of his determination into making a kid with a quirk stronger than his own and making that kid achieve his dream in his place, is not even backwards logic, it makes absolutely no sense. Enji is not even one of the quirks obsessed characters, he has never been interested in anyone's quirk besides his own and his sons'. Despite his weakness (overheating), he is all about pushing through and overcoming it. To put this shortly, Enji is dumb as a shoe a very single-minded person. This is simply not someone who would entertain such concepts as perfect quirks or eugenics.

You know who does though? Yeah, this guy.

Enji is ruled by his emotions and has tragically low emotional intelligence. This makes him very susceptible to manipulations. And AFO is one hell of a manipulator. A villain obsessed with destroying Allmight and the number two hero who dreams of throwing Allmight off his pedestal. Why wouldn't AFO seek him out? If he saw that seed of self-doubt and carefully nurtured it, Enji giving up despite being so young would start making sense. Enji seeking out a quirk marriage would also make sense (I refuse to believe this man is the only one who came up with this idea in the entire manga). He clearly didn't know what he was doing.

Even choosing a Himura as a candidate for his little eugenics experiment would start making sense if it was actually AFO's suggestion. The Himuras are famous for their strong ice quirks, and Enji's goal was creating a heir whose heat tolerance would be higher than his. This is basic logic. Having babies with a woman who has an ice quirk and is vulnerable to heat won't land you any kids with a fire tolerance higher than your own. He set himself up for failure, they all came out like Touya

Granting Enji's logical thinking abilities the benefit of doubt, we look the other way and spot Garaki being involved in this case. AFO wanting to see what would come out of genetically combining strong ice and fire quirks just for the sake or his curiousity makes so much more sense than Enji being unable to comprehend his choice for the quirk marriage wasn't even fit for his goal. Touya did eventually end up in AFO and Garaki's child laboratory, which was the purpose of Garaki fronting as a quirks doctor for kids. And Enji was in contact with Garaki since Touya was 4 years old.

Also makes for such an evil irony that Touya's trauma stems from him seeking a reason for his existence and not finding one. And the entire reason for his very birth is just AFO being a cold-blooded quirkist manipulator

[percheduphere]

It troubles me when fans find Loki in his own tv series "out of character". Since the first Thor movie, Loki has shown a certain sweetness, protectiveness, and level-headedness that was overcome and eventually self-suppressed by rage and tragedy. He didn't have an environment in which he could thrive and, in Frigga's words, succeed at being who he truly is.

Loki desperately needed a support system outside his immediate family. That support system simply couldn't have been built on Asgard because of:

1. Odin's political machinations, including the intentional creation of an environment rife with sibling rivalry and blatant favoritism.

2. The racist if not xenophobic views of Asgardians.

3. The inherent masculine-dominant, warrior society culture of Asgard.

To break Loki out of his self-destructive patterns, it took the empathy of 1 brainwashed and memory-wiped TVA analyst to rightly recognize that Loki as a person has incredible potential and that he could actively do something about it. That Mobius uses this reasoning for the advantage of the TVA (then under HWR's helm) is a plot point I'll discuss later, but the fact still stands: Loki was given a second chance to be who he really is because of the choice Mobius made to intervene. Loki would have been pruned before he would have had the opportunity to meet Sylvie, B-15, Casey, and OB. This is fact.

Mobius literally drops everything--the case he's actively investigating--to intervene. The fact a minuteman immediately reports the variant of Loki he is most interested in has been taken into custody suggests that Mobius has been planning this intervention for some time.

Some fans hate Mobius for his treatment of Loki in the first episode. It is, indeed, manipulative, condescending, and to a certain extent, emotionally abusive. I'm not denying any of this, but from a narrative perspective, Mobius, to be a fully well-rounded character, necessarily must have his own flaws and personal conflicts to battle. Loki's evolution as a character, and thus his positive impact on others, would be missing an emotional beat of mutual reciprocation otherwise. That emotional beat pays off in every episode of S2, culminating in the final scene of the final episode. This is to say nothing of the likelihood that Loki would not have been receptive to any form of gentleness at that point in time to begin with.

Crucially, Mobius gets Loki to admit that his villainous persona is exactly that: an illusion constructed in a bid for control. Some viewers might interpret this scene as a shortcut for getting Loki to behave "out of character" by S1E2, but Thor 2 proves otherwise:

This scene with Thor demonstrates that Loki has a high pain tolerance and is adept at hiding pain. His need to mask his vulnerability, and how that vulnerability is intrinsically tied with the misplaced shame of who he is, resonates deeply with queer, people of color, immigrant, colonized, and adopted fans, many of whom have intersectional lived experiences (including myself). I believe it is for this reason that so many of us are desperate for blatant representation in mainstream entertainment, and to shame us for the sin of hoping is disturbing.

But I digress. Frigga, Thor, and now Mobius are among the few who can see through Loki's deception. That deception has the unfortunate effect of hurting not only innocent civillians but his loved ones and himself (closeting, internalized racism).

Once Loki is able to drop that persona through admission, however, he is able to relax and be himself in the TVA. And in being himself, Loki is consequently able to love himself, which manifests through loving Sylvie. S1 shows Loki holding her up on a romantic pedestal: he chases after her, he sings a song for her, he wants her to be okay. He loves her, yes, and though it appears she does not reciprocate (in my opinion, your mileage might vary), Sylvie does love Loki enough back to buy him a drink and counsel him about what he really wants. This scene is critical in Loki's development in the same way Mobius sheds light on his potential to be whoever he wants.

Both Mobius and Sylvie are integral for Loki to arrive at his turning point, his ultimate sacrifice. Loki loves Sylvie. He therefore chooses to not kill her. Killing her, moreover, would not solve the issue of free will. Sylvie is right in believing free will, and thus the multiverse, is right and necessary. Sylvie's moral question and Loki sparing her life, answers Mobius's belief that Loki can be whoever he wants.

On the other side of this coin, watching Mobius in the final scene, hearing Mobius whisper, "Let time pass..." answers Sylvie's question of what Loki wants, and what he want more deeply than not being alone is for his friends, most especially Mobius (whom he also loves and cares for most, to LIVE.

The series ends with only 2 characters heartbroken with the outcome of Loki's heroism, which Mobius knew existed within him from the beginning. He saw those little but important moments: Loki comforting his brother, Loki protecting Jane, Loki giving up his life to buy Thor time, and so much more, he saw and he knew Frigga's words were right.

[ninjakk]

wait can you please speak more on WWX qi deviating after the LP confrontation with JC? I've always wondered what that sudden sickness was.

Hi anon 👋🏻

Of course! I think this detail is often missed because of the rest of the drama and overall poignancy of the scene. It's also never outright stated as a "qi deviation", but MXTX expects us to use the information she gave us in prior chapters to arrive at such a conclusion ourselves - as she so often does.

Not long before the scene in question, WWX and LWJ were a major part of the driving force that saved everyone from an onslaught of fierce corpses intent on attacking them all at the burial mounds. He was exhausted from that and even though he claims to have been exaggerating to "trick" LWJ into looking after him while on the boat to LP, he was still feeling the effects of the past few days catching up with him. After all, he was stabbed a few days prior to them travelling to Yiling as well.

All of the above, alongside the heightened emotions of the past few days; realising his feelings for LWJ, how deeply he feels them, if LWJ feels the same way, coming back to LP after such a long and traumatic time, living through a second siege of the burial mounds and facing his trauma head on at the very place he died - all quite an emotional rollercoaster for our beloved WWX.

Then the altercation with JC, where he is being verbally abusive, just pushes all those overwhelming emotions over the edge and causes WWX to have a minor qi deviation. That being said, it could have been fatal, as qi deviations often can be. Which is why some fans find JCs unwillingness to stop attacking WX (both verbally and physically) and refusing to let them leave when WWX was showing signs of his health deteriorating, all rather underhand. It's also why LWJ lost his cool a little and WN served him a verbal bitch-slap to shut him up and finally make JC understand just how much WWX has done to pay back his "debt" to the Jiang sect.

WWX was under great emotional stress at the time, feeling attacked for not only being in love with LWJ, but being once again wrongfully blamed for everything that happened at LP - which even JC admits is simply not true.

Qi deviations can occur for many reasons. I won't go into it too much right now, but one such reason (in the MDZS universe) is being greatly affected by emotions or becoming emotionally unstable. WWX is so overcome with all those strong emotions he begins to bleed from "the seven apertures" and even starts to faint, finally losing consciousness - which are signs of a qi deviation. We see examples of this earlier on in the novel with LQR and the cultivator who escaped the Mingshi for help once they all began bleeding from the apertures and essentially qi deviating. And again when LQR wakes up to shout at WWX and qi deviates once more - which is hilarious 🤣Obviously NMJ, and his father before him, both suffered similar symptoms before qi deviating and eventually succumbing to gruesome deaths as a result as well.

So there you have it anon ☺️ that's my understanding of qi deviations (in the MDZS universe, as the term/cause/effect can differ from one fiction to another) and my reading of the novel. I hope it helps to answer your question to some extent!

[betterfettered]

Hello friends! I'm lowkey on hiatus because it's been a very rough few months, but I thought I'd pop in and say hi 🥺 Pls keep me in both ur horny and nonhorny thoughts LOLOL

Your yandere does not appreciate being rejected by you.

(AFAB!reader x mean AMAB!yandere)(noncon)(violence against reader)(verbal abuse, degradation)(fatphobic degradation)(painful sex)(loss of virginity)(angery man)(choking)(gaslighting)(plus size reader 💖🫡)(be careful with this one friends)(18+ readers only please, mdni)[This is fetish content; rape and abuse are disgusting and inexcusable in real life.]

It was not like you weren’t enjoying kissing Satan.

In fact, you were overjoyed. This was a long time coming, you felt. Since the moment the both of you had begun working for extra credit as RAD library, your breath caught in your chest at the sight of him and your stomach twisted up not unpleasantly when he looked at you, even more so when he spoke to you. He had never seemed impressed with you – most of your comments seemed to either confuse him, irritate him, or elicit no reaction at all – so it was shocking that, when you told him you’d stay a little late in the intern lounge and finish up preparing books for the hold shelf, he said he’d stay behind with you to help; that when the last book was bound, he came close until you were sandwiched between him and a shelf, all of a sudden your round face cradled between elegant hands and lips on yours surprising you so much that you felt like your scalp was electrified, a not so small bundle of lust unfurling in the pit of your stomach.

