#implied physical trauma

[sentanixiv]

The One To Call (wc: 2,068) Spent my lunch break today scratching out this modern AU test-write based on a exes-to-lovers prompt:

They are still each other's emergency contact. Which becomes apparent when one of them ends up in the hospital.

Morston, modern AU; reference to injuries sustained, but no details or visuals. John reacting to being the one called when Arthur turns up at the hospital, beat to shit and no one knows how. Plenty of vague/inaccurate medical terms because I am bone-tired and braindead.

Streetlights stretch and streak overhead, a blurred mirror to the dotted lines demarking the lanes on the freeway. Recently refreshed, the paint burns bright under the headlamp, waits for the grease and dirt of the daily grind to dull it into the same muted hues of the cityscape's south end. Rush hour's petered out, though plenty of vehicles still cut between lanes, seeking to make the small gains that'll save them thirty seconds on their commute home. Their pace is sedate in comparison to the streak of copper-and-chrome that routes through without care nor caution.

Wind whips at the hem of his jeans, tangling with threads worn loose from the denim weave. Arms half-bared make targets for bug bodies to strike, stinging as they collide and crash away from the lone motorcycle rider. Ducked low, making the best of his bike's swift profile, John shifts the gear and lets go the clutch. Uneven, the frame jerks beneath him before the tires grab at asphalt and rip him forward faster.

 The steady, streaking lights count out a tempo that matches the beating of his heart, but it can't hope to catch the racing of his thoughts. He drives on instinct and reflex, tearing through the narrow spaces between cars, earning hollers and honks that curse his lineage back to the beginning, but he ignores them. Lets muscle memory guide as he counts the miles and urges the speedometer to edge just a little bit further beyond its max.

 Internally, there's a litany of thoughts that demand he go faster, be there sooner, and a dizzying spiral of questions to why him, what's happening, and who's responsible. Two he can't answer, but the first has the audacity to make sense.  'Why him' is because he's named on the file - the only name - and it's best he comes to talk with the doctor per the voice what'd called him.

 Green highway signs with white lettering catches his attention and he gears down, crosses three lanes and leans to balance the curve as he takes the ramp at an ungodly speed. The red light at the intersection exists as an afterthought, traffic slower here, with fewer cars to obstruct him and he takes full advantage to push the limits.

 Too long still passes before the backlight sign emblazoned with The Blackwater-McCourt Memorial Hospital zips overhead. There's an anthem of sirens accompanied by flashing lights that surrounds the area, but there's no blue to slow him and so he don't. Rides straight up onto the concrete walk and kicks down the stand, kills the engine and grabs the keys before he's through the front doors. Ignores the unhelpful call of a bystander telling him he can't park there, focus intent on the front desk.  A sleepy-eyed volunteer sits there, turning the yellowed pages of a bodice-ripper romance. She blinks and looks up when he stops there and demands the room number.

 "I'm sorry, I couldn't quite hear you," she says, apologetic as she dog-ears the page and leans forward with a helpful smile.  "The, ah. The helmet doesn't help."

 Right.  He loosens the latched belting and pulls it off, dragging a gloved hand back through his sweat-streaked hair.  "I said: Got me a call about an 'Arthur Morgan' being here?" he repeats, breathing slow and steady against the rising anxiety that hospitals bring about.  "Whereabouts should I-"

 The name stills her, the rosy hue of her complex fades brief before she shakes it off and smiles wanly.  "I'll call the doctor," she says, hand automatically lifting the phone from its cradle. An older model, push-tone and connected to a landline, she manipulates it smoothly, whispers into the mouthpiece and nods at what she hears.

 John sets his helmet down on the counter, fingers tapping erratic beats against it. His leg twitches, foot bouncing as he holds down the need to move, to do something, to get answers without asking half so nicely.

 "Doctor Roberts is on the way," the young woman tells him, an interruption to his reverie and John swears.

 "You gotta be kiddin' me," he mutters.

 The lady - Mary-Beth, by the volunteer's tag she wears - looks up at him with wide, serious eyes. "She won't be more than a moment."

 "No, I bet she won't," he grumbles, dragging his helmet off the counter. John paces, walks the five steps across the hall and back again at least a dozen times before an exasperated noise jars him out of the motion.

 "You meanin' to wear a hole in my floor?"

 Doctor Abigail Roberts walks up and near past him, grabbing his elbow to pull him along as she nods to Mary-Beth.  "I got this from here," she says sharply and there's no fight against it. Mary-Beth sinks back into her chair, novel absent from her attentions as she digs out a phone. Whatever's gone on, it's about to hit the shitfan of social media and that makes him groan.

 "Ain't you gonna stop her?" he asks Abigail, wrenching his arm free. John keeps pace with her, lets her maintain the half step lead needed to guide them both.

 Abigail shakes her head and points down the hall that'll route them past trauma care. Her hair's pulled back, messy wisps plastered along her temple; sign that she's been in the OR, not long done. They were together for a while, once upon a darker time; one of them whirlwind romances what happened when she was the trauma care doctor and he was the trauma-suffering fool that'd needed care.  John knew her well, knew she liked to look at least a bit composed before starting her rounds, so knew this hectic break from habit meant something real and something that weren't apt to be good.

 "You know as good as I that there ain't no point," she reminds him. True, there ain't. Mary-Beth is no doubt connected to the same network that most of them are and won't be long for her to rouse the rest of the gang now that John's been dragged into it.  "Let it happen, John. It'll make things easier."

 "Nothing's gonna be easy here, Abigail," he tells her flat out. "You know I ain't been 'round Arthur for three years now, so why's I the one that got the call?"

 Crisp steps on smooth linoleum and Abigail does not look at him, only holds her head high and keeps her eyes forward. There's a clarity to them, the sort of shine that comes on when she's feeling something fierce and that makes his gut clench because the thing they're talking about, the man Arthur Morgan?  Well, he's means something to a lot of people, and it sets a poor stage to have that mist about her eyes before they get into the meat of it.

 "Arthur ain't never updated his emergency contacts," she says quickly, checks the chart she's been carrying.  Taller than her, John can make out details on the patient's file and sees his name listed there, like she's just said. "There weren't no one else I could call."

 "That ain't telling me why I'm here."  Why he got a call; don't matter to him if Arthur took his name off his file or not. They'd had a good run and ruined it, but it ain't so easy to change all the records, all the details to strike the other from their lives. Hell, he'd found out week before last that Arthur's name still sat on the lease when he went to renew it, had to explain to the landlord that weren't no one but John there no more. Had to endure the lamenting that Arthur'd been the best thing to happen to him and John never disagreed, but that ain't changed that Arthur'd done the best thing for himself by ending it.

 "Well, John," Abigail begins, taking a breath, "that's 'cause it ain't good."

 John reaches out, grips her arm to stall them both and turn her towards him. "What's that mean?" he asks, eyes seeking to pry something from her gaze that'd answer that. "I been told that already, but it don't mean shit without more. You know that."

 "It means that it ain't good," she replies, unflinching under the stop, under the inspection.  "I done what I could and he's stable now, but..."

The words don't trail off so much as his grip tightens. All these words, this dance around it, tells him more than he wants to know already.  "What happened?"

 Abigail pulls herself free and gestures him ahead, pointing to the left hall. "We ain't sure and I don't got details, but Sadie came by not long after he showed up, says he went missing a week ago, maybe more."  She shrugs, leaves out the why of Sadie being there, but the woman ain't family, so must've been present for function. That meant the police were getting involved, sending her out to get a bead on it.

They slow up outside a door closed, lights dimmed in the hall and the profile of a police guard half hidden in the shadows. John didn't recognize him, didn't much care to because Abigail stopped with her back to the door, keeping him from crossing the threshold. Beyond it comes the muffled melody of medical equipment, monitoring the someone there what'd been hurt. "All I know's that he walked up to ER looking a right mess," she explains, fingers pale in their grip on the chart. "Blood and bruising and, well.  You know Arthur. Anyone else'd not be able to walk, but he managed it.  Said something about gettin' away, keepin' folk safe before we lost him."

 John feels the jerk in his chest, his heart threatening to up and stop on him. "Lost?"

 Abigail shows a flicker of annoyance, smacks one hand against his chest. "Not like that, y'fool!" she hisses. "Charles got him breathing again, Tilly and Karen got him stable, Sean processed him while Lenny paged me."  It's a report, a buffer to give him a chance to breathe again before she provides more details.  "I spent seven hours working on him," she adds, shaking her head.  "Ain't much that weren't busted or broke; looks to me like he got worked over real good. Shoulder torn up, ribs broke, couple fingers were twisted up bad.  I ain't sure all what's wrong. Seven hours to step the bleeding, pull the mess of debris from his shoulder, and cut out the infection, John.  Could be worse, but I won't know more 'til diagnostics gets me the details. And I ain't sure it'll be smart to put him on the table again too soon."

 The flicker of panicked fear calms at the assurance the man's alive, but the small spark of it feeds the fires of his temper at whomever attacked Arthur. Once he knows the extent of it, John will find them - ain't no point denying it, not when the heat of his anger near as burns in him.  John'll find them and revisit it on them, but first-

 "I talked to him some in Recovery, but weren't long," Abigail says, stepping away from the door, up closer to John where she can drop her voice and give an air of privacy. "Arthur said somethin' about Colm O'Driscoll."

