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lullabies-blue · 6 months ago

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Thomas Hewitt/ Reader

𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢, 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔱? 𝔑𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔱𝔰 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔯?

Written in third-person limited POV, focusing on Thomas. Content tags: Neurodivergence, Cannibalism, mentions of rape, Canon typical violence, self harm, Mommy issues, child abuse (mentioned), good vs. evil with nothing in between, religious trauma. Author notes: I honestly intended this to be short and to the point- but here we are. I read a lot of Thomas/Reader stories where Thomas is portrayed as neurotypical and I don't know why it bothers me so much- it's just fanfiction after all, but I wanted to write a short "love" story where Thomas is violent and scared and lonely. He's nonverbal, he's mentally disturbed but not 'slow'. His world is very black and white and full of violence, so that got me wondering- what would love look like for him? What would happen if this man, who has only ever known darkness, met someone who was nice to him? Fair warning, lots of rambling ahead. I also just want to say that I am Autistic and that influenced a lot of this story- from the way that I write, to how I portray characters, to certain interactions. So if anything seems weird to you, I apologize- my mind works in weird ways. If I need to clarify anything, just shoot me a message. I would love to talk about the writing process and why I included certain things. Important: This is about 15k words and NOT even half of it. I had to cut it into pieces, will update the rest in another post.

Thomas brings the axe above his head, his breath ragged as he swings it down and cuts the piece of firewood in half with a low grunt. He’s hot, even though it’s the middle of winter- the weather low even with the sun that hid behind the clouds- and his shirt is sticking to him uncomfortably, the sweat doing nothing to cool him down.

He lodges the axe into the tree stump, grabbing the two pieces of wood and throwing them in the wheelbarrow before he wipes his forehead with dirt covered hands. It was the last chore of the day, and he was tired and sore- a tightness in his shoulders that seemed to spread all the way down to lower back and made him want to get in bed. His mask is damp and tight against his face, the skin underneath irritated. He wants to go inside and change, the thought of taking a shower was frustrating but he knew that he needed one. He could smell himself- bitter with sweat and the slightly suffocating scent that seemed to stick to chickens now clinging to him from when he had cleaned out the chicken coop. His nails were lined with dirt- hands and arms caked in grime. It made him feel heavy and slow.

Uncle Hoyt would drag him to the back and hose him off if he saw him, and he hated that more than he hated cleaning himself off- the feeling of water on his skin something he had never got around to liking. He could handle other things- blood never seemed to churn his stomach, or when Momma or Uncle Hoyt used to ask him to go clean out the pig pen- back when they could afford to have pigs, they were empty now, the whole farm seemed to get emptier and emptier as the months passed- he hadn’t thought that shoveling pig shit into a bucket was all that bad. But he had trouble smelling sometimes, especially with the leather pressed so tight against the place his nose had once been.

He takes the handles of the wheelbarrow, filled with enough dried out wood for the weekend- maybe Monday, if the weather stayed where it was at- and began to haul it towards the house. Momma would need some in the kitchen, to boil water and heat the ovens for Supper when she got back from town. He’d have to check the fireplace on the main floor- sometimes even on the coldest days of winter that room stayed warm enough that if they were to turn on the fireplace it’d be too uncomfortable to sit in. He would wait until Uncle Monty asked for more- he didn’t like it when any of them made decisions for him, more so now that he was stuck in that wheelchair.

There were no fireplaces upstairs, just piles of blankets to layer and hope they did enough to keep them warm. Sometimes it would be enough for him, but there were nights that even with two or three of the ones Momma sewed together for him; he would still lay awake, teeth chattering from the cold. It’s why he hated the cold- he could manage the heat, but winter was unpredictable even in the deep south of Texas.

Uncle Monty is in the living room, asleep in his chair as the TV keeps playing, almost as loud as his snoring. He walks past him, noticing the almost empty fireplace. His footsteps are heavy and loud from the metal on his shoes as he carries an armful of wood into the kitchen. He sets it down on the dining table, right on the white plastic cloth momma had set out before she had left, dirt falls onto the floor and he makes a low, grumbling noise of frustration, hoping that she didn’t see it when she got home.