No, you were enjoying it a lot. Still, a wave of anxiety threatened to overwhelm you because you didn’t know what he wanted next. His tongue was starting to feel its way around the inside of your mouth, and one of his hands trailed ghosting fingertips down your neck past your collarbone and onto your breast, settling there with a firm grope. You didn’t even know what you wanted right now, much less how you should respond. He exhaled in pleasure, bathing the bottom of your face in warmth, and you pulled away, smiling shyly and taking his arm by the wrist to move it away from you.

“…I really like you and I’m, so so happy you kissed me,” you said eventually, your eyes pinned on his bow tie. “But, I don’t…I don’t think I’m ready for this yet.”

He studied your face silently.

You took a step aside, wriggling out from between him and the wall.

“Are you busy tomorrow? Maybe we can – ”

Had you been watching his face instead of his neckline, you would have noticed the flashbang of rage overcome his expression; you would have tried to run upon seeing the earnest vulnerability withering in his eyes. Instead, you were completely shocked when your head was jerked to the side by the hair. You focused on trying to maintain your footing until the impact of your desk hitting the back of your thighs made you cry out. The sound was choked out by Satan snatching your throat in his now clawed hand and making your vision fill with stars by slamming your head down on the desk.

“H-how…” he started, shaking you until you looked at him. “How can you summon the nerve to say 'no' to me?”

You were so stunned that you didn’t know what to say or do, and he resolved that by backhanding you so forcefully that you had to gasp to breathe, that you immediately started sobbing from the sudden pain and shielded your face with both hands, one over the other. He grabbed the intersecting cross of your wrists and shoved it above your head.

“Answer me when I’m speaking to you, you fucking pig,” he spat, grabbing you by the jaw and forcing your face upwards so you could look into his absolutely frigid glare, which seemed to tear all of the sensation from your body. “You think that you're not repulsive because Asmodeus sees you as a warm enough set of holes to use when he’s bored?”

“He doesn’t,” you blubbered, shaking your head. “I never – ”

“Save me the excuses,” he said, claws pressing deeper into your neck until you could feel tiny trills of wetness starting to leak out from beneath them. He withdrew the hand on your throat so that he could busy it with shredding your clothes from your body instead. “You are completely worthless. Y-you should be fucking grateful,” he sputtered. “You should be fucking grateful I could stand to look at you for long enough to try and entertain my baser desires.”

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, because you didn’t know what else to say.

His hands left your body, and you curled up and away from him. You hadn’t noticed that he’d been standing between your bare thighs until you felt your ankles touching him on either sides when you tried to press your legs together. Had you been crying any harder you might not have heard him removing his own uniform, but there was no way of ignoring the way his fingers shoved themselves between your thighs to run back and forth over your now bare pussy, the way he moved that hand upwards to try and pry your legs apart.

“If you are disobedient again you will wish that I did not leave you alive to tell of the consequences,” Satan snarled, rattling his belt at you. “Open your legs.”

For a moment, you lied there and sobbed, starting to hyperventilate because it felt as though your body was completely out of your control, like you couldn’t obey despite how badly you wanted to.

He helped you out, eventually, shoving your thighs open; there wasn’t a second between you feeling his dripping cock trace down over your clit and his forcing himself into you as hard as possible. For a moment, he paused, his cheeks reddening and glare evaporating as the heat of your pussy burned him all up inside, made his legs feel weak. He paused a moment, holding back a moan, and pitched forward over you, grinding his hips into you with no regard for how it made you gasp in pain and weep.

“You know, when someone like Asmo fucks you,” he breathed, shuffling the hair behind your head aside so he could loop his belt around your neck. “They close their eyes and turn their head away to try and forget that they’re inside of a fat fucking eyesore like you.”

Distantly, you wondered if he would be kinder to you if he knew that Asmo had never even touched you beyond a hug. You felt the belt being pulled through its buckle until it pressed into your throat on each side, yanking you towards him like you were a dog on a leash. His hips snapped against yours again, and this time he was not able to conceal his whine, pausing another moment before returning his eyes to yours. He wanted to summon more anger, to make you pay for making him so pathetic and teasing him all this time with those skirts he could see your ass beneath if you leaned over enough and for shattering his heart such that he felt fear and fury looking at you instead of the usual comfort and warmth.

“Look at me,” he growled, tightening the belt until he could see the panic in your eyes, until you grabbed his forearm pleadingly instead of trying to cover your tits from his greedy eyes, nails digging into skin to brace yourself against the way that every part of you jiggled with that embarrassing slapping noise when he slammed his hips into yours.

“You’re hurting me,” you eventually whispered, your hands lowering to your vulva as though you could keep him out of you, even though the way you cried made it clear you had surrendered long ago. “It hurts so bad.”

He glanced down, seeing how your blood and the fluids that had mercifully lubricated you had mixed pink. The sight made him toss his head back and laugh, a gleeful smile taking over his expression so much that his eyes shut.

“I guess Asmo only fucked your face, then?”

You shook your head but, if anything, it just made him rougher with you; one of his hands caught your cheek as though to cradle it, but he was so close to cumming that he couldn’t maintain his composure or strength. Strained moans burst from his mouth, falling over each other as he finished inside of you, pressing your head into the table and tugging the belt outwards and away from his body until he collapsed on top of you, burying his face in your neck.

“Cry all you want,” he said, letting go of his belt to stroke your hair. “It won’t change that no one will ever want you now but me.”

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Moon~

(Some pretty upsetting stuff happened to me, and like always, when I am down, I gotta write those emotions out so I don't have writer's block. This is sad and ouchie, yet let me know if you want Husk’s side of the story or even a happy ending. Thank you to those who support me and my writing)

Tw: verbal abuse, rage, depression, anxiety, poor life choices, unresolved issues

The day you two met was still ingrained in your memory like yesterday. You were being chased by mob bosses on the streets. The moon's glow guided you as you thought about seeking refuge in that glitzy Casino; fingers crossed, you would be lost in the sea of noise and flashing lights. Though your wish came true and you managed to avoid the boss, Scott free, you never expected to land face-to-face with the man you had.

He had a beautiful black and white tuxedo fit, a half-buttoned dress shirt with an excellent-fitting pinstripe jacket, and a cigar hanging from his mouth. Looking up at him, you know fear was the feeling that should be coursing through you, yet what you felt was unadulterated lust and desire. He was your aphrodisiac; nothing else would compare.

He took a special interest in you, too. Not every day does someone bring danger into the feared Casino Overlord's home, let alone look him dead in the eye the way you did. Originally, it was just a job, a simple work experience to help keep you out of trouble. That changed all too soon, though.

Gifts appeared at your hotel room door, from lovely outfits to perfumes and even jewelry. He tried to woo you, but you had already fallen for him. Eventually, your job at the bar turned into sitting on his lap at the card table. You would relax him when he lost and congratulate him when he won. One excellent win resulted in him bedding you, claiming you as his. One soul contract later, and you were his and his alone.

To go back in time and alter reality would be a miracle; that isn’t life, though. Instead, your life here was a moment of looking up at the moon from a new location that was no longer the Casino.

You and Husk got in your fights; everyone did. Yet Husk, when he was drunk, was temperamental; he was angry and hated losing. No amount of sex, cuddles, or kisses could fix it. What went from gifts and showers of affection turned into arguments and cold nights of sleeping alone. He would never raise a hand to you, but raising his voice became a new constant as his power in the scene of the Overlords faltered.

Years of arguments and false promises about things getting better and you two overcoming anything opened you both up to weakness… Then they came in—the young upstart overlords Vox and Alastor, ready to gamble with the big cat on day one. The two were charming, and charisma ebbed off of them in waves.

You did your due diligence at your job that damned night, smiling, flirting, anything to knock them off their game. If Husk beat the up-and-coming stars of hell, maybe he would feel better than he had been. You were wrong, though, because he didn’t win, and neither did you.

A deal was struck. The man you loved and grew to care for, even through the fighting and long cold nights, sold you off. In one game, your new soul owner was Vox. It was a blur—there was yelling, chains breaking and forming, and you being taken away.

When you woke the next day, you were in a small penthouse of Vox’s. You were his ‘lover’ now, as he put it. Husk had sold you off. Tears streamed down your face as you realized the love you harbored for him was not the same love he harbored for you.

Vox was kind to you; he cared for and treated you like royalty. When his fallout with Alastor happened not too long after, you two only had each other to pick up the pieces; you wouldn’t say the relationship that formed between you two was out of desire or want; it was a necessity to stay alive.

You two may sleep together and pretend in front of cameras, but at night, you both think of who you once loved. The people who hurt you both in intricate and damning ways. The people who strengthened your bonds together to the point that you two found the most comfort in one another.

You were always on the sidelines when the Vees came around and got big. The connection you and Vox had made you off limits to the other two Vee’s. He didn’t want you whored out; He didn’t want you as a model; he wanted you to find happiness like he was searching for.

Yet every night, you two lie on opposite sides of the bed, looking out the grand window and remembering your happiness left a long time ago. Your’s when Husk sold you off like a pawn, and Vox when Alastor became too good for him. Both of you have deep, untreated wounds. Vox grew angrier as years turned to decades, yet he never raised his voice at you. He knew of the life you lived prior to him taking on your soul. As for you the pain over the decades just turned to more profound loathing and sadness for you.

You loved Husk, you still did, and on nights when Vox would go out with the Vees or consummate their relationship, you would find yourself sitting outside on the balcony of Vox’s penthouse, staring at the moon. Sometimes, you wonder, ‘Does he see the same moon as I do?’ ‘Does he miss me like I miss him?’

Your questions were sadly answered one day, much to your dismay. You were opting to witness the downfall of Alastor with Vox on the day of the extermination, and that’s when you saw him. Not only did Alastor not die, and the hotel stood tall once more, but Husk was one of Alastor’s souls…making those same eyes he once made for you at a spider demon.

Vox noticed your change in mood and quickly calmed his destructive rage to help you, but it was too late. You saw it all right there on his 4 K screen. You were replaced, unloved, and not wanted. You were only ever a pawn to try and keep power for as long as he could, until Alastor had his soul, and then Alastor dropped Vox.