 Everything hones in on the name, the target of what'd been a man and was now, in John's eyes, a dead man walking. He jerks back, makes to leave, but Abigail stops him with a hold on his arm.

 "Not yet."  Her voice is insistent, a steady pressure to keep him from leaping off into the dark void wherein the violence beckoned to him.  "I ain't had you called to mess with no stupid vengeance," she tells him, nails pressing against his skin where it's pockmarked with the remains of bugs that crossed his motorcycle's path.

 "Then why's I even here?" he demands. "Arthur and I ain't nothing, no matter what no file says. You know that well as I do."

 Abigail hesitates, the sharp edges of her softening, her expression one she'd used when trying to calm him. "He asked for you," she says quietly.  "Fevered and dying and barely nothing, but as he was coming out in Recovery, weren't no name but yours on his lips. Weren't awake long, weren't real coherent, but you're the one he wanted here."

[perdamian]

hey guys… we all know that it’s okay for mithrun to have a caretaker for the rest of his life, right? that even after he heals and potentially regains his desires he will probably still need support?? that the goal of healing is not to become a “normal person”, but to build skills to navigate the world in a way that accommodates your disability??? that relying on the people around you is not a failure, but proof of your desire to live????

[echoingalaxies]

Content: self-punishment/injury, conditioned whumpee, trauma

Whumpee got up before dawn to prepare breakfast. For so long now, it had been their routine, something they'd gotten used to doing no matter their condition, no matter the amount of pain or exhaustion weighing them down. Coffee with two sugars, and three fried eggs, would have to be ready to be served precisely at 6, and Whumpee would carry them to Whumper's room where he would still be sleeping, wake him up, and stand there, head bowed, wait until he finished his meal and then take the dirty dishes to the sink.

The few times Whumpee had missed the 6 am mark, even by a couple of minutes, hadn't ended well. Whumpee ran their fingers over the scars they'd received for those mistakes, wide and raised under their shirt, as they waited for the food to cook. They kept glancing at the clock, anxiously, shivering at the thought of being late, but they also couldn't hurry too much because the punishment for undercooked eggs would be just as cruel.

At 5:58, Whumpee had everything set up, and taking the plate and the large mug of coffee in their hands, they started to head toward the stairs, moving slowly for their aching body. Whumpee had become really good at counting in their head, so they knew they were right on time, as they balanced the mug on the plate for a second to knock on Whumper's door.

They pushed the door open, flicked on the lights - so much brighter than Whumpee remembered... He hadn't changed the lightbulb, so had Whumper had to do it himself? How come hadn't he told Whumpee to do it? - and went next to his bed.

"Your breakfast, sir," they said, trying to sound chipper but gentle, humble and happy to be there. "Good morning, sir," they added quickly after, almost having forgotten the proper way of greeting. What has wrong with them today?

Whumper, usually waking up to their voice and demanding to have the food immediately, just pulled the duvet to his chin, face deep buried into pillows. He grunted something inaudible, and Whumpee was left standing there, unsure what to do.

"S-sir? It's morning, sir, time to rise. Are you feeling ill?"

"Shut up," Whumper growled, and his voice was odd, but Whumpee pressed their lips together tightly, afraid to make a sound. "What the fuck are you doing, it's so damn early..."

The plate and the mug were shaking in Whumpee's hands as they began to breathe heavily, panicking. They'd been on time, but they'd made a mistake. They'd made some kind of mistake. Whumper was upset, and oh, when he'd wake up, hell was awaiting for them...

"Please," Whumpee whispered. "I- I'm so sorry. So sorry, sir..."

After a few mess-ups, Whumper had introduced Whumpee to an alternative option when it came to punishments of slipping off schedule or not completing their tasks just as Whumper had told them to. Quicker, easier, and for Whumper, even more fun than getting to carve marks on Whumpee's skin.

He'd love to watch Whumpee be humiliated.

"I don't want to waste my time on you when I have better things to do," Whumper had once said. "Make it simpler for the both of us. You know when you mess up. Why not get the consequenses out of the way? Use whatever's available, as long as you clean up the blood."

Whumper was still under the covers, perhaps falling back to sleep. Whumpee was still confused by the situation, but it seemed like he should've somehow known to not bother him this morning, oh no, they'd done gravely wrong, and there was only two ways out...

And they'd made their choice which route to take.

Whumpee set the plate on the nightstand, and closed their eyes, when with trembling hands, they took the mug of still steaming coffee above their head and spilled it all over themselves. Even as cried out in agony, they kept reminding themselves whatever Whumper would have done to them would've been worse, and with any luck, this would be enough.

Whumper was once again woken up by Whumpee's cries, and bolted up from the bed like he'd been electrocuted. Whumpee felt a sting in their heart. Of course they'd want to watch. Why would they miss the show? Maybe they'd be unsatisfied with their pain and make Whumpee throw themselves down the stairs for good measure.

Whumper cursed loudly and grabbed Whumpee's arm, pulling them out of the room and to the nearest bathroom. He shoved Whumpee under the shower and turned it on, turning the temperature cold. He squeezed Whumpee's arms, shaking them lightly.

"Oh god, Whumpee, why would you do that? What were you thinking?"

Whumpee coughed, the water getting into their mouth. They shivered, from cold and from fear.

Another mistake.

Nothing made sense.

Why was whumper helping him? What was all of this?

Whumpee tried to pry themselves away from Whumper's grip and out of the shower, but Whumper held them still.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry -"

"Wait," he said, sounding concerned rather than angry now. "Oh shit, Whumpee, no, stop that. Look at me. I'm not him."

Whumpee did as they were told and raised their gaze to meet the eyes they expected to be gray and cruel, and was shocked to see hazel, and nothing but kindness.

"I'm not him," he repeated, and Whumpee blinked a few times, letting their eyes take in the rest of the person's face. "Everything is okay. You're home, remember? Safe."

The person had dark circles under their eyes. They had a friendly face, although right now, they wore a worried expression. Whumpee wiped water from their face to see better... their eyes must've been lying to them...

"I..." Whumpee begun, stammering. "S-sorry... I should've let you sleep... I didn't know... I'm sorry..."

"Whumpee, shh." The person reached to turn off the shower and then let go of them to grab a large, thick towel they spread on Whumpee's shoulders. "Don't, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't realise it was you. You shouldn't even be walking! I thought it was Teammate just annoying me, I was barely awake, I didn't mean to be harsh towards you."

Whumpee pulled the towel around them, turning their head to look around. They knew this bathroom. They'd been patched up here many times before, years earlier. It was Caretaker's.

They looked at the person in front of them. They knew them. It was coming to them slowly, but they knew them better than anyone.

"Caretaker?"

They smiled. "Yeah. It's me. It's okay. You've been home for a few days now, remember?"

"I... guess."

Caretaker helped Whumpee out of their wet clothes and let them shower privately, washing the coffee off their hair and ease the pain in the burns on their scalp, their face, their shoulders.

When whumpee was ready, they opened the door to let Caretaker in once again. Caretaker sat them down on a little stool and started to treat their injuries, talking in a calming matter throughout the process. Whumpee was still feeling lost, his brain struggling to understand what was real and what was not.

"I'm still so sorry, Whumpee," Caretaker said, spreading something soothing over his burns. "I never should've allowed things to go so far that you'd do this to yourself."

"I didn't want you to hurt me," Whumpee said quietly. Caretaker stilled for a second, then continued rubbing the lotion on Whumpee's skin. Whumpee bit their cheeks. Caretaker, and everybody else, didn't know much about what he'd been through with Whumper. They hadn't had many opportunities to talk that much yet.

"I would never do that." Caretaker leaned in and pressed an unexpected kiss on Whumpee's forehead. Whumpee blushed, though they were grateful it probably was hidden by their already reddened face. No one had done that for... Whumpee didn't even know how long. "No one will ever hurt you here. And you never have to hurt yourself, okay?"

Whumpee wished they could keep that promise. But who was to say what happened this morning wouldn't happen again?

"Yeah," they said. Caretaker's touch was gentle and comforting, and Whumpee remembered them as a trustworthy person.

Only it all wasn't up to Caretaker.

And it wasn't up to Whumpee. They didn't decide to forget they were not living in that nightmare anymore.

But if things were to be like this, would they ever truly get out?

[paingoes]

Rubies - Orientation

(Content: living weapon whumpee, recovery, past trauma, past abuse, implied child abuse, implied physical abuse, crying, comfort)

“I want to stay here.”

“You could retire. Haven’t you done enough?”

Delta flinched at that last part. A quick glance up told him Apollo hadn’t meant it that way, but it had still stung in the moment. Not that he could object to it, in either context.

“But you wouldn’t be there,” Delta said softly. “Apollo, I don’t know anyone else. Where am I supposed to go?”

“You’d meet new people. It’s not an island.”

“I want to stay with you.” He placed one hand delicately over Apollo’s wrist and could tell he’d surprised him with the contact. For a second, he thought he’d done something terrible. He’d gotten comfortable enough holding onto Kitty, reaching out for her, but that was her. He shouldn’t have - he flinched -

Apollo sighed gently, rubbing the pad of his thumb in circles on the back of his hand. He had to know what it meant for him, the enormity of what he was suggesting. For Delta to leave. To be alone again.