He had forgotten the plastic mat last time and gotten her favorite tablecloth dirty -the mud staining the light blue cotton forever. He didn’t see why it was such a big deal, Momma had once told him that life was messy, that’s how one knew that they were living it, but she had been so angry at him then- sending him out with the bucket and soap, shouting about the mud he had tracked inside their house. Supper had come late that night- Hoyt growing angry at him. He liked it when it was ready and waiting for him when he got home- shouting at momma that working men weren’t supposed to wait for food.

He had gotten into an argument with him that night- he didn’t like it when people were mean to momma. Uncle Hoyt had called him a bad name- making his blood boil.

He didn’t want that to happen again. He didn’t like how badly he had wanted to hurt Uncle Hoyt at that moment. Momma said that family fought all the time, but he had to be careful not to do anything that he would regret. Maybe he would regret it when his blood stained his clothes, but part of him wasn’t so sure. He liked him better when he was Uncle Charlie. Uncle Hoyt reminded him of the bad men.

He tries not to think about it anymore when he heads back outside to grab a few more pieces of wood for the living room. He didn’t like thinking back on the things that made him angry, sometimes he couldn’t come back from them, and he’d end up doing something bad.

By the time he’s pushing past the double front doors, Momma’s car is pulling into the dirt path off to the side of the house. It’s an old one- rusting from the heat of too many summers, but momma didn’t mind it.

The car comes to a stop as he picks up another armful of wood and takes it inside.

Ever since Hoyt became Sheriff of the town, things had gotten better for them. There were never days where they went to bed hungry, the meat freezer down in the basement always seemed to have enough for them. If it ever ran low, a Hoyt always seemed to find a way to get it restocked. Momma had taken over the shop in town after the owner had passed away and Hoyt made sure that his son- one of the bad men- went right along with him. He had filled the bellies of those who still stayed in town, too hungry to care enough to question them. Sometimes she brought back what didn’t sell that day and they’d have themselves a little feast. There were days Uncle Hoyt brought a guest with him- always a woman-, other times he’d ask momma to bring his food up to his room- the muffled screaming drowned out by Monty’s TV show.

He liked to stay in the basement on those days. It was harder to hear the pleading and begging as Hoyt played too rough with them. He would always get stuck with getting rid of them afterwards and he was starting to dislike the chore.

By the time he finishes stacking the wood, Momma is calling out for him, the front door swinging open. He freezes- his shoulders squaring and his breath suddenly heavy as he looks up at the hall, hidden between a wall and the fireplace. There was someone with Momma. He could hear the footsteps- Momma walked with a purpose, heavy and loud like him. She said that she did it so God would hear her better, but he wasn’t so sure that God was with them anymore. The ones that came after her were lighter, nervous.

He didn’t like guests. Didn’t like that Momma and uncle Hoyt had developed a habit of taking in strays that would just end up in the basement with him later. They would scream when they saw him- call him those names that made the anger come. Some of them liked to hurt him, momma taking him to the bathroom afterwards and stitching him up.

“You’re going to love my Tommy. He’s a little bit shy but he’s got the sweetest heart.” Momma says and he hears the other person laugh. It’s a soft noise- gentle in a way that manages to make his heart race faster as he tries to crawl deeper into the tiny space. “He’s here around somewhere… but let’s get you set up in your room then you can come down and help me with supper, okay?”

Another laugh, his heart racing uncomfortably in his chest. He didn’t want Momma to find him, he was already so tired.

“Of course,” the stranger says, and she- the thought of a woman in the house irritates him- doesn’t talk like Momma or Hoyt or Monty. Her voice is quiet, it doesn’t drawl out. He’s heard it before- she must be from out of town. “I would love to!”