Swallowing the tears, you excused yourself to the room and went straight to the balcony. Looking on the horizon, you could see the Hazbin Hotel, where Husk was probably smitten with the spider demon. Choked, pained sobs left your frame as you screamed at the moon like it was all its fault for leading you to that casino when you were running from the mob bosses.

When Vox found you, it was a sorry sight. You were curled up on the balcony in a ball, silent sobs wracking your body. Vox explained that the spider was one of Val’s souls, that he knew Husk was Alastor’s soul, but that since he had your soul, Alastor would never let you near. You laughed sadly; Vox wasn’t wrong. The minute that word got out that Alastor stole an overlord's soul, he dropped Vox. You never imagined the soul would be Husk’s.

Vox helped pick you up and leaned you against his chest as you two looked up at the moon, “Hey, Vox, do you think they are looking at the same moon?”

[party-hearses]

i am a nightmare, you are a miracle // 2

not a saint, but do I have to be?

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Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader, ex!Tommy Miller x f!reader (NO USE OF Y/N)

Summary: After your two year relationship with Tommy Miller ends, Joel takes you in — and it’s home like you’ve never quite known before.

Series Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI, language, infidelity, eventual smut, age difference, soft!joel, AU - no cordyceps outbreak, Sarah doesn’t exist (sorry), Tommy stans don’t come for me, some mention of mental illness (nothing named, but it’s hinted at), competency kink, praise kink, alcohol, some recollections of verbal abuse, I guess? mutual forbidden pining for suuure. Let me know if I’m missing anything!

Wordcount: 8.7 k

A/N: I feel like this took me FOREVER. Life uh, uh, got in the way — or, my summer classes started and I’ve been reading Tennyson instead of writing. But gimme feedback! Unless it will make me cry.

You stand, shifting your weight from foot to foot, in front of the bed in Joel’s guest room.

You’d been in the room plenty of times before — when you and Tommy had had too much to drink at a barbecue, when you’d used the ensuite bathroom during parties, when Tommy had needed to borrow something stashed away in the closet. But this time is different, and that difference is palpable.

The room itself is comfortable, with a tidy dresser opposite the bed, and a small nightstand next to it. It’s plenty spacious for you, and simply standing inside those four walls makes you feel so grateful you could burst. It’s more than you need — more than you deserve.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you survey the boxes on the ground around you. Unpacking them feels…too familiar; like this is still a dream that you could snap out of any second. Like Joel could return from wherever he is and tell you that this isn’t right. The idea overwhelms you, and you have to bite your tongue to vanquish the thought.

The boxes can wait. The unpacking can wait. You want to be — need to be — sure that it’s okay; that this is real. You bend at the waist, rummaging through the box nearest you, fingers grasping to find a sleep shirt near the bottom. It’s soft to the touch from years of washing and wearing and the threads being pulled at in desperate attempts to get it off of your body and be discarded on the floor. You crumple it in your fist.

Stepping into the ensuite bathroom, you switch the shower on the hottest setting. As the steam curls around the room, you’re overcome again with Joel’s generosity. Even if he, for whatever reason, does ask you to leave in the morning, or the minute he gets home, or in two weeks — just getting out of Tommy’s place will have been enough. Rescued from your doom of playing and replaying and doing and redoing. A perpetual cycle of never leaving because you’ve only ever been left. The spell broken.

As you wash your hair, you assure yourself that whatever amount of time spent in this house, in this room, as little as it may be, you will carve out this tiny corner of peace for yourself.

The scalding water washes over you, conditioner cascading down the ends of your hair to circle the drain, and you feel baptized. Cleansed. The spell broken, if only for a night.

You wake, hours later, to the muted thud of Joel’s boots on the hardwood of the entryway. Eyelids heavy, you keep them closed, stirring only slightly — readjusting beneath the thin sheets that entangle your limbs. He’s quiet in taking his boots off, but you listen fixedly as he enters the kitchen and turns on the faucet. Watching him from the inside of your eyelids like a movie, tracing the steps you know he’s taking, your blood hums in recognition of something — something you can’t name, but something that tugs at your lungs in the most pleasant way.

He moves around the kitchen, quietly opening and closing cabinets, moving and shifting and existing naturally in the space he’s created for himself. The sounds soothe you — balm to a burn you didn’t know was there — and you feel the languid lure of sleep again.

Just before it takes you completely, he’s there, on the other side of the door, pausing before continuing down the hallway to his own room. The pleasant hum of your blood turns to a resounding symphony, and your breath catches in your chest. You stay completely still, ears attuned to any movement he makes — but he moves on, padding almost silently to his door.

And like you had imagined it all, slumber claims you.

For the first time in weeks, you sleep deeply enough to dream.

The alarm you set for the morning never has the chance to go off, your eyes flicking open naturally moments before the soft vibrations would have roused you.

It should feel strange — waking up here, in Joel’s guest room, alone. But as you brush your teeth, throw your hair up in a ponytail, and dress quietly, you sit with how normal it feels.

At least, you remind yourself, for the time being.

Joel isn’t awake yet, the sun barely beginning to soak through the curtains in the kitchen. You inhale the silence of the house, glancing at the spot where he had stopped outside of your room the previous night. Had he? Had you dreamt it? Had you so blurred the seam between fantasy and reality in the same way you had pictured — nearly felt — his hands across your collarbones—

You bite your tongue so hard you taste the rich iron of blood, the cold metal of pennies.

Guilt burns crimson across your cheeks as the room closes in on you. Stumbling to the front door, you pull it open, gasping for air as you cross the threshold.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

You drop your elbows to your knees, head down, panting for breath.

Forbidden. Wicked girl. Forbidden. Obscene. Forbidden.

Head low, you trace the words on your palm as you say them to yourself, repeating the ritual until your chest slowly opens back up. There’s a light sheen of sweat covering your forehead, though you know it’s not from the early-morning, late-summer sun, still climbing the horizon.

Straightening your body, you subtly shake the tension from your limbs, rolling your shoulders back and unfolding your coiled muscles. Your last run had been nearly six months ago, but you ache for the rush of endorphins and reprieve of a clear head.

Especially now, you think, with a subtle glance back at the house.

How shameful it is, to hunger for something which you cannot taste.

The sun fully up when you return, you let yourself in the still-unlocked front door. Bending down to untie the laces of your running shoes, you are assured to hear movement in the kitchen. A vision of Joel standing outside your door flashes again in your brain, and you shake your head to scramble the thought.

When you enter the kitchen, he’s at the table, coffee mug in one hand, newspaper in the other. His eyes are trained on the text, and you stop in the doorframe to steady your nerves. Your hands find each other, subconsciously kneading one inside the other.

Sensing you, Joel folds the newspaper just enough to meet your eye line. He doesn’t immediately say anything, so you don’t, either. You can’t read his face, but you can feel a heated flush creeping up yours.

“Coffee?”

“Please,” your voice is quiet, and you pray it doesn’t betray you.

He sets the newspaper down, moving to get up, but you quickly stride further into the room.

“No! I can get it. Please, let me.”

With an arch of his eyebrows, he sinks back into his chair with his hands up in surrender.

“Mugs are there,” he nods to a cabinet behind you, and you quickly turn your back to him and hold your breath while your hands move mechanically to open the cabinet door. Get your shit together. It’s just Joel.

Breathing out slowly, you grab the first mug you see, turning to delicately cross the kitchen toward the drip coffee machine. With trembling hands, you raise the pot, filling the mug, and set it back down with a silent expression of gratitude to whatever god that you hadn’t shattered it with your shaking.

You lean back against the counter and bring the mug to your lips, eyeing Joel’s broad back and shoulders. His hair is tousled, just out of bed, dark curls threaded with silver — more than the last time you had seen him.

He twists to face you, a quizzical look splayed across his features, brows furrowed.

“You can, ya know, sit down at the table. Like a normal person.”

A breathless laugh escapes your lips, but you acquiesce, rounding the table and sliding into the seat opposite him.

Seemingly satisfied, he brings the newspaper back up to cover his face. The silence settles between you comfortably, but your skin buzzes with the proximity to him. You can’t help but glance again and again at his large hands, holding the newspaper — eyes sliding over the way his fingers curve around the edges gently.

The coffee is a welcome distraction, though you’d have to remember to pick up some creamer for yourself. Dropping your eyes to the table, a thought strikes you, and you shift uncomfortably in the seat. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Joel.

“Somethin’ on your mind, Peach?”

He sets the newspaper flat on the table, folding it back into itself. You feel his gaze on you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet it.

Neither of you says anything for a moment, the seconds ticking by slowly enough that you begin to count them. You instead study the woodgrain of the table, the single crack in the handle of the coffee mug before you.

“You’re actin’ like a skittish cat.”

His assertion surprises, and for some reason, amuses you.

“A…skittish…cat?” A small smile plays across your lips as you raise your head.

He shrugs. “I know we’re not like, the best a’ friends, but this,” he waves his hand in the air toward you, “isn’t the Peach I know. You’re jumpin’ at every move I make.”

You laugh gently before sighing. “It’s been a really strange couple of weeks. I’m… really trying to find my footing as a ‘single person’ again.”

He nods thoughtfully, mouth fixed in a frown, waiting for you to go on.

“And…and I just don’t know how to do this.”

“This?”

You shift in your chair again, fingers oh so gently tracing the sides of the coffee mug. “Like, just now, I thought about needing to buy myself cream for my coffee. But then, I thought about how I don’t know if I can just…start putting things in the fridge? And then that made me think about how meals will look. Like, dinner in shifts, or…something? Do I avoid you? I just don’t…know how to navigate this. Living here,” you drop your voice to barely a whisper, “or you regretting allowing me to stay here at all.”

Joel leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes are drawn to the way the sleeves of his white t-shirt strain against his biceps, but you look away quickly, instead focusing your gaze on the clock above the stove behind him.

“I’m not allowin’ you to stay here, I’m askin’ you to stay here.”

His voice is smooth, his words wrapping around your rib cage and squeezing gently.

“But why, Joel? Tommy is your brother,” you mumble, “I’m just some girl. You don’t owe me anything.”