“It’s your choice,” Apollo relented. “Nobody’s going to force you. Levon’s hoping you’ll stay too. I can tell.”

Delta felt warmer just as soon as he said it.

~

“Yessssssssssss,” Kitty hissed excitedly, practically skipping through the doorway of her room. Theirroom, as she was so eager to point out. “Roomiesssssss!!!!!”

“Just don’t ask her what happened to the last one,” Levon said, holding Delta’s only bag on his hip. It was a light bag. He didn’t need to bring it for him. But they both still insisted that Delta was fragile, that he didn’t need to carry anything.

“She was in love with me.” Kitty said. “It became too much for her.”

“Not how I remember it,” Levon said, placing the bag down on the ground. Delta thanked him quietly, bowing his head, still unsure what to do with himself when the two of them were talking. He tried to go unnoticed.

“You want top bunk?” Kitty asked, foiling his efforts. Her olive green eyes glowed excitedly at the prospect. 

Top bunk. The only memories it called up were of yellowed pages in a brightly lit facility. Children’s books with lives so foreign it might as well have been a different universe. Something soft and playful and totally unavailable to any of them. Summer camp.

“It’s your choice,” Delta murmured, unwilling to commit to any preference, much too scared to overstep. “It’s your room.”

“Our room!” She insisted. Her tail swiped the counter excitedly, knocking most of her things onto the ground.

~

“You can’t tell anyone,” she would say later, down in the caverns, and not to him.

Iza’s crew stared blankly back at her, making Kitty wish that she was here to do it herself.

“I mean it,” she said. “It’s top, top secret. No one can know. And it’s only the three of you, so we’ll know if it gets out.”

Willow was pale and fearful, eyes wide like a doll that had just come to life. “He’s really staying, then?”

“He’s my roommate,” Kitty answered, smiling slyly.

“What’s he going to tell people?” Cass asked. “I mean, he has an accent. Are you going to invent a whole new backstory for him? What’s the plan?”

“Just don’t talk about the psychic thing. If anyone asks, you never met him. OK?” She asked, wondering if she needed to throw in a threat for efficacy.

“Yeah. OK. Whatever.” Cass agreed. “Still think it’s weird that you’re just, like, keeping him around as a pet? Shouldn’t he be in rehab or something?”

“Kitty just wants someone to clean her NEET cave,” Rene said.

Her eyes flickered up. She pushed herself up off the stack of boxes and stalked slowly and deliberately towards him. He tensed — and she only stopped when her face hovered a few inches from his own.

“Take it back,” she said.

“Fucking hell, Kat, I was joking,” he responded, seeming to shrink away, too proud to formally retreat.

“Take it back,” she repeated slower.

“Okay, fine. I take it back. Damn.”

She smiled again, sliding back to her place atop the boxes.

“Not gonna tell, right?” she asked, both ears pressed back in challenge.

~

Delta did end up cleaning, though. He wanted to be useful. He’d gotten in the habit. And the room did need it, truthfully. He hated to touch her stuff without permission. Almost every surface of the room was covered in her trinkets — figurines, dead animals in amber, microcontrollers. He moved them carefully just to clean off the shelves they rested on top of, then immediately replaced them.

He didn’t know if he meant to punish himself doing it, but she had fussed over him when she found him. Secretly, he thought she must have been relieved. It’d been a mess before — and after months without use, it’d only gotten worse. He turned the air filter on for her, obliging her when she told him to shower, to rest.

The top bunk was his, but more often than not he spent the day down on her level. He leaned back against the plaster wall, legs folding underneath him on the soft mattress in a way that still felt deeply unnatural, especially with her next to him. She propped her tablet up on the bed to show him all she was working on. She had been working all throughout the months she was told to do the opposite — and she thought it was important that he know. She’d poached him for IT. He was fine with that. He was so scared he might be useless to them without his powers, scared that without them all he’d be good for was cleaning, drudge jobs, set dressing. He could’ve been a servant if he was trained. But he could’ve been anything if he was trained.

As they came to find out, he knew the basics of most things. He knew a bit of everything, especially about what he was forbidden to know. They blew through the basic courses, but he still wanted firm footing before he had to start. Before he met anyone else.

“You can still rest,” she said, seeing the yawn he failed to suppress, “If we’re going too fast. You don’t have to start right away.”

“I don’t want to freeload,” he said, a bit self-consciously.

“You’ve done enough,” she said, “Galatea would pay your rent for the rest of your life if you asked for it.”

“I wouldn’t ask for that.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t ask for anything, would you?” She teased. He blushed at that. He wouldn’t.

~

It got harder at night. He didn’t know why. He’d spent enough time in that endless, starry void to have adjusted to it. He thought of the port windows just to help him fall asleep.

But it was at night that the fear crept into him — and some deep dread, its mouth yawning, the size of the planet. He paced the halls fitfully at night, still amazed that he was allowed to walk them, amazed they would let him go unsupervised. Theirs was a cavernous base — and he knew the locks for the outer doors. He could walk out whenever he wanted. There was nowhere for him to go, but that nowhere was free to him. 

He opened the door to stare out into the blackness, the point where the gas lights could not reach, the darkness that started right where the trees began. He did not know what he was looking for. A dread. An emptiness.

He clambered up the ladder to the top bunk. He had the same bedding each room started with, then another weighted blanket, a gift. He crawled beneath it, grateful for the warmth, almost able to melt into it. Kitty was still out. He turned all the lights off and he left the window open. When he slept, he pretended he was in a cavern, deep beneath the ocean.

~

His face was wet when he woke up and the room was still dark. He tried to blink himself awake, but his thoughts remained foggy and unalert, his vision slightly blurred. Green eyes hovered close to him, right beyond the wooden cage of the bed.

“Delta?” she said softly. It was so painful. He had never heard anyone handle his name so carefully. He did not move, peeking up at her dark form through the nest of blankets.

“…You were crying,” she whispered.

He winced in shame, almost burying himself further into the sheets. He couldn’t. Weakly, he extended one wrist to her in offering. He just hoped she would get it over with. That he wouldn’t be in so much pain he couldn’t sleep after.

She took his hand gingerly, interlacing her fingers in between his.

“Can I…” She trailed off. He nodded dimly, not caring what it was. She could do whatever she wanted and he never would have stopped her.

She crawled over him, sliding herself in between him and the wall, then beneath the blanket. His eyes widened slightly as she slipped one arm over him, pulling him in closer to her. It didn’t hurt. She hadn’t hurt him for crying. Right. She never did.

“Okay?” she asked softly.

“Mmhm.” He nodded, his mouth still not forming words.

She pressed her forehead in between his shoulder blades, purring a soft rumble that still filled the entire room.

He wiped at his eyes again as the crying started back up. He tried to be quiet, but she didn’t seem to mind.

~

“Do you ever want to talk about it?” she asked over breakfast. 

“…I did talk about it,” he said. “There was a trial. I don’t know if you remember.”

She shrugged, popping the last of the strawberry stem into her mouth.

“Silas is a prick,” she said. “That’s not what I meant.”

He didn’t respond to that, idly twirling the flower petals in between his fingers, still not touching his food.

“Did they hurt you for crying?” she asked when he did not offer it up.

“I never cried much in the first place.”

He was always so quick to defend them still. He knew better than to do it in court, but in private, it was always his first reaction.

“Because you weren’t allowed?” She looked up just to catch him shrugging again. 

After a while, he explained: “I don’t mind that they did. I thought it was childish. I never…had a problem with it until now.”

He wiped his eyes in an absent reflex, though they were dry now. Across the table, Kitty seemed skeptical.

“Is that what they told you? That it was childish?”

“Yeah. It is.”

Trying not to offend her, though he hadn’t seen her cry yet, he added: “It is if it’s me.”

“How old were you when they said that?” She asked plainly.

He didn’t answer. Internally, he was a bit annoyed by the gotcha in her voice. He guessed it showed in his expression, because she stopped pressing at it. Though she showed no offense, he felt guilty in the intervening silence.

“I don’t know how to talk about it,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. No one’s ever asked. I don’t have any practice.”

“You haven’t eaten,” she noticed. 

Reluctantly, a bit chastened, he began to peel at the fruit’s flesh. The pulp tinted his nails red.

“I’m trying,” he said. 

“I know,” she said back. “I’m patient, you know. I waited months to find you.”

He thought back to them. The months spent on the server, his only window to a kinder world. He thought of her on the other side of it. The image of her before had always been dreamlike and immaterial. He had never imagined her in the flesh. He’d have never thought to one day be sitting across the breakfast table from her, with bright fruit against the china and an endless wilderness at her back.

“God fucking damn it,” he said as he felt his eyes begin to water again. She only laughed at his reaction. It wasn’t unkind.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter

[sk1fanfiction]

on dursley revisionism

Random people with wrong opinions: "Harry wasn't abused by the Dursleys" (bonus points for 'just neglected', which is a type of child abuse btw or 'that's all fanon')

Things that the Dursleys canonically did that are abuse just off the top of my head:

Swung a frying pan at his head (at the age of 12)

Grabbed him by the neck and basically tried to strangle him (even light pressure to the neck can cause internal damage)

Starved him

Verbally abused him

Locked him alone in a small cramped space as punishment (which can cause permanent psychological damage btw, and that's in adults. It is literally a type of torture.)