For a moment, he feels bad for the woman as he hears them go up the stairs. He always feels bad for them at first. Momma said that his heart was too kind. Hoyt called him a pansy boy, in need of toughening up. He doesn’t know why he feels bad, the guests were never good people- he’d always come to learn that, but it never seems to do anything to make the twitch of guilt go away from his heart. The steps grow quieter the farther up they go- until he hears Momma’s muffled voice and then her footsteps coming back down.

She spots him, curled into himself in that tiny, dark space and she sucks her teeth, shaking her head. “Thomas Hewitt, what in the lords name are you doing there?”

He feels embarrassed all of a sudden, getting caught like this. He makes a low noise in his chest, pointing to the firewood.

“Come on and get on out of there if you’re done then, we’ve got company.” She comes down the rest of the steps and makes her way towards him. When she holds out her hand he takes it, a comfort that has his heart slowing down.

“I need you to go and grab the rest of her stuff from the car- poor girl don’t got no power in her home.” She says with a shake of her head as she pulls and helps him to his feet. “She’ll be staying with us until her electricity gets put back up.”

He shakes his head, this time the noise he makes is in protest, a deep groan of anger. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want her in his house.

Momma frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now listen here Thomas, not everyone is as lucky as we are. Sometimes we have to help those in need.”

He wants to believe her- Momma wasn’t one for lying, after all- but this isn’t anything new. He knew how this would end; with the woman in their bellies and her screams in his head, keeping him awake at night. She would make a mistake and then she’d end up in the basement, begging for her life.

It was like Momma had set her up to fail, like a game that promised a prize that would never come, and Thomas didn’t want to play. Not this time. He shakes his head again, his way of telling her no.

Momma and Uncle Hoyt have a lot in common, no matter how sweet and gentle Momma tried to be, her anger was almost as bad as his. He doesn’t like it when she gets angry at him- everyone was always angry at him- and he can see it in her eyes, making him bend his chin against his chest as he let out a whine, glancing down at the ground. She never hit him, but she would ignore him and that hurt a lot more.

“Then you go on upstairs and tell the poor girl that she’s got to leave. I won’t be the one to break the bad news.” Momma huffs, stomping over to the kitchen. “Tell her you would rather see her freeze than offer a small kindness.”

There it is, that harshness in her voice that makes him tremble, his heart picking up its pace until he feels like he can’t breathe. He shakes his head again, digging his fingers into his arm. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the woman. Didn’t want to be forced to deal with her later but if this is what Momma wanted, then he would do it. He would make her happy.

He lets out another noise, smaller this time and turns towards the door. Part of him is angry- angry that he wasn’t allowed to be angry without being punished. Angry that sometimes it seemed like he wasn’t allowed to have a say when it came to things. He felt as if momma sometimes liked to hurt him on purpose- pushing and pushing until he snapped.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he feels the guilt settle in his stomach, hot and suffocating. Momma wasn’t like the bad people. She wouldn’t hurt him. Sometimes he just made her so angry- he knew that. He knew that he was difficult and stubborn and sometimes she got tired of dealing with him.

It wouldn’t be long before the woman disappeared anyways- Hoyt will see her at supper and he’d take her upstairs. The screaming will start, and everyone will act like they couldn’t hear it; Momma would knit, and Monty would turn the volume on the TV up until it was too much. He’d end up sleeping in the basement again, picking at his skin until it was raw and bleeding- the crying twisting his stomach and threatening to swallow him whole.

He just had to wait until then. He would be good until then.

The trunk of the car was left open for him, and he finds the woman’s things waiting for him. It’s not much- a simple backpack, filled with so many things that it ballooned uncomfortably. He grabs it, grunting at the fact that it was heavier than he thought, and slams the trunk close. The car shakes and squeaks at his aggression as he carries the bag inside. He doesn’t like the fact that he’s touching the stranger’s things.

He’s dirty- his fingers staining the bag- but he’s also dirty inside. Rotten from the anger, the bad he’s done. The bad he was going to do. He can feel himself soiling the items inside- turning them just as dirty as him as he walks into the kitchen and sets the bag down on the floor. Momma had taken the firewood he had left and put away the mat. He could feel the warmth of the fire even from where he stood across the oven- filling the room with the scent of smoke. He grunts, wanting Momma to turn around and see that he had done what she asked. He wanted her to smile at him- to ease the way his heart still hammered in frustration.