His eyes darken as he shakes his head. “You are not some girl. A smart girl, with a good head on her shoulders, a career? Tommy hit the jackpot,” his tone softens even further, though you didn’t think it possible. “I saw what you did for him. Showed up for him, every time. Kept his head on straight. Kept him on his toes. Challenged him, bettered him. And he…repaid you by fuckin’ it all up extraordinarily. You’re owed better ‘n that, and if he won’t do it… ” he trails off.

You swallow hard. “He’s impulsive. I’ve always known that about him.”

Joel laughs, but it’s devoid of humor. “You don’t need to keep defendin’ him. You’re allowed to be mad. You should be mad.”

“‘Sides,” he says, picking his coffee mug up and taking a sip, “He fucked me over, too. Makin’ an ass of himself just to get in bed with a client. Givin’ a bad name, a bad reputation, to the company I’ve worked my ass off for. So I guess you could say that havin’ you be the one to stay here was logical.” He emphasizes the final word of his sentence, jutting his plush bottom lip out in a mock pout.

You pull your own bottom lip into your mouth, chewing gently.

He’d hurt you both. You and Joel Miller, parallel cracks in concrete facades - show me yours, and I’ll show you mine. The guilt of being too consumed by your own sadness builds in your chest again.

Wicked girl.

“I- I’m sorry. That it affected you, too,” you say slowly, your words measured. “You shouldn’t have had to let him stay here.”

Joel lowers his head, rubbing a large palm over his mouth thoughtfully. “I did, t’be honest. I couldn’t handle the thought of him bein’ around you…convincin’ you that he could make it up to you. I felt like…like it was my job to protect you from that, and it felt easier to have him here to do it. I know how persuasive he can be.”

Without your permission, white heat gathers between your thighs. Your tongue is thick in your mouth, and you’re confident — entirely sure — that you are not correctly processing what he’s saying to you. It makes you feel off balance, and you wrap your fingers tightly around the edge of the table for a grasp of something solid.

It doesn’t help, and the words escape your mouth before you can stop them.

“Did you know?”

He looks dismayed, immediately leaning forward, molten eyes penetrating yours. “Absolutely fuckin’ not.”

A ball of emotion lodges in your throat. You hadn’t anticipated getting into the thick of it with Joel so quickly, laying it all on the table in front of you the first morning. Wading through the shrapnel of your previous life.

You nod one two three times, blinking back tears.

He leans back again, studying you for a moment. Letting you swallow what he’s handed you - letting you digest it.

“As for the fridge…you can put anythin’ you damn well please in there.”

Unwrapping your fingers from the table and pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes, you laugh shakily.

He pauses. Then,

“I’m serious, darlin’. I want you to be comfortable. Not like, hotel comfortable, but home comfortable,” he leans across the table, gently taking your jaw between his thumb and index finger. Making sure you’re focused on him. That you’re hearing him. Your skin sparks — damn near sizzles — where it meets his, and your lips part every so slightly in marvel at his grip. “I don’t know what this will look like, either. But I want to figure it out together. Me ‘n you. Okay?” His voice is husky, as if he’s sharing a secret with you. Entering into a covenant together. Sacred.

His eyes are aflame - searching yours intently.

“Me and you,” you repeat, soft and supplicant. Obedient.

“Good girl.”

In the blink of an eye, he’s dropped his hand from your face and angled his body away from you. You dig your fingernails into your palm beneath the table, desperate for a distraction from the ache growing in your core.

Casually, he brings his coffee to his lips again, softly murmuring, “Told me you found his emails.”

It’s followed by a scoff, and you detect the condescension, the disgust. His nostrils flair just slightly. “I don’t even know anyone who uses email like that anymore.”

The image of Tommy’s emails, those words, douses the growing wildfire in the pit of your stomach. Distraction granted.

Bringing your own coffee up to your mouth, you reply, “Probably the same people who still read newspapers at the breakfast table.”

The cursor of your mouse blinks tauntingly in the empty cell of your spreadsheet. Your fingers are poised over the keyboard, the machinations of your brain refusing to cooperate. Every number is just a stupid fucking number and none of them matter when Joel’s hands were on you mere hours ago.

Good girl.

You press your thighs together in your pencil skirt as the words flash in front of your eyes. The pull you feel transcends surface-level attraction; it feels primal. Necessary. Inescapable and relentless. And so, so wrong.

Wicked girl.

Like an old nemesis, those words echo in your ears, contrition nudging desire out of the frame of your mind.

Being distracted at work isn’t a feeling you’re familiar with.

Even back in grade school, you’d possessed laser focus when it came to completing a task. Neatly, efficiently, perfectly. Now, long hours spent in your cubicle for a shot at the corner office; then, spending all night at the kitchen table buried in math notes to prepare for a quiz. It makes you feel complete, in a way that nothing else does, to accomplish.

Your mother’s cold words drowned out by teacher’s praises, by Kit’s warm hands rubbing your back under the cover of darkness. Your sister’s motherly instincts developed young, raising you — you, the perfect amalgamation of quiet and wild. Never in trouble at school, always in trouble at home.

“I know. I’m so sorry. Jackson asked me to stay, to get this account tied up by tonight. We can get drinks tomorrow instead?”

A telling pause.

“You gonna be home at all?” Tommy’s choked response.

Silence. He knew that meant that he’d be drinking beers in front of the television by himself all night.

“Might go out, then.”

You should have seen it coming. You should have seen it coming.

Never leaving because you’ve only ever been left. Kit marrying so very young and starting a family as soon as she could; your mom dying from the illness that made her vapid and unhappy; your friends going off to college states away from home; your dad a shadow by the time you turned five.

Tommy, checking out emotionally without you even noticing.

Finding respite in numbers and equations and your boss smiling, “pulled us out of a tough spot, kid.” Letting work swallow you in order to avoid, avoid, avoid.

Keeping the world at a distance. Keeping Tommy at a distance.

But Tommy had been exciting; his stupidwarm grin unshackling your steadfast demeanor, pulling you by the hand through the crowd vibrating with drinks and music and abandoned delight the night you met.

“You’re so cerebral,” his breath in your ear, praise igniting you.

The world tilting just so — the things he thought he loved about you becoming the things that drove you apart.

And here you find yourself again, in front of a stupid fucking spreadsheet.

It’s not even that you find your work terribly important — you’re but a loose bolt in a complete machine — but everything, every number, has a home and a purpose, and that notion has always settled your nerves. Everything fitting neatly into boxes in a way that eludes you — in a way that you’ve never experienced.

But now, it’s less than important — it’s not even remotely intriguing. The contentment you’re accustomed to feeling has shifted into disdain for daring to turn your thoughts away from the events of the morning.

It’s all very confusing, if you’re being honest with yourself. Taking a step back to examine the situation twists your stomach into knots. You barely know Joel, and the little you do know is in the context of him being your ex-boyfriend’s older brother. A quiet mystery, always tucked in the corner of the room, nursing a beer or glass half-full of whiskey. Existing on the same plane had only ever happened because of Tommy, so his kindness, his offering, makes your head spin. You don’t know how long it will last.

“Everyone knows what a selfish girl you are.” Your mother’s snarl in the chill of the morning, her breath soft white puffs against the dark. An emotional grim reaper. “And if they don’t know now, it won’t take long.”

Joel’s smart. He’ll see it in time, that malignant streak inside of you. The one that had killed your mother, that had pushed everyone else away. That will eventually push Joel away.

You don’t know when Tommy had caught on, but you had always known it was inevitable —knew that it was just a matter of time between the way he looked at you the night you met, the sincerity in his voice the afternoon he had asked you to move in, and the lust you imagined in his blown-out pupils when he looked at someone else’s naked form beneath him.

And now Joel. Showing you an openness, a softness, that you didn’t think he possessed. Your guilt wrapping like vines around the butterflies in your belly, suffocating them. The guilt of taking Joel up on his offer. Of letting him be kind to you. Of returning that kindness with a distinct hunger.

You pick the bulky office phone up out of the cradle, dialing the only extension you know by heart. Ava picks up on the second ring, her tone bored and distracted as she goes through the motions, “Accounts Payable, this is Ava.”

“Av, it’s me.”

You can’t help but chuckle lightly at her brazen disinterest in answering her phone.

“Oh thank god. I couldn’t handle another call about actually paying accounts.”

You imagine her rolling her eyes, and it fills you with the strangest sense of gratitude.

“Do you have plans tonight?”

“Nothing I can’t blow off. Why? What’s up?”

You close your eyes, a smile across your mouth. Dependable Ava — always down for a party.

“I was thinking…that it’s been a while since we went out. Maybe drinks? Dancing? Something to…help me think less?”

You smile to yourself, hoping she can hear it in your voice.

She doesn’t even try to suppress her squeal of delight, before a muffled, “Shut up, Belinda! Can’t you see I’m on the phone?”

You laugh out loud this time. Ava’s mortal enemy being a sixty-two year old secretary in the cubicle next to her never fails to amuse you.

“Silas and I will pick you up around 9? He can DD tonight.”

“Sound perfect, Av. I’ll be ready.”

Her voice, closer to the mouthpiece of the phone now. A whisper for only you. It sends warmth through the synapses of your brain. “If this isn’t a return to form, doll, I don’t know what is.”

True to her word, Ava and Silas show up in his car at 9 o’clock on the dot.

Joel hadn’t been home yet when you arrived, and you couldn’t decide if you were disappointed or eased by his absence. You’d heard the door open and close from your place in the bathroom a little over an hour later, but neither of you moved to greet the other.

Donning a silky black slip dress that hugs your curves just right, your breasts all but spilling out over the top, and chunky black platforms, you feel invincible. Sexy. Wicked.

Leaning forward in the mirror to apply your dark currant-colored lipstick, there’s a light knock at the door.

Without moving your lips, lest you ruin your lipstick, you manage a mangled come in just loud enough for Joel to hear and open the door.

“He-“ His eyes widen as they land on your form, and you clock the way his breath catches in his throat. Something akin to pride swells in you, desire following it. You shove the feeling down, as deep as possible.

Turning just enough, hand still raised to your lips, you meet his eyes.

He blinks a few times. Struggles to put words together. “Goin’ out?” He finally spits.

You hum in affirmation. Then, dropping your hand to your waist, “Is that okay? I won’t be out crazy late. And I’ll be quiet when I get back.”

His brows knit together as he leans against the doorframe. You can’t help but take in how big he is, arm crooked with one thumb through his belt loop — and for a brief second, you hesitate to leave the house at all.