Made him sleep in that same small cramped unhealthy space when they had an extra bedroom

Encouraged their son to bully him and beat him up

Left him to be possibly attacked by a vicious dog

Bonus: Hid the evidence of his existence to outsiders and didn't speak about him to others (a typical thing for abusers to do)

And more. That boy is unrealistically well-adjusted.

I know the shitty guardian trope is so common in British children's lit (think Roald Dahl) that it became normalized, but it's not. It's abuse. I am worried for the children in your lives tbh.

[palossssssand]

Reconciliation

Old dome squadmates Trito and Kinoga get together at Trito’s place to catch up after years apart and a meeting by chance on the surface.

⚠️Warning for suggestive content below + implied chest trauma

After several weeks of chipping away at this, the comic is finally done! Very happy to have rendered a full 7 pages of oc stuff. Please give it a read!!

read the full 7 page comic on twitter! <-please do not click if you are a minor and view at your own discretion, this link contains explicit 18+ content. Thank you!

For the lore, includes stuff from splatoon Octo Expansion: Trito and Kinoga were a part of an octarian military squad living in the domes, Kinoga being their squad leader that many looked up to and admired. There were 6 of them who considered each other to be their closest friends. Upon hearing about the tests from Kamabo Co. and the allure of the Promised Land, Kinoga wished to seek it out in order to find a better life for their squadmates. A difficult decision, since it meant leaving them all behind, promising to come back and take them there.

Kinoga enters the metro trials and soon realizes that the Promised Land isn’t what they expected, their hope crumbling when they encounter one of their sanitized squadmates Agara, who followed suit to the metros soon after. Kinoga narrowly escapes, eventually making a break for the surface, carrying the shame of unwilling to return for their squadmates with them (it’s justified, of course, there might not be an easy way in, they might get caught again, Agara is gone)

Trito enters the Metro not too long after Kinoga does, wanting to catch up to them, and an accident that occurs in a test early on results in Trito’s near sanitization, giving him his scar. Terrified, and realizing what happens to his fellow octolings, Trito is unable to return to his squadmates, not wanting to break the news of their loved ones’ untimely fates. He hides away on the Metro until the events of OE happen and Agent 8 dismantles Kamabo, opening an opportunity to escape to the surface. Unwilling to face the possibilities of going back, Trito takes his chance to leave, starting a new life and feeling that it’s for the best if he doesn’t acknowledge it, though he missed his friends dearly.

Years later, Trito and Kinoga run into each other on the streets of Splatsville by chance, and the implications of them both being on the surface and alive hit them, having to carry the burden of leaving their loved ones behind and finding out the truth, knowing the other felt exactly the same, not knowing the fate of their squadmates and not wanting to think about the possibility of them being gone. They have a tearful reunion about it, and set up a meet later, to sit down and really talk, and get into a brief argument when the topic of returning to the domes comes up. Trito’s in disbelief that Kinoga never went back down to check on the rest of their squad, wanting them to have been a better person than him, who was too cowardly to do so. Eventually they do reconcile, and end up at Trito’s place to hook up, where the above comic takes place :]

[afewproblems]

Part Four: Final Part Four Mean!Eddie Misunderstandings Au

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Read in full on Ao3

Thank you to everyone that cheered me on @samcoxramblings for your kind words on every post! @flowercrowngods and @barbariansteves for your helpful advice and @zerokrox-blog for your original prompt waaaaay back in February, I'm sorry this took so long but I hope you finally get the comfort you wished for!

***

The kids demand two weeks to prepare for their Hellfire session, insisting that they need this time to debrief Eddie and come up with their game plan, which is fine by Steve.

It also gives him two weeks to decompress from his last interaction with the kid's Dungeon Master, and time to try and untangle exactly how he feels about the whole situation. 

It was nice for things to start moving back towards something resembling normal. The kids seemed happier, even going so far as to begin splitting their time between Eddie and Steve once again. Asking for rides to the hobby shop in Indi from their resident metal-head rather than Steve. It was nice to finally have a little bit more time to himself again.

Even Robin, who had previously been steadfast in her Anti-Eddie stance, had suddenly grown rather tight-lipped about the whole thing.

She had even offered to accompany Steve on his errands for the day they scheduled their Hellfire meeting, citing that she was always up for a grocery run and he may need help bringing everything in.

Which, in hindsight, should have been Steve’s first clue that something strange was going on. 

“So, you ready?” Robin hums as they walk up and down the canned food aisle of Marsh Market, “you can still back out you know?”

Steve smiles and grabs a box of onion soup mix, he’s fairly certain he has some sour cream at home to make a dip of some sort, much easier than the last snack he tried to prepare for the group. 

“Yeah, Robs, I know, I think it should be fine,” he crosses off the soup mix on his list and turns the cart around the empty aisle to head towards the produce section, “the kids are already setting up now so the only thing I need to do is be there,” he shrugs and stops in front of the humming displays. 

Steve waits until the misting stops before reaching for a bag of mini carrots and tossing them into the cart. 

“Can’t believe you trust Henderson to have a key, I can’t believe you hold us at the same level of trust!” Robin grumbles under her breath as she picks up a granny smith from one of the bins and rubs it on the rolled up sleeves of her navy blazer; it’s just slightly too big for her, most likely stolen from her dad’s closet. 

Steve rolls his eyes and continues pushing the cart around the produce area, "careful Birdy, you roll those up anymore you're actually going to turn into Don Johnson". 

"I should be so lucky," she snarks back as she catches up to him by the celery.

She tosses the apple back and forth between her hands, nearly dropping it twice before placing the produce into the cart under Steve’s unimpressed gaze. 

She starts snapping her fingers and shuffling her feet as they continue walking up and down the aisles, going through their list bit by bit. Steve finds himself watching his friend’s nervous fidgeting with curious eyes, it was just a grocery trip, there shouldn’t be anything to really make her act like this, right?

He takes a quick glance around at some of the employees stocking the aisles, in case Vickie or some other pretty classmate of Robin’s is wandering around. 

But, they’re alone.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Robin asks, as Steve folds up the list and turns the cart towards the check out tills.  

She tips the small watch she’s wearing up to her face, her eyes flit back and forth between Steve and the watch as she chews on her bottom lip, which is more than a little odd.

The kids are already at the house and Eddie and the rest of the Hellfire gang won’t be arriving for at least another hour, they have plenty of time?

Robin steps away from the cart and throws her thumb over her shoulder at the chip aisle, “you do realize that you’re going to have like ten teenagers at your house right? You think veggies and dip is enough?”

“I’m ordering pizza later, I think this is fine?” Steve says slowly, gesturing at the cart, confusion and suspicion saturate his words as his eyes narrow at his friend. 

“Robin,” Steve murmurs, walking the cart closer towards her, “what's going on?”

“Nothing, why would you --nothing!” She stutters as her freckled face pales slightly. 

Steve smirks, Robin is probably the worst liar he’s ever met, and it's always endearing whenever she tries. 

The last time she had lied to Steve, it had been about the mascara wand she had dropped onto the passenger seat, staining the leather just slightly, and smearing the black makeup all over the floor covers. 

Robin had panicked and insisted that had been there before she had sat down.

Steve had been sitting in the car with her at the time.

He knew a Robin lie when he saw it, but he also knew it wouldn’t take long for her to crack. 

“Okay!”

There it is.

“Listen,” Robin hisses sharply, she steps closer until she’s nearly whispering in his ear in the empty chip aisle, “I’m stalling you okay?”

“Probably not something you should be telling the person you’re stalling but okay?” Steve snorts as he leans onto the cart handle, “also, this was the worst place to go to stall us, it's two in the afternoon on a Wednesday, no one else is here”.

“I know!” Robin groans, letting her face fall into her open hands, she slowly lifts her face once more and lets her fingers drag across her forehead and cheeks, pulling at the skin, “I should have said no, I wanted to say no, but they used Will--”

Steve nods, “and you can’t say no to Will, yeah I gotcha”.

The words register after a beat.

“Wait, backup, the kids put you up to this? The unsupervised shitheads in my house right now?”

Robin nods, her blue eyes wide and the barest of smirks still covered by her hands.

“Oh christ,” Steve mutters under his breath, “do I even want to know?”

Robin drops her hands away from her face and scowls for a second before sighing, “I would absolutely love to tell you,” she shakes her head and looks up at the ceiling, “better yet, I’d love to just take you to Indi for the day, forget about this completely, but those God Damn kids know exactly what to say,” she looks at him once more in barely concealed exasperation, “how do they always know what to say?”

“How angry do I need to be, on a scale of like one to ten?” 

Robin stares at him consideringly, her eyes scanning his face, “I mean, if I were you, it would be at like, a hundred,” she says eventually, “but since it’s you?”

“Maybe a four”.

Steve nods and drums his hands on the cart handles, blowing out a long slow breath as he makes his decision, “how much more time do they need?”

Robin looks at her watch again and smiles this time, “Well this bought them another five-ish minutes, so maybe another half hour?”

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a crumpled five dollar bill, “come on, I’ll getcha a coffee or something?”

“Wait, do I even need these snacks? Robin?”

Robin was wrong, this at least warranted a five for the groceries alone. 

***

The drive back is uneventful, Steve did end up going though check out, rationalizing that, no matter what, he needed some veggies for the rest of the week so there were worse things he could have spent the money on. 