She turns, but the softness in her eyes isn’t directed at him- she barely looks at him and his heart sinks further down into his stomach, tension building in the back of his neck. He can hear her footsteps now- the creaking of the staircase as she came downstairs. He’s standing in front of a wall, the staircase on the other side. For now, he was hidden- but it wouldn’t be long until she stepped into the kitchen, and he couldn’t hide anymore.

“We’re in here dear,” Momma calls out to her. “Tommy here’s got your bag for you.”

He sees her for the first time out of the corner of his eye- spotting her before she spots him, her eyes on Momma. She’s short- shorter than momma by a bit, and clean and well dressed. Her sweater is thick and colorful, the cuffs of her sleeves neatly folded against her wrists. Something there catches the soft yellow light of the kitchen- a thin golden bracelet halfway hidden beneath the fabric. Her jeans look like they’ve been around for a long time- a different shade of fabric stitched into one of the knees. Her boots are old and worn out, reminding him of his own.

He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like this feeling that runs through him as he inspects her.

“I really like your house!” she says- voice light and full of excitement that made his mood worsen. “Its-” whatever she was about to say dies in her throat as she turns her head to the left and spots him for the first time.

He doesn’t let her look at his face- turning his head to the side as he folds into himself, chin against chest. He doesn’t like this- doesn’t like that she stares at him without saying anything. He can feel her eyes on him- inspecting him- an animal on display. His chest rises and falls painfully, his breathing hard and loud in the silence. He can feel his hands twitch- his thumb nail grazing along the length of his finger.

“This is my son,” Momma’s voice is tight as she talks. “Tommy this here is our guest. Don’t you want to say hello?”

He shakes his head, his hands trembling. Something wet lands inside the sink and he startles. He hears Momma suck her teeth and he can see her in his mind- shaking her head like she does whenever he does something she doesn’t like.

He doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like that Momma is getting mad at him, that the woman still stands there, watching him tremble in fear. He could already hear it- her laughing as she called him an idiot. They always called him something. They always laughed at him.

“It’s okay,” her voice shakes a bit as she breaks the silence, and she coughs and clears her voice. “I, um, I’m a little shy myself so I know how hard it can be sometimes.” She speaks slowly, her voice almost a low whisper. She tells him her name. Tells him that it’s nice to meet him.

He doesn’t say anything- not that he can, he’s never spoken a single word- but he nods his head, his eyes quickly glancing over at her. She’s still looking at him and his heart almost beats through his ribs. He expects her to be looking at him like they always look at him- filled with disgust and hatred, looking for any excuse to leave, to get as far away as possible from him- but he doesn’t find that in her face.

He finds her mouth twisted downwards and her eyebrows pushed together just a tiny little bit, her eyes gentle and wide. She looked at him as if he was a dog out by the side of the road on a hot summer afternoon refusing help and she had been chasing him with a bowl of water.

She looks at him like there was nothing scary about him. Like he was a man, dirty from a long day at work and not a freak- poor and disfigured- a monster. He had never seen that look from anyone who didn’t live in this house, and it scared him. It terrified him that someone would decide to look at him like that.

But as soon as he met her eyes she looked away, towards Momma- a smile in her voice.

“What are we making for dinner?” she asks, stepping farther into the kitchen and pushing her sleeves up towards her elbows- ready for whatever Momma tells her to do.

The tension disappears just like that, Momma laughing lightly as she places her hand on the woman’s back and pulls her close. “You’re such a darling, helping me out like this. How about you start getting out the pots and pans? They’re over there by the pantry.” She pointed to the cupboards by the fridge and the woman nodded and went straight towards them.