He must catch the reluctance transcribed across your face, because he damn near smirks. “Not worried about you bein’ loud or late.”

Turning back to the mirror, you softly respond, “Just wanna make sure I’m being considerate.”

“Never seen you be anythin’ but, Peach.”

His praise coats you from the inside out, warm as sunshine. You bask in it.

Then, Silas honks the horn from the driveway, and the real world comes crashing down around the two of you.

Grabbing your bag from the floor, you stride towards Joel, still in the doorway. He shifts to let you pass, but gently catches your wrist in his large hand.

You stop, turning back to look up at him through your eyelashes, heart beating rapidly in your chest. You’re sure he can feel it at the pulse point in your wrist. He’s close enough that his heady scent makes your thoughts hazy. Dark, moody — just like him. He swipes his thumb back and forth across your flesh, absentmindedly.

“Be safe, okay, darlin’? Call me if you need to.”

His voice is silk. You want to wrap yourself up in it, lean into him.

Instead, you nod, swallowing hard. “Will do.”

He mirrors your expression, pulling his fingers back from your skin.

You walk to the door, heart still racing from his touch, him awkwardly trailing you. Stopping just short of it, you rifle through your bag to make sure you have everything. He opens the door for you, wrapping his fist around the bulk of it as he pauses. He clears his throat, drawing your attention to him.

“You, uh, deserve this. A night out. To not think about it.”

He’s awkward in a way you’ve never seen before, usually so sure of himself.

Your cheeks burn, but you can’t help but give him a small smile.

“Thank you. For everything. Seriously. I don’t think I’ve had the chance to say that, yet.”

He nods, not meeting your eyes.

As you step through the doorway, not wanting to keep Ava and Silas waiting any longer, you almost miss what he says next. But it stops you, and you look back at him for confirmation. Just to be sure. His eyes, finally meeting yours again, reiterate it.

“You look great, Peach.”

It feels like you float to Silas’ car. You slide in the backseat, watching Joel close the door through the windshield.

“So glad you could finally join us!” Ava coos, twisting in the passenger seat to look at you. “What took so long?”

She’s teasing, but you know she’s dying to know; that she watched your entire interaction from the car.

You sigh, long and laborious. “Trying really, really hard not to want to fuck my ex’s brother.”

Forbidden burns across the tender flesh of your belly.

The dance floor is packed. Bodies writhing against each other, the music vibrating any lingering thoughts out of your head.

“Let’s get drinks, first.”

Ava’s voice in your ear, her hands on your arms. Steering you towards the bar. She’s lit up multi-colored by the lights bouncing around the room, perfect mouth forming words you can’t hear as the bartender leans in closer and closer to her. Silas, off to her other side, scanning the room. His hand on her lower back.

You do the same, taking in your surroundings. Ava is half-draped over the bar, giggling at the bartender while he mixes shots. You feel amazing in your dress, catching the eyes of different men as they pass. One wolf-whistles at you, and you drop your head to cover the intense blush covering your cheeks.

As hot as you feel, you also feel out of practice. Clubs had never been Tommy’s scene, his preference being dive bars with pool tables and cheap beer. You’d still gone out with Ava occasionally, all too pleased to utter I have a boyfriend to any man who got a little too comfortable. Those encounters feel like entire lifetimes away, now.

Ava turns to you, two blue concoctions in her hands. She quirks her brow, handing you one. “Bottoms up!” she encourages, clinking her glass to yours.

The liquor, too-sweet and nearly syrupy, slides down your throat and settles in your stomach. Silas grins at you from behind Ava, his hands migrating to clasp around her hips.

“D’you wanna dance?” her voice is loud over the music. You nod intently, matching Silas’ grin.

“One more shot?”

Ava pokes her tongue between her teeth in affirmation, and your heart leaps. Joel was right. You do deserve this.

It’s your turn to slide up to the bar, and you curl your fingers around the edge and thrust your top half over, bouncing on the toes of your platforms. It doesn’t take much to catch the bartender’s eye, and he makes his way back to you.

“What’ll ya have, darlin’?” he leans into you, but you’re not sure if it’s to hear you better or to get closer.

“Two more of whatever she just ordered!”

You hook your thumb backwards at Ava, and the bartender nods. He pulls a handful of different liquor bottles from the well up to the top of the bar, and begins measuring the contents of each one out into a shaker.

He looks up at you, asking a question, but you don’t catch it.

“What?” you lean further in, trying to hear him.

“You from around here?” he asks again, his eyes flickering between you and the bottles in his hands. He has a half-smile on his face, playful and charming.

Pressing your lips together in the slightest of pouts, you consider your next move. The bartender is lanky, but cute, and you watch the way his hands move while he pours your drinks into glasses. You can’t help but compare them to Joel’s hands, big and calloused and holding your jaw just firmly enough.

The corners up your mouth quirk up in a sultry smile at the memory, and you snake the glasses from the bartop just as the bartender finishes pouring and pushes them forward.

You lean in a final time, clocking the way his eyes fall to your chest. Voice low, you finally respond to his question.

“Nah, just visiting.”

He chuckles, nodding graciously, accepting defeat, while he steps back from the bar. “Have fun tonight, darlin’,” he shouts over the music, and with a wink, you turn back to Ava and Silas.

Silas, who has caught the whole interaction, gives you a geeky thumbs up. Ava takes one of the drinks from your hands, nudging it against the glass in your other.

“Cheers to finally being the baddest bitch in the room, again.”

The shot goes down easy, and you’re led onto the dance floor as soon as you’ve swallowed it.

Ava spins and dips you, and you laugh so hard you can’t breathe. It doesn’t matter that her silly dance moves don’t match the heavy bass of the music, because Ava is Ava and it’s impossible not to get caught up in her aura.

Silas is off to the side of the dance floor, chatting with some friends from work that he’s run into. He’s been in charge of refilling your drinks, per Ava, and you haven’t had an empty hand all night.

The booze licks against your skin, flushed and sweat damp, and all you’re focused on is how good everything feels. So you don’t hesitate when one of Silas’ friends cuts in on your dance with Ava, extending his hand to you. You giggle and grin, nearly feverish with happiness. It’s a foreign feeling, but one that seems to satisfy the whispers normally residing in your brain.

Silas’s friend drags your body close to him, pressing his chest into yours. His hands find your waist, and you transition easily from dancing with Ava to swaying your body with his. He’s taller than you, even with your platforms on, and you shiver when he leans down to whisper into the shell of your ear.

“I’m Peter.”

He’s handsome, in a rough-around-the-edges kind of way. The kind of boy you would have brought home just to piss your mother off. Sharp angles and a piercing tongue.

He’ll do, for the night.

“Hi, Peter.”

You raise your chin to his shoulder, your speech lilted. “I’m celebrating a break up.”

“Celebrating, huh?”

He raises an eyebrow, face bathed in blue light. His smile is coy - dangerous.

“Celebrating. Silas’s been buying my drinks all night in honor of what a party it is.”

You gesture with your head in the direction of your friends, now dancing with each other across the floor.

“Maybe I could join the party, buy you a drink? In honor of the celebration, of course.”

Peter’s hands are warm on your hips, his lips just brushing the wild strands of hair framing your face. You relax into his touch, relishing in the way his fingers splay across the space between your waist and back.

Tilting your head to the side, a smirk plays lightly across your lips. “S’that what brought you over here?”

“That, and the way you look in that dress.”

His fingers tighten around you sharply, and the delicious sting of it makes your breathing quicken.

You slowly place the very tip of your tongue on the pillow of your top lip. His gaze traces the movement, and you watch as his eyes darken.

“Would’ve kicked myself later if I didn’t shoot my shot,” he continues, eyes still fixed to your mouth.

“So you’re out here, taking advantage of poor girls who just dumped their cheating boyfriends?” your voice drips with sardonic teasing. Eyes wide as orbs, doe-like and innocent, looking up at Peter’s height through your lashes.

“Figured your defenses would be down, might have a chance,” he smirks. “Know I wouldn’t, otherwise.”

Your cheeks heat under his intense gaze, and you’re unsure what to say. There’s viscous penitence on the flat of your tongue, knowing, in the deepest part of you, that it’s not Peter you want to undo you.

But you want - need - to get out of your own head, and he touches you like he can feel the painful ache inside of you.

It occurs to you that you’ve both stopped moving to the music, though his hands are still on you. They feel heavy in a bittersweet way — desired but detested, all at the same time. His face remains inches away from yours.

“Can’t promise that it’s your lucky night,” you mumble.

“It doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be,” he whispers back, lifting your chin with his fingers to rake his eyes over you. His stare is fiery, ravenous.

The thrill of it - all of it - rushes down the knobs of your spine, straight to your cunt.

You can’t remember the last time someone looked at you that way, like they wanted to devour you. And god, how you want to be devoured. To be consumed. All gnashing teeth and licking tongues and searching, bruising hands.

You’re only half aware of who the hands on you don’t belong to.

Obscene.

Your mother’s words spur you on, this time, as you thread your fingers through Peter’s hair at the back of his head, urging it towards you. He’s quick to respond, meeting your lips with his in a collision. You wish she could see you, now.

As he licks into your mouth, his hands slide down to the curve of your ass, and you shiver. The enormity of your need to be wanted by anyone clouds your vision; your focus acutely tuned to the way Peter’s body feels against yours.

That selfish, cruel streak inside of you lights up iridescent, and you let yourself take and take and take until you’re breathless.

Peter swallows your soft moans into his mouth as he inches one hand up to the length of your hair, wrapping it in his palm and tugging gently.

You’re past thinking, allowing yourself to just do, to just feel. There are stars in your eyes as he leads you away from the dance floor, through the door to the patio, and presses you against the brick wall of the building, vibrating from the music pounding inside. The night air is tepid, smoke from the few people sucking down cigarettes hanging thick above you. You inhale deeply, anyway — a glutton for punishment.

His lips are hot on the column of your neck, hips pressed flush to yours. You feel his tongue lave over your flesh, frenzied and desperate.

Be careful, okay, darlin’?

Joel’s words hit you like a slap in the face. It’s sobering, the molecules of your brain suddenly realigning — dragging you back from the precipice of your indulgence. Your mother’s voice nagging at the back of your brain is a relic — old hat, to be expected, always. But Joel’s deep baritone in its place surprises you, makes you reflexively set your hands against the barrel of Peter’s chest and push.