Robin had bought him a coffee from the gas station down the road. There wasn't enough creamer in the world to make that palatable so he leaves it in the cup holder while driving back. Even with a hot chocolate Robin hasn't fared much better. 

"Okay, well that's the worst five dollars ever spent," she groans after taking a sip. Robin wrinkles her nose and sets the cup in the other empty holder beside Steve’s before sneaking a quick look at her watch once more, “worth it though,” she says with a small smile.

It slides off her face after a moment when she realizes that they’ve turned down her street, “Steve?”

He looks between her and the road, tilting his head as she touches his elbow gently. 

“You can just come over you know, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to and that includes letting people force you to--” Robin snaps her mouth shut with an audible click of her teeth. 

She shakes her head and takes her hand back, “sorry, I promised not to say anything”.

Steve pulls over onto the Buckley’s driveway and finally turns to face Robin as much as the driver's seat will allow. 

“Still sure about this whole thing only warranting a four?” he asks softly as a bubble of anxiety begins to expand from his stomach and into his chest, as though he’s absorbed her nervous energy over the course of the afternoon.

Robin shrugs, “I don’t know, but,” her blue eyes bounce back and forth between his own, “just don’t let them make you make a decision you’re not ready for,” she chews her lip again, “no one gets to push you around but me”.

Steve laughs as Robin leans out of her seat to give him a quick, but firm, hug before she opens the door and steps outside. As soon as she’s out of the car, Steve wishes he had asked her to stay, to come with him and hold his hand through the unknown. The bereft, hollow feeling from before returns in full force as she walks up to her front door. 

She turns around and holds up her thumb and pinky as she lifts her hands to her face, mouthing, ‘Call me later,’ as she waves with her other hand. 

She stays outside as Steve slowly reverses, hesitating on the street for just a moment as Robin walks backwards the rest of the way to her door, she moves her hands, motioning for him to get going. 

Steve nods once and takes a deep breath as he shifts into drive and heads down the street.

It’s just the kids, he tells himself, how bad can it be?

***

By the time Steve pulls into his driveway, he’s nearly turned around to retrieve Robin and insist that she come with him at least five times. Even now as he pulls the emergency brake for the slight incline of the Harrington driveway, he considers starting the car again and leaving. 

The last time he felt this anxious to be home was after graduation, after he’d been rejected from every school he’d applied to and knew there was no getting around that conversation with his dad. 

That conversation had ended with the crack in the table, a hastily completed Scoops application, and his parents leaving for three months. 

If it hadn’t happened he wouldn’t have met Robin, so at least there had been a silver lining on that occasion. 

He’s not sure if there will be one this time.

Steve gets out of the car before opening the back door to grab the paper grocery bag from the store, he leaves the full coffee and hot chocolate cups with a grimace and makes a mental note to throw them out later before locking the car door. 

Steve slowly makes his way to the steps, balancing the bag on his hip as he rifles through his pants pocket for his house key. 

He looks around the street and spots Eddie’s van parked a few houses down. Great.

Steve knew that Eddie and the others would be showing up around now, even before Robin went ahead and spilled the beans about whatever it was the kids were secretly doing, but he had still hoped for a moment to just breathe before he had to face the inevitable.

Steve takes a deep breath and grabs the door handle, scoffing as it opens immediately. He makes a second mental note to scold Dustin for leaving the door unlocked for just anyone to come in --especially since the rest of Hellfire was already here apparently.

“Hey assholes, the snacks are here,” Steve calls out as he steps over the threshold, tossing his own keys into the dish on the side table. 

He kicks the door closed and locks the deadbolt with a roll of his eyes, “and I do include myself with that statement,” he adds under his breath with a smirk.

Steve slides off his shoes and pauses, looking around the foyer.

It’s quiet.

Where there is normally an abundance of yelling and laughter, of the kids arguing amongst themselves, or Eddie’s usual dramatic storytelling, there’s nothing. 

Steve walks into the kitchen and puts the bag onto the counter, “guys?” he calls out again, only to be met with silence. 

Steve makes his way into the dining room through the swing door and stops in his tracks.

The table is gone. 

“What the fuck?” he hears himself whisper as he walks into the middle of the space, nearly into the hanging light in the center of the room --he’d never noticed just how low it was, what with the table that was normally there to stop him from walking directly into it.

“What the fuck?” Steve hisses again, his heart starts to race as he steps around the light and spots the open sliding door to the backyard. 

“If you little fuckers decided to move my grandmother’s table when there is a perfectly good patio table out there, I swear to Christ--” 

But the kids aren’t outside either. 

Eddie freezes as Steve walks around the corner of the house, he’s standing next to the dining table with a piece of sandpaper in his hands.

“Steve,” Eddie squawks in surprise, quickly hiding the sandpaper behind his back, “hey!”

Steve’s not entirely sure just what he’s looking at as he takes another step further into the yard. Eddie’s normally black ripped jeans are covered in a fine layer of dust, his wild curls have been pulled back into a messy ponytail away from his face, and an open container of wood filler sits beside him on the concrete patio.

Steve takes another four steps until he’s close enough to touch the wooden surface, his mouth hanging open as he takes it all in. 

The surface of the table has been sanded down in its entirety, removing the beautiful deep cherry varnish, but the crack in the center has been mended, some kind of slightly darker putty has sealed the gaping wound that had marred the surface. 

“Can you,” Eddie’s voice shakes, drawing Steve’s attention once more, “can you please say something, I can’t tell if you’re mad or what?”

“You fixed it,” Steve whispers, his eyes fixed on the table, he reaches to run a shaking hand over the surface.

“Careful,” Eddie says softly, grabbing Steve’s hand before it can touch the center with long sure fingers, “that still needs about an hour or so to cure”.

Steve looks from the table to his hand, still cradled in Eddie’s own, before looking up to see two big brown eyes staring into his own. 

“I don’t understand,” the words come out in a whisper as Steve swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, “why?”

“Well,” Eddie murmurs as he squeezes Steve’s hand once before threading their fingers together and dragging Steve towards one of the pool loungers in the grass.

Eddie sits down and pulls Steve with him to sit, he feels a deep flush begin to wash over his neck and the tips of his ears, it's impossible to hide in the bright sunlight this time --not that he’d even be able to with Eddie’s firm grip on Steve’s hand.

“Those kids of yours are pretty genius,” Eddie says slowly, deliberately, his gaze never wavering from Steve’s face, “and they love you so fucking much man”.

Eddie clears his throat and rubs his thumb over Steve’s knuckles, “and there seems to be some confusion about how I actually feel about you, so allow me to uh, lay it all on the,” he gestures with his free hand towards the dining table and smirks, “well you know”.

Steve feels his heart leaping out of his chest, he can’t sit here, listen to this, he’s heard it before, it isn’t real.

Steve moves to stand up from the lounger but Eddie is faster as he manages to grab Steve’s other hand, holding him in place.

“Eddie--”

“You said no one had ever bothered before,” Eddie barrels on, speaking so quickly that Steve hardly understands at first. He squeezes Steve’s hands lightly again, the skin warmed metal from Eddie’s rings press into the palms of Steve’s hands.

“No one’s ever tried to fix it, have they?” Eddie breathes out as his eyes flit back and forth, searching Steve’s own, “would you let me try?”

For a moment, Steve lets himself just sit with the words. 

Lets himself indulge in the soft, almost reverent way that Eddie asks. He lets the warmth of Eddie’s hands tether him to something resembling hope.

Before he shakes his head.

“You don’t know what you’re saying Eddie,” Steve growls, but the words lack any true bite.

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” Eddie insists, he gets up from beside Steve and kneels in the grass in front of him, “but I don’t think you do, I think we’ve been talking past each recently Steve, and it took speaking to a bunch of people --way smarter than me, to realize it. So here it is--”

“Don’t,” Steve shouts at the same time that Eddie whispers, “I like you,” and for a moment neither moves. 

Steve slowly takes his hands out of Eddie's now slack grip. 

He lowers one hand down to the edge of the pool lounger, gripping it so harshly that his knuckles slowly fade to white, while the other he brings up to cover Eddie’s mouth.

“Don’t say something you can’t take back,” Steve says softly. 

Eddie just stares for a beat, his forehead pinched in a terrible frown, before he reaches up to cup Steve’s cheek and gently removes the hand covering his mouth. He smiles softly and lets his thumb gently run over the crest of Steve’s cheekbone.

“Good thing I don’t want to take it back,” Eddie insists, he slides the hand on Steve’s cheek down to hold his chin firmly between two fingers.

“Steve,” Eddie lifts himself up so he’s balancing on the balls of his feet, just high enough that they are at eye level now, “I spent a very long time holding onto things that weren’t even remotely true, and they made me act like an asshole, I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that sweetheart”.

“What if you change your mind, what if I--”

“Steve, what the fuck could you do at this point that would shock me?" Eddie says with a derisive laugh, he lets go of Steve's face to press his hand briefly to his own chest. 

"I’m a drug dealing, satan worshiping, murderer who almost ate it in another dimension from killer demon bats".

Eddie grins as he peppers his speech with air quotes but the edges of it are jagged, and the good humour doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Steve breathes out sharply through his nose and shakes his head, “I get angry sometimes, I say things I don't mean, I…" 

He sees himself surrounded by ceramic shards again, crying as he sweeps up his own mess, and shudders.