With her back to them- Momma turned and looked at him finally. He could still feel his heart hammering away at his chest, but this was more manageable. He was still waiting for the names to come, for the screaming and the disgust to appear in her eyes. Sometimes when Momma was around people hid it a bit better, but he knew that it wouldn’t be long until they couldn’t hide it anymore.

He expects Momma to still be mad at him- blue eyes dark with anger- but instead she sighs and puts her hand on his shoulder, a silent apology that has his muscles relaxing. The woman pays them no mind- bending down to inspect the cupboard down there.

“Go on and take her bag up to her room and get yourself cleaned up, okay?” She tugs on the collar of his shirt before fixing his hair out of his face. It’s damp from his sweat, but she doesn’t flinch. “She’s a good girl- try to handle her with care, alright?” Her voice is a low whisper- something the woman wasn’t supposed to hear. It unsettles him as he nods along with Momma- not quite understanding what she meant. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to nod along with her or shake his head, but Momma doesn't wait for an answer, patting him on the cheek before she turns her head and calls out to the woman.

“Honey, Tommy is going to take your bag up to your room- is that alright?”

The woman rises from the ground, two pots neatly stacked in each other in her hands. “Yes,” she says softly- her eyes meeting his. “Thank you, Tommy.”

She smiles at him shyly and his heart begins to hammer against his ribs again. He feels his skin begin to burn- his flesh raw and exposed to her. Even underneath his mask he can feel himself heating up as he looks away, scrambling to grab the bag.

He needed to get away from her- from Momma and her words that he couldn’t understand. He felt like he couldn’t breathe with her here. He stumbles up the steps- feet so heavy against the wood that he swears he can feel the house tremble underneath him.

Momma gave her the room across his- the empty one where she liked to keep the extra bed sheets and towels. But it’s cleaner now as he turns the knob and goes inside, the curtains pulled open to let in the bit of light that still shone from outside- the sun close to setting. The piles of blankets that were on the bed are gone- the sheets neatly tucked into the space between the mattress and the boxspring. There’s a jacket thrown on top- red and faded, the cuffs ripped up on one arm.

He sits the bag right next to it- on the floor, wiping his hands on his jeans. It topples over and he lets out a grunt- fixing it so it sat upright again. He decided that he would stay up here until Momma called him for supper. He wouldn’t go down to the basement while the woman was here- he was worried that she would be stupid enough to follow him down there. That would be the end of her. Blood and flesh and sinew torn from her bones for them to feast on.

He’s careful when he’s leaving the room- closing the door gently so that it doesn’t slam before he hurries off into his own- locking the door behind himself.

Here it’s dark, his windows covered in greased up newspapers. He didn’t like it when it got too bright- when the sun shone through and reminded him of the mess around him. His room is small and cramped and full of things that he had hauled up from the furnace room so that he wasn’t stuck going up and down all the time. Uncle Monty said that he sounded like a ‘goddamned bulldozer,’ stomping around the house when he was trying to sleep. So, it was better this way- even though sometimes he got irritated that there were too many things. But it meant not being bothersome, so he tried not to mind much.

He checks the door again- making sure that he had really locked it, pulling and twisting at the doorknob just to be safe. He knew that no one would come up here and go into his room- Monty was stuck on the first floor, Momma was with the girl in the kitchen preparing supper and Uncle Hoyt wasn’t home yet. But he was always a little paranoid, just the tiniest bit afraid that someone would knock down his door and see everything about him that he had tried so hard to hide. Not even Momma was allowed in here. This was his- the only place where he could hide from everyone, where he didn’t have to worry about anyone disturbing him.

He takes his mask off and it’s not quite the relief he was expecting- the leather inside has gone stiff, his face raw and tender and aching from all the sweat and dirt that had managed to get in. He can feel it as he runs his fingers across his face, a cut on the corner of his lips that wasn’t there last time. It blends into the sores and scarred tissue already there, his skin long ruined. It shouldn’t bother him- but as he opens his mouth and feels the skin stretch and crack, a drop of blood welling up and rolling down his chin- he gets upset, grunting in frustration. He had wanted to clean the mask and add some petroleum to try and soften it up so it wouldn’t bite at his skin anymore- pinching and scratching and making the pain worse. It would have been something to do, something to keep him busy and distracted until he had to face the inevitable, but now it was something that he no longer wanted to do. Why would he? What would it change?