He either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t understand. You need to make him understand.

“Peter,” His name leaves your lips weakly, nearly panic-stricken and icy. The tone is impossible to misunderstand.

Breaking his mouth from your mottled skin, you feel his warm breath across the plane of your chest.

“You good?”

He’s panting, aching, raising one hand to the solid wall behind your head to bear his weight.

“Fuck. Fuck. I- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t…be here.”

You shake your head, squeeze your eyes shut — wishing you were anywhere else. Wishing you were home, whatever that means.

There’s a whoosh of air as you feel Peter pull his body back. When you open your eyes, his thumb is pressed to his lips, four fingers curled beneath his jawline. His eyes are set, hard as stone, and you know he’s contemplating what happens next.

The silence between you is thick. Bringing your hands together at your stomach, you trace the word safe across your forearm with featherlight movements.

“It’s shitty. What your boyfriend did to you,” he finally sighs, tone clipped.

Your brows knit together in bemusement, and you slowly exhale the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

“Silas told me. I mean, you told me, too, but Silas…warned me,” A crooked smile appears on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Said you’d had a pretty rough few weeks. Advised that I ‘tread lightly’.”

You laugh mirthlessly. “I feel like that’s the understatement of the century.”

A beat, a realization.

“It’s not you, though. Oh god, please don’t think you’re the problem, here,” you groan.

“Ha. No, no,” he answers reflectively. “I should have…heeded his warning, I guess, before kissing the prettiest girl in the club.”

He shoves his hands in pockets, shoulders bunched up around his ears. You notice the barest sprinkle of a blush across his cheeks, and it fills you with something you can’t name, but feels a lot like embarrassment.

Neither of you says anything for a few more moments, and you study the ground beneath your feet. The letters s-a-f-e burn under the weight of your index finger, traced again and again and again. A ritual.

“I should get back to my friends,” you blurt awkwardly, “make sure they know I’m…”

“Safe?” he cuts.

“Safe,” you whisper, true humiliation creeping up your neck. Why the fuck had you insinuated that he wasn’t safe?

When he doesn’t respond, you take three steps back, unsure how to make the most graceful exit.

Right before you turn your back to him, you squeak, “I’m sorry…again. I’m just…a mess, honestly.”

Not meeting your eyes, he raises one hand to shoulder height, palm open, fingers extending from it lazily. “Maybe next time.”

But you’ve already slipped back in the door, your brain on the verge of a total shutdown. Chest rising and falling in cracked, ragged breaths.

wickedwickedwickedwickedwickedwicked.

“Fuck, Joel,” you mumble to yourself as you pass the bathrooms, couples crammed into dark corners, clusters of girls giggling and cooing over each other, “couldn’t even let me lose myself in stupidity for one night.”

You enter the doors leading back to the main dance floor, and spy Ava with her head thrown all the way back, laughing open-mouthed. It fills you with awe to see her so light, carefree — deserving. Capable of love. If it wasn’t Ava you were watching you would be red with envy.

But because it is her, you make your way over to where she is, and when she notices you, she grins so wide it cracks your heart in two. Throwing her arms around you, nuzzling into your hair, she sings the song that’s pulsing over the speakers into your ear. Her cotton candy halo washes over you, and you feel steady on your feet again.

Then, the softest, most content sigh you’ve ever heard. “Babe, I am so happy you wanted to come out tonight. It kills me to see you so down — I could have fucked Tommy up myself, if you’d have let me. And I know it might feel weird now, but I have the best feeling about you staying with Joel for a bit.”

She pulls away to look you in the eyes, her hands clasping your shoulders.

“You’re both the loneliest-“

Wounded, you open your mouth to protest, but she shushes you.

“The loneliest, weirdest people in this city. And I don’t mean lonely like you had Tommy and you have me. I mean lonely like no one has any idea what goes on behind those pretty eyes, doll. You’re so closed off — even with your people. The people who love you. Who adore you.”

She moves one hand to poke into your chest. “It’s like you never actually let your guard down for anyone.”

You scoff lightheartedly. “You think Joel Miller is the person who’s gonna help me figure that out?”

Ava’s gorgeous grin is mischievous, as if she knows every secret you’ve ever kept.

“You never know, babe. You never know.”

For some reason, Joel can’t sleep. His eyes are fixed on the small digital clock next to his bed, and he’s helpless as he watches the minutes, then hours, crawl by.

He keeps waiting to hear the sound of the front door opening, of you stumbling back inside. It’s not coming fast enough for his liking, and he has to remind himself multiple times that you’re young, nearly half his age, and this is normal behavior for 28 year olds.

“She’s an entire fuckin’ adult,” he mumbles to himself in the darkness, frustrated. He doesn’t understand why he’s so concerned; why it’s keeping him up all night.

Around 1:30 (1:26, to be exact, as he can’t take his eyes off the neon numbers), he throws the quilt and sheets off of his body, stretching his coiled, over-anxious muscles. Running his hands through his tousled curls, his jaw ticks, and he makes his way out of his bedroom to the bottle of whiskey that he’d left open on the kitchen counter.

He pours himself two fingers and wanders over to the couch. Clicking on the tv, he attempts to get comfortable, dropping his head back to rest on the top of the cushion, and settling the tumbler of whiskey on his stomach.

The television drones on in the background, some late night news program that Joel couldn’t be less interested in. He stares up at the ceiling.

“Why’re you here? What’s goin’ on?”

Tommy’s stubborn growl over his bottle of beer. Not saying anything, but saying everything at the same time.

“Fucked up, Joel.”

“What else is new, Tommy?”

“Havin’ an affair.”

His voice wrought with guilt, with shame. Joel’s eyes pinning him to where he stood, as cold as he’d ever seen them. Tommy unable to bring himself to meet them.

Joel laughs — fucking laughs — dryly. “Wow. You really are an asshole. Didn’t think you actually had somethin’ like that in you.”

Tommy raking his fingers through his hair, pounding his bottle on the counter just a little too hard. Not denying it.

“What in the fuck possessed you to do that? With who?”

Joel crowds Tommy, anger shooting through his arms to his balled fists. Gritting his teeth so hard he’s afraid they’ll shatter.

Tommy looking up, away from Joel, blowing the air out of his cheeks.

“Donovan. Uh, Tracy. Tracy Donovan. In Tyler. The one with the, uh, kitchen remodel.”

Hot, scorching red blankets Joel’s vision.

“Look, I’m sor-“

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy,” Joel spits. “You’re not sorry. Compromised the business? Fucked around behind your girlfriend’s back? That girlfriend bein’ the only thing keepin’ you out of jail for what, two years, now? Fuck, Tommy. Don’t know how you come back from that.”

Tommy looking like he wants to cry.

It throws gasoline on Joel’s already raging fire. “And you’re, what? Here lookin’ at me pathetically? Askin’ me to fix it?”

Joel placing his hands palm down on the cool countertop to center himself. He breathes in through his mouth, out through his nose three times. Attempting to calm himself before he entirely wrecks Tommy’s shit.

“Should kick you out,” he finally says nonchalantly. “Should beat some sense into you.”

Hands steady, he reaches into the fridge to pull out another beer. The chill of the bottle in his hands brings him some clarity.

“Won’t, though. Only because I know Peach doesn’t have anywhere to go, and I’m not sendin’ you back for her to deal with.”

An evident wave of relief washes over Tommy, but as Joel gets closer to him and pokes a finger into his chest angrily, he swallows hard.

“She deserves better’n that, and we both know it. Won’t blame her a single bit for kickin’ your ass to the curb.”

Lost in his thoughts, Joel doesn’t realize his eyes have slipped closed. It’s only when he finally hears the door that they snap back open. In his haste to sit up, he spills a tiny dribble of whiskey over his undershirt, and curses as he leans forward to set the tumbler on the coffee table in front of him.

“You’re up?”

Your voice is scratchy, a consequence of the shots and smoke from the club. Arm still stretched toward the table, Joel turns his head towards you, his breath hitching as his gaze lands on your form before him.

Your hair is a wild halo around your head, skin flushed, the straps of your tall platform shoes hanging from your fingers. Eyes hazy, lips kiss-swollen and soft. No trace of your lipstick left.

The living room is dark except for the light of the tv, and the way it hits you makes you look damn near holy.

Joel’s mouth goes dry, and he has to pick that tumbler of whiskey right back up and drain it.

Setting it back down, now empty, he measures his words.

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.”

You toss your shoes on the floor of the entryway as you make your way towards him, and they land right next to his boots. It makes his chest clench. The realization that they should have always been there — should always be there.

Situating yourself on the couch, you tuck your legs underneath your body and lean back. Joel mirrors you, leaning back into the cushions, but your eyes drop to the way he subconsciously parts his muscular legs.

He’s careful to keep his eyes on the tv, though he’s not the least bit invested in what’s playing, and not on the soft swell of your breasts peeking over the top of your dress.

It’s a comfortable silence, but your blood buzzes with the leftover alcohol and distinct heat still smoldering between your thighs.

“Have fun?”

He doesn’t look at you, and you don’t look at him, but you’re both so aware of each other.

You hum in agreement. “S’always a good time with Ava. Needed it.”

“Meet anyone?”

The air stills between you, and you both know what he’s really asking.

“No,” you reply in a low voice, “didn’t want to meet anyone.”

Your answer makes his fingers ache to reach out and touch you, feel you, but he knows better. Knows he can’t.

“What’re you watching?” Your words are slurred so slightly that he barely catches it, but when he does, it makes him feel warm all over.

“Dunno. Some news bullshit, I guess. Didn’t really matter what was on.”

Your head falls back onto the cushions as you melt further into the couch, sudden exhaustion overtaking you, eyes half-lidded and sluggish.

“Y’know, Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir loved each other so much that they were buried next to each other. But they were never married — never even lived together. Had other lovers that they threw right in each other’s faces.”

Joel furrows his brow. He doesn’t know who the fuck those people are, or why you’re saying this. But you’re talking, saying the most you’ve said to him in days, and he’s listening, so all he says is, “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah. It makes me feel like you can fail at love in so many different ways, and still have it deep inside you — even if it’s buried far, far down.”