It's enough for Eddie to nod, and shuffle closer still.

"Pot," Eddie says softly as he pokes Steve in the sternum with this pointer finger and then brings it around to point at his own face, "kettle". 

Steve chews his bottom lip as his thoughts swirl together and fly apart, disjointed and frenetic, "I just," he swallows around a harsh lump that begins to form in his throat, "I don't want you to think that I'm something that I'm not”.

Steve closes his eyes, missing the way that Eddie freezes at the words, but he can’t stop now --he has to get this all out or he’ll never be able to.

"That I've changed, that I'm this thing you've built up, for your sake, because let me tell you, it's pretty heartbreaking when everything you hoped was real turns out to be all in your head".

Steve opens his eyes as Eddie makes a sound like he’s been punched in the gut. 

He’s still kneeling in front of Steve, even closer now, almost close enough that Steve can count the light dusting of freckles on his nose, and it feels like his heart will burst at any moment. 

Fuck it.

"I've been halfway in love with you since you woke up from the hospital," Steve blurts out, “only to find out that you didn't feel even remotely the same about me, this whole time,” he breathes in shallowly as Eddie pales.

"I don't think I could take it if that happened again Eds,” Steve continues as he drops his gaze to his knees, “I think it would crush me".

"That's why I don't want you to say something you can't take--"

The words die on his lips as Eddie grabs his face and kisses him.

It’s harsh and clumsy, their teeth clack as Eddie loses his balance, pushing himself into Steve. They fall over the lounger, Steve’s shoulders and lower back hit the metal  frame hard, forcing a muffled groan out as Eddie falls on top of him with his own faint, ‘oof’.

Eddie tries to raise himself up by his hands before falling even further as one of his hands slips through the rubber slats of the chair and he crashes into Steve's stomach.

Eddie babbles a string of incomprehensible apologies as he frees his trapped hand and manages to gently straddle Steve. Eddie hovers over him and lifts his hands to cup Steve's face.

“Shit baby, are you okay? Fuck, that’s not how I wanted that to go at all, I’m so shit at this”. 

“Can we, can you get off and then we can get off the stupid chair?” Steve wheezes as he tries to catch his breath and shift his weight away from the metal still pressed into his back, “lets go inside, we can..talk about this”.

Eddie curses under his breath, his expression nervous, and moves his legs off of Steve and the chair before holding a hand out to help Steve to his feet.

Steve rubs his back as he leads the pair back inside through the sliding glass door, not daring to turn around and face Eddie. 

He feels his own mortified flush spread across his chest and neck and winces; this is probably the most he’s blushed in years all in the span of a single afternoon.

He kissed me, he kissed me, he kissed me, plays on a seemingly endless loop in Steve’s head as he walks into the house, he can’t help the wide smile that blooms over his face --despite the other, darker thought that whispers in his ear, be careful, be careful, be careful.

Steve takes them through the empty dining room and into the living room before dropping onto the couch with another low groan. He looks up as he realizes that Eddie is no longer beside him.

Eddie stands in the entryway to the living room, he’s holding a thick handful of hair over his mouth and watching Steve carefully.

“Can’t talk with you all the way over there,” Steve huffs. 

He tries for a smile but the effect is lost as Eddie continues to stand and stare at him, looking as though he could bolt from the house at any moment.

“Please come here Eds,” Steve tries again, his voice small. He takes a deep breath, if Eddie can be brave so can you, he thinks as he holds out his hand.

Eddie hesitates for just a moment more, his eyes flick beyond Steve to the hallway linked to the foyer and back, it’s so quick Steve nearly misses it. 

Still, he keeps his hand steady, holding it aloft.

Eventually Eddie takes a tentative step, then another, slowly moving forward until his fingers brush Steve’s own. He takes a seat next to Steve on the plush gray couch but doesn’t relax as Steve turns his body to face him. Eddie tenses even further as Steve gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

He opens his mouth to start but Eddie beats him to it.

“I’m so sorry Steve,” Eddie whispers, his voice strained and thin as he takes his hand back, “I just fucking attacked you? Jesus, I," he cuts himself off, whatever he had been about to say trapped behind the teeth that dig into his bottom lip.

"I mean," Steve mumbles, hating the hunched line of Eddie's shoulders, "I tell you I've been in love with you for months and you kiss me, that makes sense to me?"

"Stop doing that," Eddie bites out as he stands up, slapping his hands on his knees to launch himself away from the couch.

He paces the living room, not looking at Steve and getting progressively more agitated as he walks.

"I apologize and then you turn it around on yourself, why do you do that? Just let me apologize!"

Eddie halts suddenly as he straightens and faces Steve, it's as though a lightbulb has blinked on in the ether as Eddie speaks his next words slowly and carefully, "stop letting me off the hook Steve, be honest with me".

"I have been honest with you," Steve tries but Eddie shakes his head.

"Nope, you've told me some of your stuff today, but not why you keep downplaying everything, why you're not just telling me you're upset, it's like you're censoring the stuff you think I don't want to hear, come on”.

"My stuff," Steve mutters under his breath as a hot flicker of irritation licks at his ribcage.

"Yes," Eddie says, throwing his hands into his hair in frustration.

"Everybody censors themselves Eddie, you think I tell the kids everything? That I've told Robin everything?"

At this Eddie blanches, surprise etched over his forehead as his eyebrows climb into his wispy bangs.

"But Robin--"

"Knows enough, but not everything,"Steve scoffs as he crosses his arms over his stomach, "and she doesn't need to".

Robin may know his parents are hardly around, she may have formed her own opinions, assumptions about what she thinks is going on; but Steve has gotten very good at hiding these things -especially over the years. 

Pulling out the King Steve persona, make them laugh, make them mad, watch this hand while the other pulls the wool over their eyes. 

"Then tell me," Eddie says softly, but there is a challenge to his words. 

He shifts his stance slightly, putting more weight on his left leg as he cocks his hip out to the side, "shock me Harrington". 

Steve shifts on the couch, feeling pinned under Eddie's gaze, before swiping a tired hand over his face and dropping it into his lap.

"That crack in the table happened just before I graduated," Steve says softly, his head tipped down so the words tumble into his knees. 

He ignores the sharp intake of breath from Eddie, not daring to look up as he continues,  "my uh, my dad opened the rejection letter from Vincennes, that one had just been delivered that morning I think". 

Steve breathes out slowly and picks at a hangnail on his left thumb, he hasn't ever spoken about this to anyone, he's never really managed to talk about his home life growing up without side stepping things. 

There had been moments where Steve thinks Tommy and Carol might have had their suspicions, but they never asked and Steve wasn't in a position to talk about it.

"I think that was at the beginning of June, so, so his logical conclusion was to uh, go looking for the other letters, the ones I must have received already". 

Steve barks out a laugh, but the sound rings out hollow in the large living room, he startles slightly as the couch dips down next to him as Eddie sits, close enough that his knees are brushing Steve's own.

He doesn't say anything, but it's enough for Steve to breathe out and keep going.

"And he found them, my dad, in the shoebox I kept in the back of my closet". 

"I don't know why I had even kept them," Steve shakes his head, "I should have thrown them away".

Steve absently traces a faint white line across his temple, staring past his knees into the patterns of the ornate area rug, "I got home from school and he had the letters waiting for me". 

"He laid them all out on the dining table," Steve sweeps his hands out, setting the scene in his head, "like you see in those detective movies right? He just needed some string to connect them all to me". 

Steve shivers and closes his eyes, the words still echoing fresh in his mind, the hot spittle that hit his face as his father cornered him against the wall still makes him flinch if he thinks about it too hard.

"He asked when I was planning to tell him about the rejections, and I couldn't give him an answer," he reaches up and pinches his nose, just once, blinking a few times as he wills away the gathering moisture.

"I didn't raise you to be this way Steven, like some fucking ungrateful coward --look at me when I'm God Damn talking to you!" Richard seethes as he slams the flat of his palm into the center of the table, his Harvard class ring splitting the wood as it connects with a loud crack.

Richard doesn't look down, his hand slides to one of the letters, snatching it from the surface as he steps around the table, towards Steve, in three sure strides. He backs his son towards the wall, looming over Steve as he shoves the paper into his face in one hand while the other grips the collar of Steve's T-Shirt.

"What will people think, huh, our only son didn't get into college, Hagan got in for chrissakes," his dad shakes him once, forcing Steve's head to connect with the wall, "what am I supposed to tell people Steven, what are we going to tell your poor mother?" 

"I thought that Wheeler girl was supposed to be smart, tutor you or something," Richard scoffs as he finally lets go of Steve's shirt collar, "or did she finally come to her senses?"

Steve sneers before he can stop himself, "I didn't think you were even around enough to see that dad--"

The blow comes swiftly, catching him across the temple, his father's class ring comes out to play once again as a hot burst of pain blooms across the entire left side of his face from the backhand. 

"Don't you ever speak to me that way again, you want to be a big man Steven? Just see what happens". 

Steve blinks once, coming back to himself, "my dad, um, he has a problem with anger, with uh, expressing it I guess".

"But that isn't what this is about," Steve whispers, and this time he can't keep the wobble from his voice as he speaks.

"I'm afraid, I'm just like him, that I could do what he did if I got upset enough, and you," he breathes out sharply but the sounds more like a sob than anything else, "you want me to be honest?"