It was never this bad- but ever since his nose began to fall away, it only ever seemed to get worse- no matter what he did or how hard he pleaded for it to just stop and go away- nothing ever changed. There was no one there to listen to his pleas.

With a low groan of frustration, he tears his hand from his face, wiping the blood on the front of his shirt. He hates himself. Hates everything about himself. Momma liked to say that the bad people were liars, that people who were hurting only ever knew how to hurt others- but he knew that wasn’t true. He was a monster. He saw it, looking back at him in the mirror- wild and ugly and evil, everything that he did not want to be. He hated taking his mask off- hated knowing that the man that existed underneath it was the same man that he was trying to escape from.

Coming here was a mistake. He should have stayed downstairs, should have gone out back to the barn- there he would have found something, anything, to do.

He takes a breath like Momma showed him, trying to push the anger away- down, down, down, until he couldn’t feel it slithering through his veins and pounding in the back of his head. He just had to focus on something else-he liked it when he had chores, things to do that kept him busy and away from the bad thoughts. He takes another deep breath through his mouth- dirt and salt on his lips as he picks up the mask and tries to clean it off on his clothing. It does nothing but lift the dust off into the air as he places it on his face, tightening it too much across his head, leather digging into tender skin. He would take a bath, change his clothes, then sit in bed and wait. Uncle Hoyt would come an hour after the sun disappeared and then he would have to go downstairs. He didn’t want to go downstairs.

He didn’t want to feel the bad feelings anymore. The fear, the anger. The woman would look at him and his throat would tighten, and his heart would beat painfully. He hadn’t liked that feeling- trapped in his own skin, unable to get away. Yet at the same time, he wanted her to look at him. No one ever looked at him.

He could still feel her eyes- soft and warm on his skin, simultaneously calming and worsening his anger. He was half embarrassed- covered in dirt and sweat stains, his clothing old and faded- Did she think that he was disgusting? He was always messy in everything that he did- always having to teach himself how to do things. Filth had never been a stranger. Had never bothered him. But he finds himself wanting to wash the grime and sweat from himself- even if he was just going to put the same clothes back on.

His stomach growls, empty and needy as he unlocks the door and roughly pushes it open- he finds the woman outside of it.

The door swings open, the gust of wind pushing her hair around as the door barely manages to miss her. She’s looking up at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open- her arms up by her chest. It scares him, seeing her there and he makes a messy, garbled noise of surprise.

“Sorry!” she speaks fast, her words all pushed together. “I was just trying to find the bathroom!”

He feels his heart beating in his throat, muscles tense and solid as he stares down at her. She’s so much shorter than he thought- he could reach out and crush her throat in his hand and it wouldn’t take much force to do so. He’s almost tempted to, his fingers twitching at his sides. Momma would get mad at him when he dragged her body downstairs- but she would forget eventually.

“I’m in your way- I,” she takes a step back, her eyes finally releasing his. “I’m sorry, I’m just-”

He grunts. Low and short- his way of telling her to stop talking. Nothing she says is making any sense to him and the sound of her voice makes his heart hammer at his chest. Thunderous and loud and painful. It scares him how easily she does that to him. Such a small thing like her, carelessly walking into a house where God was nowhere to be found without a single ounce of caution. He could take her to his room, and no one would hear her scream. He could scare her more than she scared him.

She squirms in the silence like a rat stuck in a trap. She tugs at her sleeve, at her collar- his breathing loud as he watches her- watches her chest rise and fall with every breath, her eyes on the space between them.

Another grunt and she startles backwards, looking up at him. This time, when her eyes meet his own, he doesn’t cower even though his body tenses and he can already feel her pulse beneath his hand.