He’s quiet, never having seen you with your defenses down like this, and he’s grateful for the glimpse into you. He’s afraid to ruin it.

“I feel like that, too, you know? Like I loved someone, and failed at it,” you continue, your eyes opening more and more slowly with each passing second. Eventually, you stop trying to fight it all together. “I have so much love inside me and no way to get it out.”

He hums in consideration. Your words bury themselves deep in his chest, strangle his heart. Show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.

“You didn’t fail, Peach. Tommy made a shitty decision all on his own,” he whispers after a few moments of silence, finally allowing himself to look over at you.

But you’re already asleep, chest rising and falling rhythmically.

You had tried to get it out, before sleep took you, to tell him that no, it wasn’t Tommy. It was your mother. That she’d broken you and broken you and broken you. But you weren’t fast enough, couldn’t get your mouth to form the words.

Joel marvels, for just a second, at your small frame next to him on the couch. At the way your brain works, at the things that matter to you. Soaking in how you look while you sleep, the usual worry on your face smoothed out. He may never see it again, he knows.

Hoisting himself up off the cushions, ignoring the pain in his knees, he slides his hands under you — one arm beneath your legs, the other under your arms. As he straightens, pulling you close to his chest, you automatically curl around him. Melt into him.

He revels in the weight of you in his arms, so tiny compared to his broad frame, his large hands. It takes his breath away.

Slowly, he walks toward your room, nudging the door open with his hip. He’s careful not to bump your limbs, careful not to jostle and wake you. Your head is nestled against his chest, and he’s displeased to lay you down on your bed. He does anyway, gently untangling his body from yours, palm open as it passes under your thighs.

He ignores the fact that he’s half-hard in his sweatpants, just from touching you. Like a teenage fucking boy. As soon as his hands are off you, he readjusts himself quickly before striding silently to the door.

Right before he closes it, he hears your soft, sleep-soaked voice.

“Joel?”

“Hmm?” He pokes his head back in the room, letting you know he’s there.

“I don’t deserve this.”

[princess-glassred]

IT 2017 Role/Personality Swap AU

An au where everybody gets switched <3

Henry Bowers

Growing up with an abusive monster like butch Bowers is hard, but if you're strong enough you can overcome anything. That's what Henry always says anyways, he's only 12 years old and has been through hell and back, so the fact he's remained a kind, brave, sweet kid is quite miraculous. He's determined to help others and be a hero so nobody will ever have to go through what he did ever again. He feels immense guilt for what happened between his father and Connor and how he wasn't around to protect him, but that just makes him fight harder.

He suffers from awful nervous tics and anxiety due to his abusive upbringing, and people have bullied him for it for a long long time, but once again, something like that doesn't stop Henry, it just makes him fight back harder.

When fighting the evil comsic entity known as Maturin, Henry seeks guidance from the kindly creator of worlds, pennywise, via the moon. He urges Henry to save everyone and never stop fighting, even when he gets scared or feels like he can't go on.

He grows up to be a wonderfully successful artist, holding galleries and making paintings based off his complicated childhood.

Upon reuniting with his old friends Maturin tries to conjure up hallucinations of his father to scare him, but even that won't stop him.

Bill Denbrough

Bill Debrough is a 15 year old boy with a lot of issues. He's violent, abusive, cruel, and the sad part is he wasn't always like this.

Before his brother died Bill was a very happy kid, but after his funeral his parents became horrifically neglectful, until Bill felt he could only ever get attention by acting in the worst ways possible.

He's walking a tight rope of sanity, and unfortunately he loses his mind quite early on. On day, Maturin sends him a paper boat through after his parents yell at him that when unfolded, simply reads "kill them." over and over again. After killing his parents he attempts to kill the losers club and is promptly arrested by Butch Bowers and his partner, where he is then sent to juniper hills to rot for the next 27 years. Even inside of Juniper Hills Bill isn't safe, s Maturin gives him visions and makes Georgie's corpse visit him sometimes. The only solace Bill has anymore is writing, but to anyone else they look like the chicken scratches of a mad man. Just pages and pages and pages of "The turtle can't get us." over and over. Maturin eventually breaks Bill out via the rotting corpse of his old bestie, Ben Hanscom, and tells him to go kill the losers. He very nearly succeeds but is thankfully killed before he seriously hurts anyone.

Greta Keene

Greta Keene seems like she'd have it all, she's pretty, her dad's a rich pharmacist, and she lives up on the nicer side of town with all the other rich kids in Derry. Greta is hiding a secret though, a dirty dirty little secret. She likes girls. And ONLY girls. To overcompensate for this she often acts hypersexually and makes jokes about boys alot, which most people find annoying and gets alot of slut accusations thrown her way. She's bullied alot because of this, and the fact her dad is a known creep doesn't help with her reputation at all. When she's with her friends she's very sarcastic and quite sharp, often making jokingly mean girl esque comments to annoy them for fun. She does care about one of her friends though, especially one that she's been in love woth for the past 27 years.

She grows up to be a sucessful model with a relatively happy life, but her feelings for her friend and internalized homophobia prevent her from being truly happy. When she gets back to Derry she winds up having to confront her own painful queer upbringing, including a terrible incident at the mall that involved a misunderstsnding with Beverly Marsh, Bill Debrough, and a giant hyperfeminine mannequin chas her through the parking garage.

She eventually learns to accept these feelings as they are, but unfortunately her one true love is killed by maturin in the final battle. Before she leaves Derry for the last time though, she makes sure to stop by the kissing bridge and carve in a quick G+M to remember her by...

Richie Tozier

Richie Tozier is the kind of guy who just never grows up, son of the rich dentist Wentworth Tozier, Richie seems to have a real chip on his shoulder for no reason. It's pretty clear thst underneath all his petulant, bratty behavior, is a kid who hates his glasses and crooked teeth so much he lashes out at innocent people to make himself feel better about it. He makes a lot of cruel jokes at other people's expense, and particularly likes targeting Connor Bowers because he's queer. He's done all sorts of awful things to him, most notabley when he found him hiding in the boys bathroom stall, called him a fairy, and dumped a bag of trash over him. He never grows up or matures at all, staying in Derry forever and ever, working as his dad's receptionist, reading MAD magazines to pass the time away, and just generally being a loser who peaked in middle school.

Myra Kaspbrak

Poor Myra Kaspbrak was never taught how to be a kid. Her father took to adultifying her after her mother left, and that lead to a miriad of issues for Myra as she was expected to constantly worry about her younger siblings and fathers needs, but never her own.

She's picked on at school for being a fat, nervous wreck, and often called "mama" by Bill Denbrough and Richie Tozier. She just wants to be a kid, but that's impossible for her when she's never allowed to be free from her father's constant begging for attentioin and care. Her biggest fear takes the shape of a homeless leper that begs to be taken care of by her forever and ever, and the worst part is she never really gets to escape this life style.

She kinda gets coerced into marrying a man who acts and looks just like her father, some one who's problems with his own parent has turned him into a whining man baby who "needs" Myra to watch over him all the time.

When she goes back to Derry she has to stop by old Wentworth Toziers dentist office to retrieve a bracelet she lost there when she dropped her sister off for a check up. She's extra nervous about it because Richie's gonna be there ofc, and the last time they ever talked was when he scribble "LOSER" on a cast she got.

The check up with Wentworth takes a terrifying turn when he brings up the prospect of her having mouth cancer and it being an awful thing to go through because "You can't do anything with cancer. Can't eat, can't drink, can't take care of the people you love.".

She gets attacked by the leper again, but manages to make it out and back to her friends, but poor Myra ends up dying later on anyways.

All the losers are badly shaken up by this, but none more so than Greta, who actually confesses she was deeply in love with her but just never got the chance to admit it. It's all deeply sad, but at least she doesn't have to take care of anyone anymore...

Eddie Kaspbrak

Eddie Kaspbrak practicslly forced Myra to marry him, and he doesn't really care how it's affected her. He looks eerily similar to Myra's father, and acts eerily like him too, using things like weaponized incompetence and guilt tripping to make Myra stay with him and act like his mother.

He doesn't really care about Myra at all, and is just using her to fill the hole left by his abusive controlling mother that smothered him til he could hardly take care of himself. He likes to invent new illnesses and pretend to have them just to make her worry more, and when she tries to go back to Derry he cries that if she leaves he won't be able to remember to take his pills or use his inhaler or do pretty much anything.

The very last time Myra ever talks to him is when he obsessively calls her from his car and DEMANDS she stay on the phone and reassure him that he won't get in a car wreck.

Connor Bowers

Connor was forced to move in with his cousin and uncle butch sometime after his mom died, and sadly this was not a very happy or kind place to be.

Butch began to sexually abuse Connor after only about a year of living there, making sure to do it only when Henry wasn't around to see it.

The details of this abuse are too gorey to mention, but it deeply affected Connor and made an already isolated child feel even more isolated.

After one incident where Butch commented on how much he loved Connors cute curly hair though, Connor just kind of snapped and buzzed it all off in a fit of rage.

In addition to the sexual abuse, at school he would be picked on for being visibly queer and in the closet.

Many people just loved to call him slurs and beat the crap out of him, especially Richie Tozier, who actually seemed to be projecting his own closeted feelings onto him more than anything.

Henry probably would have helped Connor had he asked, but Butch often threatened to hit Henry more if Connor ever told him about what he was doing, so he just kept quiet about all of it.

He did find the strength to fight back on his own, stabbing butch in the neck and running off to the sewers with his cousin and friends, but child protective services ended splitting Henry and him up after they defeated Maturin.

As an adult Connor becomes a very famous game developer, having turned his coping mechanism of arcade games into a lucrative career. Unfortunately he winds up in a very similar situation to Myra though, where he hastily marries the first gay guy who will accept him, only to find out he's an abusive creep just like Butch.

After they were split up Henry and Connor kind of forgot the other existed, but they manage to reconnect through their fight with Maturin.

Connor does actually get a happy though, he manages to put his past behind him, get a much needed divorce, and runs off to go live with his cousin on a big yacht somewhere. Hooray!

Beverly Marsh

Nobody really knows what happened to Beverly Marsh, and frankly nobody wants to. She never left much of an impact on anyone, but the impact she left on Greta Keene fucked with her for basically her whole life.

They only met once, when Bev was visiting from portland to see her old friends, and she and the rest of the Denbrough gang decided it'd be fun to stop by the mall.