Steve finally lifts his eyes up to meet Eddie's own. Eddie, who looks as though he wants to melt into the floor, his shoulders tense and his own eyes seem suspiciously shiny as they stare back at Steve.

"Why couldn't you be honest with me, huh?" Steve whispers, "from the beginning?" 

A tear breaks the surface, tracing down Steve's cheek. He manages to catch it roughly with the back of his hand before reaching up to press the heels of both his hands into his eyes --as though the pressure could stop the building deluge he knows is inevitable.

"I was so angry with you when you told me that you hadn't meant what you said in the Upside Down," Steve manages to speak through the tightening of his throat as he drops his hands back down into his lap, "that I smashed a plate in my kitchen after you left, I don't, I don't know what happened". 

His breath quickens suddenly and every other word comes out as a gasp, "but it's like my worst fucking fears h-have come true and I don't, I don't know what to do, I don't, I--" 

"Oh sweetheart," Eddie says softly as he reaches for Steve, pulling him into his arms with gentle fingers, "oh, I gotcha".

Steve lets himself be moved, for his head to be tipped into the crook of Eddie's neck and his body tucked into Eddie's chest. 

Steve tries to slow down his breathing, to stop the shuddering of his chest as he fights the tears. 

"It's okay," Eddie tries but Steve shakes his head.

"It's not," he bites out, the words taper off into a whine, "it's not--"

"Okay, you're right, it's not," Eddie says so softly Steve nearly misses it.

"I'm so, so, sorry Steve," Eddie murmurs into Steve's hair, holding him tighter as Steve finally gives in and lets himself cry. 

He's not sure how long they sit for, eventually Steve feels a steady hand card through his hair while the other strokes down his arms, he feels the tension in his shoulders begin to melt away and the tears slow to a gentle trickle.

"I'm an idiot," Eddie huffs out, the breath flutters Steve's hair, making him twitch at the sensation.

Steve reaches up and wipes at his face with tired hands. The skin feels warm to the touch and puffy around his eyes and his nose which refuses to stop running, he must look like an absolute sight right now, he thinks to himself with a grimace.

"You're not an idiot," he manages to croak, but Eddie's already shaking his head sharply, turning himself to look at Steve.

"Oh believe me, I've fucked up before, pretty spectacularly, but this takes the goddamn cake sweetheart". 

"And you're right," Eddie says slowly, carefully, "I shouldn't be harping on about you hiding how you feel when I'm the reason why we're in this mess".

Eddie chews his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth before pulling away from Steve entirely as he reaches up to cup Steve's face between his hands.

"I'm sorry for not being honest with you Stevie, and I will spend every day trying to make it up to you if you let me?"

Steve looks at Eddie, really looks at him.

He takes in the drooped curve of his shoulders, the subtle pink of the tip of his nose and the glassy sheen in his brown eyes. The way his chest has stopped rising and he drops his hands away from Steve the longer he openly stares at the metal-head, the way Eddie anxiously spins and spins and spins the rings on his hands the longer he waits. 

It’s an easy decision to reach out and place his own hand on Eddies own, to halt the frantic movements with a gentle squeeze.

“So,” Steve says, grinning as Eddie finally looks up at him once more, "on a scale of helping to chauffeur the kids to finishing fixing the table, what kind of making it up to me are we talking about?"

The smile Eddie gives him is nearly blinding as he launches himself at Steve, gathering him up in his arms. His hair smells like sawdust and there's the barest hint of some kind of cologne that Steve can't place.

Eddie leans back into the couch cushions, laughingly wetly and taking Steve with him. The sound makes his chest ache as Steve realizes just how much he’s missed Eddie’s laughter. He buries his face in Eddie's neck as they cuddle into one another, letting themselves sit with nothing but the sound of the occasional car driving down the street outside or the humming of grasshoppers through the screen door to the backyard.

"For what it's worth," Eddie huffs, breaking the quiet, a hint of dimples revealing themselves as he smiles, "I've never met the guy, but from the sounds of it, you are the farthest thing from being like 'Ol Dick Harrington".

Steve says nothing but feels something in his chest finally unclench for the first time in weeks.

"Besides, there's nothing like a good plate smash every now and again Stevie," Eddie hums as he runs his thumb over the crest of Steve's cheekbone again.

"That's what Robin said," Steve mumbles, as he leans further into Eddie with a smile, "she came over that night, after". 

"A wise and terrifying woman," Eddie says sagely, "who I hope to never piss off again".

He stops suddenly and looks up at Steve, a nervous pinch to his brow as he plays with a loose curl hanging in front of his face, "I'm glad you guys have each other," Eddie says slowly, letting his thumb stroke Steve's hand absently, "that you have people in your corner and--”

Eddie swallows, his eyes darting back and forth between Steve's eyes as he finally seems to steel himself.

"I hope you'll let me be one of those people".

This nervous, quiet Eddie, is so strange to take in, but then again Steve's also never been on the receiving end of so many apologies all at once, it's just shy of being overwhelming at this point.

"Oh come off it Eddie," Steve huffs with a roll of his eyes, "you had me the moment I saw that fucking table outside and you tried to hide the sandpaper behind your back --real smooth by the way".

The way Eddie stares at him in surprise and that same look of awe from before, tells Steve that was the right thing to say.

Eddie barks out a wet laugh and squeezes him tighter, tipping his face to nuzzle Steve's ear, "I missed you teasing me".

"That was the worst part about all of this," he shudders once and drops his head to Steve's shoulder, "I thought I lost my friend, but I have you back".

"Yeah, you have me Eds," Steve says softly.

Steve rests against Eddie, uncaring that the position is growing more uncomfortable as the arm tucked closest to the metal-head falls asleep. Eddie holds him with such gentle reverence that Steve feels as though he may just burst from happiness at any moment. 

Everything he's wanted for months, has finally fallen into place.

It's quiet for another moment. Steve plays with one of Eddie's hands, running his fingers over the calluses from playing guitar and the eclectic rings decorating his knuckles.

Eddie clears his throat after a beat, swallowing once, “so uh, earlier….that wasn’t exactly how I pictured our first kiss you know?"

Steve feels a small grin slowly bloom, he's not quite facing Eddie the way they're sitting, so he can play coy a little longer.

 “You’ve pictured it huh?” 

Eddie snorts “Oh yeah, you have no idea, there’s usually more tongue involved and less chipped teeth”.

Steve nods, letting them sit for a moment longer, letting himself be chased for once.

Eddie pulls back slightly, leaving his arms loosely wrapped around Steve, “think we could uh, try again?”

“Will you mean it as much as you did the first time?” Steve says with a smile as he rubs his lip with his thumb and flushed cheeks.

“You liked that huh, always knew you were a freak like me Harrington,” Eddie barks out, his eyes shining with mirth as he leans closer to run the tip of his nose down Steve's before nuzzling them together, "wanna make some good memories in this house Stevie?"

“Only if you’re with me Eds,” Steve whispers against Eddie’s lips as he slowly leans in. 

Steve’s heart races, anticipation flooding his veins and filling his chest with a giddy realization that he finally, finally, gets to have this. 

That he knows Eddie finally, finally, feels the same way.

He’ll call Robin later, let her know about Hellfire’s plan, the apology, and maybe even the truth about everything he’d kept hidden away for so long. The old hurts soothed and the lid of the box in his mind permanently open now, the lid wrenched off its hinges so as to never close again. Maybe he could let people in, to let them know him. 

For now, Steve lets himself be lowered onto the couch, lets Eddie's hands roam freely, over Steve's shoulders, his neck --letting his fingers gently brush the long scar from the Demobat tail, before lifting one hand to cup his cheek while the other climbs into Steve hair, threading his fingers through it and giving the locks an experimental tug.

Steve's hands make their way up Eddie's back, under his shirt, tracing over the raised scars on his sides. Eddie shoots Steve a wicked grin, his eyes crinkle at the sides as he lets his weight gently fall over Steve, catching himself with his hands on the couch cushions on either side of Steve's face, effectively caging him in. 

Eddie moves slowly, deliberately, it's not nearly as brutal as the first time but Eddie kisses like a wildman starved, licking into Steve's mouth and grazing his bottom lip with harsh teeth. 

It feels like Steve is being consumed, slowly, carefully.

It's overwhelming in the best way. The feeling of his soft lips against Steve’s own, the harsh stubble that rubs against Steve’s chin. The smell of weed, and sawdust, and cologne invades his nose.

Eddie pulls back briefly before leaning down again to place a soft kiss against Steve’s lips.

“How's that for a second kiss?” he asks with a raised eyebrow and a wide smirk pulling at his slightly puffy lips.

Steve scoffs and tugs at Eddie’s shirt collar, “I dunno, maybe we need to check again?”

Eddie’s laughter rings out loud and long in the Harrington living room, as he leans down again and hugs Steve tightly.

For the first time in a long time, Steve feels himself relax. 

He lets the weight of Eddie press him into the cushions and releases a long contented breath, the Harrington house, finally feeling warmer than it has in a long time.