His body is stiff as he steps out of his room and moves out of the way of the door- he has to turn his back to her and for a split-second, panic runs cold and fast through his veins as he remembers the woman who had stabbed him. The door slams close as he turns around quickly, eyes wide and wild as he looks down at her hands.

He expects to see a knife pointed at him- the scar on his shoulder aching from the memory of being sliced apart, the pain still there even after all the months that have passed since. He hadn’t done anything to deserve that pain- the woman and her friends had attacked first, had tried to hurt his family. Uncle Hoyt had told him, so had Momma with tears in her eyes and blood splatters on her dress. They were bad people who wanted to do bad things to them, and it was his responsibility to protect them- to keep them safe. It hadn’t mattered that his hands shook so hard with fear, and he could taste vomit at the back of his throat, vile and burning, he had to protect them. They were all that he had. He couldn’t- wouldn’t- lose them.

He was panting as he searched the woman and finds nothing in her hands, her eyes widening as she takes another step away from him.

Was she scared?

Did she finally see it? The evil that radiated off of him that others seemed to see- always scared of getting too close to him- He was a disease on this town. A burden. Did he finally scare her?

Would she scream?

Was she going to hurt him- just like everyone else? Drive a knife into his flesh- a pain that would only last for so long before it faded into a memory that he refused to think of. A pain that wouldn’t be so bad compared to the shame that churned his stomach whenever a stranger screamed when they saw him.

He waited- teeth clamped together as he stared her down in the heavy silence.

He watched as her lips part, lower lip trembling slightly. If she screamed, he would hurt her before she could hurt him. If she screamed, she would be nothing but a pile of bones, tossed into the fire by the time the sun rose tomorrow.

Scream, he thought, fingers twitching at his sides. Scream already and let this end already.

“You’re scared of me, aren’t you?” she whispers and her voice trembles even as she keeps talking. “I can tell- you’re looking at me like I just pulled out a gun on you or something.” She lifts her hands towards him and moves them back and forth, as if she was showing him that he had nothing to worry about. “But my hands are empty-”

She lifts her hands, palms facing him, and wiggles her fingers. “If it makes you feel better, apart from a kitchen knife I don’t think I’ve ever held a weapon.” She smiles oddly at him- as if she wasn’t sure how to do so, her eyes still wide and unblinking. As if she was worried that he would lunge at her at any second.

He doesn’t like how his body seems to let go of its worries and fears so fast, his shoulders drooping and his heartbeat slowing down until it’s no longer pounding against his ears as the ringing slowly starts to disappear. He unclenches his teeth, the pain still lingering in his jaw and neck, and suddenly, he’s no longer thinking of hurting the woman- of how easy he would have snapped her neck. He still could, part of him even ached and begged for him to do it. To get it over with.

But he doesn’t listen to that part of him that never truly seemed to go away- always begging for blood, for a voice that would finally be heard. He’s staring at her hands instead, focusing on the tips of her fingers that are flushed pink. He notices the birthmark on her left middle finger- a tiny dot right underneath the crease of her knuckle. He notices all the tiny little lines that make up her palms and the way her thumb trembles lightly.

He did not like her.

He did not like the way something as simple as her hands was enough to draw his attention- his eyes seeking out the tiny little patterns between her fingers. He did not like how her voice could soothe him so easily when he wanted nothing but to crush her- to take her, to taste her flesh on his tongue and her blood on his lips.

He did not like how she called out to him as he just stared at her- stared through her, voice gentle with his name. It wasn’t the same as when Momma said it though. This felt like a spell, a bad omen- Satan’s own voice whispering temptation in his ear. Sweet and gentle and unfamiliar.

She made him feel the same way he had felt that one night he had snuck upstairs to watch Uncle Hoyt and his new friend. He had pushed the door open just enough so that he could see but still stay hidden from the light. He hadn’t made a single noise as he watched Hoyt undo his pants and pull the woman’s legs apart. He hadn’t been able to see much from his hiding place, but what he heard had sent a shock of electricity through his body- blood boiling with need as he listened to the crying and the begging and the sound of something slick being hit over and over again. His stomach churned the same it had that night- tight and hot and restless for something that he could not give it.