While Bill and his other friends were off at the food court, Bev stopped in a store to take a look around.

Greta was shopping there too, and once she noticed how lost Bev seemed to be in the make up aisle, Greta offered her some help.

They talked for a bit, Bev mentioning how she's not used to make up or being super feminine and Greta telling her which shades would match her skintone.

Looking back on it now, she was definitely crushing on Bev, but only because she reminded her a little bit of Myra.

After they were finished with the make up, Greta awkwardly asked if she'd like to look at the clothing racks with her, even offering to buy her something if she wants.

Before Bev could even respond though, Bill and the rest of the gang come looking for her and see them in a pretty compromising position.

In panic, she calls Greta a dyke and tells her to fuck off, catching her off gaurd and hurting Greta quite a bit.

Bill's reaction is even worse, not only because bill's homophobic, but he's had a crush on Bev for a WHILE.

Bill calls her some slurs and poor Greta runs as fast as she can until she finds herself in the parking garage.

She sits down snd cries alone for a while, until she hears some one call her name and noticed a massive, feminine, faceless manniquin bolting right for her.

Patrick Hockstetter

Patrick Hockstetter was never quite the same after his brothers death. Maturin took Avery Hockstetter right out of his crib and devoured him with out even a second thought.

Patrick had only caught a glimpse of the act, but that glimpse was enough to leave Patrick traumatized and emotionally stunted.

He didn't really show any emotions after avery died, or even much concern for his own well being either.

His development was either halted or started to regress, because he went from drawing fully fledged haoly pictures to just meaningless black and brown scribbles soon after.

Because of his lack of emotion, many people made a game out of messing with him, with even Bill Denbrough cornering him after school and carving his name into his stomache to see if he'd scream about it.

Patrick just kind of accepted he probably wouldn't be able to love anyone or anything properly due to his trauma, but then he met Henry and everything changed.

Something about Henry just made Patrick feel weird, but in the best way. He grew even more in love with Henry the more they hung out, and even wrote him an anonymous poem at one point to express how he felt.

He grows up to be a typical business man, and througy his fight with Maturin he's able to confess his feelings to Henry after 27 years of waiting.

In the end, he manages to actually marry Henry and have a wonderfully healthy relationship with him, in spite of his emotional issues.

Ben Hanscom

Due to the overwhelming isolation of constantly moving towns, Ben Hanscom developed solipsism at a pretty early age.

He's onlt fifteen, but he's utterly convinced he's god and the only real person in the entire universe.

Their constant moving also enables Ben to think none of his actions will really ever have consequences, since everytime they move it's like he starts with a new clean slate.

He does basically anything everything he wants, wether it he creeping in Bev and Bill, killing animals in a fridge, or just being a general weirdo, Ben doesn't care who he hurts.

There have been times when people try to mess withe Ben, crack jokes about his weight or threaten to beat him up, but Ben's quiteness and lack of caring quickly makes people leave him alone.

He views every situation analytically, studying everything he can about the places he moves to to see what chaos he can bring.

He help Bill attack Patrick outside the library at one point, and meets his end in the sewers when the corpse of a headless boy chases him through the tunnels and Maturin finds him.

He goes missing after that, only reemerging 27 years later when his corpse visits Bill Denbrough to help him escape.

Belch Huggins

Belch was picked on for his weight all the time growing up, in fact, that's where the nick name Belch came from, Stanley uris picking on him for how much he ate.

He took the nickname though and wore it like a badge of honor just to stick it to them, and it was a fighting spirit like that that made Belch the one who decided to stay behind in Derry of his own volition.

He never had any friends before the losers club, but their willingness to stick up for him made Belch feel like he was part of something important and meaningful for once in his life.

When everyone went their seperate way, Belch was devastated, especially because he knew in his heart Maturin wasn't dead for good.

So, he made the sacrifice to stay and research as much as he could on Derry.

He was woefully out of his element against a cosmic horror, considering he was just a white trash hick nobody, but he was determined to be prepared for the inevitable return.

He makes the calls to reuinite everyone, and to say he missed them all would be the understatment of the century.

They needed each other, and Belch is just so damn happy to have them back, even if Vic wasn't there to see it.

Mike Hanlon

Mike never meant to do more than have a little fun, he didn't expect getting wrapped up with Bill's friends would lead to his own death or cutting a kids stomache open, but it did, and there was little Mike could to stop it.

Homeschooled and raised on the outside, Mike just wanted to mess around with the other kids for a bit of a laugh, since it wasn't like he was gonna see them anytime except for summer.

There was no way for him to know just how fucking crazy Bill was gonna get though, and by then it was already too late.

He tried to get through to him and offer Bill a bit of support, but Bill was too far gone by then.

He tried to leave the group after that but Bill caught him and killed him along with Stan before he could ever even make it back home.

Vic Criss

Growing up in Derry, Vic's gender identity and sexuality was often called into question. He wasn't really gay or trans, but his love for fashion, hair and confidence in his appearance painted a big target on his back for bullies.

Vic never wanted to be a girl like some people thought, but sometimes he wished he was so he could enjoy his more feminine interests with out people insultiing him all the time.

Treatment like that made Vic a very worrisome kid, to the point some even found him prissy or a downright scaredy cat, which really only lead to more teasing.

He was by far the most reasonable member of the losers club back in the day, always thinking of the future and wether or not they even stood a chance against that turtle.

He never quite believed in the same way his friends did, and that lack of faith was what pushed him over the edge as an adult.

He found a lot of success later in life, becoming a magazine editor for the number one fashion magazine in the whole world, and even finding a wonderful lady to make his wife, but the fears from his childhood still had a hold on him.

Even though he promised to come back just like everyone else, Vic's insecurities about himself diminished all hope he had in defeating the turtle.

So... he took himself off the board.

Stanley Uris

There's not much to say about Stanley Uris, by far the least remarkable member of the Denbrough gang, but just because he's boring doesn't make him any less of a jerk than the others.

Being one of the very few jews in town, Stanley realized at a young age it was either whip or be whipped in a place like Derry, and quite frankly, Stan was a little too cowardly to accept the former.

So he started picking on people, it didn't matter who, gay kids, fat kids, poor kids, even some of the other jewish kids if it made his bestie Bill happy.

All in all his life was fairly normal for your average shitty bully, but then Bill went nuts and Stanley began to have some regrets about encouraging him so much.

All his regrets ended up being pretty useless though, becaude Bill killed him and Mike shortly after killing his parents.

Pennywise

The natural predator of Maturin, Pennywise is an objective force for good who loves every child in their own special way. He is the creator of worlds and takes on the guise of a friendly circus clown to appeal to kids, he tries to offer the losers as much guidance as possible with out interfering too much, and typically communicates with Henry through the moon. He tells the losers that deep down Maturin is terrified of them, and that they must hold no fear when confronting him. He sadly dies when Maturin manages to snuff out his dead lights, but his kind words to Henry stick with him til the final battle where they defeat the turtle.

Maturin

Maturin is a being of pure evil that feasts off fear, it takes the form of a massive godzilla esque turtle that lives in the sewers, but can shape shift into anything else it wants to scare you. It's only interests is feeding itself and has reigned over Derry for years.

He has many attempts to kill the losers, even sending Bill Denbrough to do it for him, but none of them end up working in the end.

Through the power of friendship the losers club make him shrivel down until he's nothing but a pathetic wrinkly reptillian mess, thus ending his reign of terror and setting Derry free.

[theplotdemandsit]

how would you imagine five hargreeves’s personality if he had grown up alongside his siblings ? What would he had done? Be depressed unfulfilled university proffessor? Work for CIA?

You ask such good questions!

My answer might deviate a little, but in my perfect world, here’s what would happen if Five didn’t end up in the Apocalypse:

Five would still have walked out that day. He would have knifed that table, yelled at Reginald, and run out the door.

BUT.

He attempts time travel and it works. He’s so excited to go back and say, “I told you so,” but he isn’t even sure how far into the future he travelled. He doesn’t make any more jumps into the future. Instead his pride takes him right back to that academy where he pushes past those gates. It’s not spring anymore, but winter, so he must have gone forward a several months. Not exactly what he was aiming for, but not bad!

But.

As he enters the academy, no one is there. He hears the voices outside and sees everyone standing around a casket blanketed with snow. The only one missing from the group is—

Ben.

Five doesn’t talk to his siblings because the pride he felt washes away until there’s nothing but guilt. And determination. It wasn’t months he went forward, it was years. Nearly 5 of them. He tries to go back to 2002, but he can’t. He talks to Reginald about finding a way back, but dear old Dad tells him these are his consequences to bear. Because they both know Ben would have lived had Five been there.

But Pogo helps him. Together they work and work to find all the right answers, and eventually he does go back. Only he manages to get back 8 days before Ben’s death date.

In a perfect world, Five helps to save Ben. He never attempts time travel again. But knowing that it was these missions Reginald sent them on that killed Ben, Five can’t help but wonder whose life will be on the line next. His siblings are older than him now, but he’s the only one who stands up to Dad.

When he can’t convince them to rebel with him, he tries to take Reginald down himself. He goes through his journals and finds out about how Vanya actually has powers. He helps her slowly go off of the medications (not all at once because obviously that’s dangerous) and secretly helps her train her power.

Eventually all the other siblings find out and are mortified by what Dad did to Vanya (and had Allison do to them). At family dinner one night the kids all give Reginald slips of paper that show they’re enrolling in a public school. Pogo supports them.

Reginald continues to have training sessions with them, but he lets them go to public school. They make friends and slowly overcome the abuse they’ve been raised with. Rather than being emotionally stunted, they find themselves and learn to love themselves.

To get out of the academy entirely, the kids (except Five who is technically around 14) petition for emancipation. They all live close together and some share apartments like Five and Vanya (who becomes his legal guardian).

Five isn’t depressed. He isn’t unfulfilled. He looks out for his siblings with a certain level of wariness, but he doesn’t push them away. Like the others, he doesn’t really use his power much, but, like the others, he still helps the police and FBI every now and again if they need something requiring his special skill set. Outside of that, he works as an experimental physicist due to his love and high understanding of math and physics. Whenever his siblings are looking for him, they’ll usually find him in front of a whiteboard writing out equations.

Some things never change.