I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed working on it! This was the first fic of this length that I was still actively writing as I was updating that I've actually completed and I'm pretty damn happy about that! I was so worried about abandoning this guy and I'm glad I was able to finish it, hopefully it has come to a satisfying conclusion <3

Taglist: @zerokrox-blog @samcoxramblings @thosemessyvibes @liketheocean @vampireinthesun @themostunoriginalpersonever @merricatty @hyperfixationgoddess @hippieg1rl420 @mysticcrownshipper @estrellami-1 @clumsiluni @messrs-weasley @the-obsessed-nerdist

[furiousgoldfish]

Abusive parents will be like, hey why don't we make it a hobby to trigger our child's fight or flight response? Or even better, let's just have the child in hypervigilant mode at all time? Because they never know when the violence is coming??? Perfect.

[aspenxlabyrinth]

Augusnippets 2024 Day 4: Degloving

TW: This story contains potentially triggering content including degloving, blood loss, abuse of power, implied burning, and lasting physical disfigurement/trauma.

This story centers around an original character, Amy, and mentions her younger brother, John. Written for @augusnippets whump writing challenge.

The old woman sitting across from Amy stared her down in the dim indigo light with a face-splitting grin. On the table in between them were four items that may not have normally made Amy uncomfortable, but in the present circumstances, she felt nothing short of chilling horror at the sight of them. Square with the edge of the table was a yellow-stained parchment with all of the flourishes and intricacies of a contract… like this. To the left of the paper was a curved dagger forged from black steel set with a black wooden handle. And to the write was a bleach-white cloth and a black wooden dowel.

The contract in question was a daunting one. Just earlier that day, Amy’s younger brother, John, had been caught stealing jewelry from a storage box in a dress shop. As far as she was told, it took the authorities less than half an hour to catch him. The penalty for theft is a forced amputation of both hands, and that wasn’t something that Amy could allow. John worked in their father’s carpentry shop, he needed his hands. So, just under an hour ago, Amy had arrived at the jail to plead for mercy on her brother. And now she was staring at the alternative.

A contract for Amy to consent to taking on John’s punishment for him.

“Well, Dearie? What do you say?” the terrifying woman across from her prompted. Amy hadn’t bothered to remember her name if she’d learned it in the first place.

“I… um, yes. I agree.” Amy replied in the meekest of voices.

An ache tugged from the tips of her ring and pinkie finger through the right side of her right wrist from how intensely her hand was trembling. The old woman audibly snickered at the shaking as Amy took hold of the pen and prepared to sign the contract. She hadn’t felt so much fear before in her life, and the only thing pushing her forward was the idea that if she shied away, her brother would face the exact same fate.

“Sign carefully, make it pretty. It’s the last thing those pretty fingers will ever do,” that miserable hag taunted.

Amy gulped and did as she was told, signing carefully. It all happened so quickly after that. The cloth being tied around her wrist, the dowel being inserted underneath the knot and twisted to tighten the tourniquet, and that first agonizing, white-hot, splintering pain of that black knife pushing through her skin. A piercing shriek of torment tore through her throat, accompanied by the nauseating feeling of her own blood trickling down the sides of her forearm and pooling on the table beneath her arm. It was too hot, too sticky, and somehow still felt barely present at all.

It took too long for shock to finally kick in, and allow the remainder of that torture to pass by in a haze. The next time Amy felt fully conscious, her mind felt numb. She was leaning against her brother’s shoulder, being carried by him. She knew what the soreness in her wrists was from, and she knew better to look. There was no chance the bloodied and cauterized sight would be anything less than sickening. Comfort would set in later, when it was easier to reconcile her own suffering against what their family would have gone through if it had been her brother instead of her.

[eldritchbean-shapeshifter]

Ugh I have a therapy appointment tomorrow and I'm so nervous T﹏T

I recently came to the realization that I wanna get top surgery (for both my gender and nonhuman identities) but I don't know how to talk about it.

I haven't told my parents about this yet. I'm really nervous when it comes to talking to them about stuff. They have been really great and accepting of my gender and nonhuman identities, but it's really awkward to talk about it with them. They are trying their best but they have a tendency to accidentally make me feel uncomfortable or ignored.

My parents love me a lot but we have verrry different opinions on things and they grew up in..... difficult times...... and it tends to show. They are trying so hard but they can't understand my situation and don't know what to do or say. despite their best efforts I feel like I can't really talk to them about anything.

The only person I've told is my oldest sibling. They were super great and supportive (and it helps that they are the one that gets this the most. They have their top surgery scheduled this Fall, and I'm really excited for them!!!) They were actually the one who helped me discover this, and they helped me process things when I first accepted that this is what I want.

The problem here is that a lot of places require a letter from a therapist/doctor, and I don't know what to do. I haven't even told my therapist about my nonhumanity yet. I really wanna be able to talk about it, but I'm scared. I really like my therapist and I don't wanna risk ruining things. I have only mentioned having body dysphoria to her once and that was really scary.

Do I try and talk about it tomorrow....??? Or should I continue to focus on the more immediate problems?

I've been having a lot of trouble eating lately. My autism has been causing a lot of problems in that most food sounds gross and inedible to me right now. That's what my therapist, my mom, and I have been talking about lately. Plus I've also had a really hard time getting myself to bed. The other night my dad found me still up and awake past 3 am. I am usually up past 1 or 2, and it's been taking a lot out of me.

I don't know what to do. I want to be open about my nonhumanity, and I really wanna be able to get the affirming care. But I'm really scared to admit it to others.

[walriding]

also since we are talking about it, miles has little to no libido / sex drive / desire to actually physically sleep with people who aren’t the walrider post canon. he flirts and makes passes a lot because it’s just his personality, but he’s terrified of anything other than brief and basic physical contact. so while he might entertain Ideas and want to take things in that direction — unless there’s a lot of trust and discussion beforehand he most likely won’t follow through

[youredreamingofroo]

anytime I'm like "Roo is actually kinda more like Randy than Leo is..." I remember no. I'm much more likely to see Roo aiming a gun (despite his sheer lack of knowledge in anything gun related) than Leo. Roo is more likely to vent his anger and go about things physically, because often words fail him where physical actions wouldn't (kinda like how Benson punches Randy in the stomach, emphasizing the importance of reacting to certain things instead of not reacting at all) and Leo is MUCH more likely to vent and go about things verbally, because of how he was raised with a very verbally aggressive parent, and because he has a much stronger and heard voice, so things he says are gonna have a lot more emphasis than Roo who is more soft spoken.

[hazellevessque]

Also Jonathan deserves better. Let’s give it up for Jonathan

[whatthefukisupkyle]

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: South Park Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: ALT! - Character, Eric Cartman, Liane Cartman Additional Tags: ALT!Park, Religious Abuse, Exorcism, south park - Freeform Series: Part 3 of ALT!Park Summary:

Eric had struggled with the voices since he could remember, one being in particular plagued him more than anything, a Devil version of himself. Eric had been to the priest to remove this entity multiple times, but this was different…

[meezer]

my therapist seems kind of appalled and malding a little bit that I am not in a relationship and refuse to actively seek one out. it's okay though it's fine like genuinely water off a duck's back what she thinks of my celibacy. it's just annoying.

[bardic-tales]

Title: Healing

Pairing: Bianca (F!OC) / Sephiroth

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 374

Fandom: Final Fantasy 7

Warnings: Dark themes, emotional trauma, emotional vulnerability, implied torture, mental anguish, mistrust, physical abuse, psychological conflict, PTSD, scars, strained relationship, supernatural powers, toxic relationship, trauma recovery, trust issues, unresolved conflict.

Summary: Bianca struggles to trust Sephiroth due to the physical and emotional trauma inflicted by his future self, despite his efforts to heal her and provide comfort, leading to an unresolved emotional conflict between love and fear.

Squared Filled: Trust Issues

Created for: @whumptober

1.

“Why are you doing this?” Bianca shied away from his hand, as her breath hammered in throat. Ugly marks ringed around her wrist: crimson against the delicate skin. The raw skin ached when it was touched, as small, bloody lines amalgamated with the dark purple bruises.

“I would never hurt you, Bia.” Sephiroth knelt before her. A forest green haze oscillated around him, raising up off of his shoulders like fine mist before twisting around, descending, to rejoin the rest of the wispy veil that covered his body.

As he gently grasped Bianca’s arm, he brushed his thumb over the marred flesh. The coiling, wispy, green mist floated from his fingertips over to Bianca like threads snaking out and wrapping around her forearm. Despite the magic bathing her in its calming embrace, the doubts and insecurity bubbled to the surface like the various Mako fonts around Gaia.

“How can I trust you when you look so much like him?” Bianca said as she tried to remove her hand from Sephiroth’s tender touch. He held onto her, allowing his limited magic to wash over her wounds, knitting the flesh close and repairing the damaged muscles.

Sephiroth wanted to help her, but she couldn’t calm the suspicion flowing through her thoughts like the Lifestream, the river of memories and souls, streaming within the Planet. Once again, she tried to pull her hand away but he held her still.

There was no resolution, but Sephiroth continued to hold her in his arms, trying to blot out all memories all the pain and torture that his future self put her in like an eclipse beautiful and dangerous to look at but protecting her from the harsh rays of the sun. He couldn’t reach her, but she knew that he would be strong for her. Sephiroth always was. He tried to be her rock, the very essence of her soul, but she couldn’t see past the gray hair, the cyan eyes, and the soft, whisper-like voice that he shared with his other half. She stayed completely still in his embrace with her arms hanging down to her sides like wet noodles. How could she trust him when he looked so much like the One-Winged Angel? Bianca asked herself again.