He lets out a whine- deep and guttural and full of frustration. Go away, he wants to yell at her. Go away before you ruin everything.

“Tommy…?” she asks again, not understanding his plea.

He whines again and it takes him a second to realize that he’s scratching at his arm- digging his fingers into the old scars there and agitating the skin. It hurts. But that pain is familiar and calming and helps him focus on something other than the panic rising in his throat.

She was messing it all up.

It’s supposed to just be the four of them- Momma, Hoyt, Monty and him. It’s always been just the four of them. There wasn’t enough space here for her. She was too much of a change to get used to- too loud, too much. Even if he went and hid in the basement until Momma got tired of her, he knew that he would still be able to feel her through the walls, a choking weight in the air that would only poison him until he forgot what it was like to be ignored and cautious even in his own home. He’d be able to hear her- hear her laugh, her steps, the tiny little noises she would come to make the more time went on. She would fill this house with her until she soaked the walls and filled in the foundation. Until everyone forgot that she had a stranger at one point- a spontaneous good dead in all the bad they dealt in.

And even then- what would stop Hoyt from taking her to the room where almost all of the women ended up in? From the emptiness of their bellies that might make them remember that she wasn’t one of them- that she was the answer to their starvation?

He's sinking his nails in harder- the thin skin underneath breaks and he itches at the spot as if there was something alive and buzzing under the flesh. He doesn’t feel the pain as the blood begins to gather underneath his dirty nails. He can see it, even in the dim light- but he can’t feel it. Can’t stop. He digs and digs and digs, hoping for the thoughts to stop- for the voices to stop telling him that he had to kill her. That if he didn’t, he had to make sure that she never left- that this house swallowed her whole and kept her from running, from leaving them. Leaving him. If she tried to run, he could keep her in the furnace room; could tie her up and warn her that if she wasn’t good, she wouldn’t be able to stay.

He could be good to her. He would learn if he had to, would ask Momma to teach him to be gentle and kind. He would not make her angry, would not make her cry or scare her away as long as she listened to him. As long as she stayed with him.

He’s lost, stuck in the farthest corner of his mind, in a future that would stop existing if he simply reached out and touched her. All he had to do was cover her face with his hand, she would be too surprised to fight him off when he pressed her against the wall and kept her there-the weight of him against her back. He could already feel her as she squirmed against him- her body unable to stand still as her lungs began to burn. He could already feel her warmth through his clothes, feel the way his heart would race as she sank her fingers into his skin, drawing blood from fear and desperation. His fear would seep into her flesh, make her lash out more. Her pain would become his and they would be inseparable in that moment.

It’s when he feels her- fingers cold and desperate as she prods and pulls at his arms, forcing them apart that he returns to reality- to the dimly lit hall, the heat of the fireplace already seeping through the cracks in the foundation. He can feel the way her arms tremble, her fingertips burning holes into his skin.

The woman’s eyes are wild when he looks at her, all wet and round- something in them, in the way she looks at him, makes his heart fill with lead- knocking against his ribs painfully.

“It’s okay!” she says, her voice panicked as she keeps repeating it over and over again, almost as if she’s trying to convince herself- or maybe she thinks that if she says it enough times it’d become true.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” she repeats, her eyes on his as she pulls his arms towards her. “We just have to get this cleaned up and it’ll be okay.”

He doesn’t budge when she tries to pull him towards the staircase- instead, he watches as she stumbles over her own feet, her hands sliding down his arms.

“We need to get this clean,” she’s pleading now, tugging at him to get him to move. “It’s going to get infected if we don’t and there’s no doctor in town anymore-” the more she talks, the more hysterical she begins to sound, her voice growing higher. “I don’t know where the bathroom is, but we can go down to the kitchen, Luda M-”

He doesn’t let her finish, easily pulling his uninjured arm free from her. He didn’t want Momma to know. To see the mess that he made of himself. She would yell at him if he was lucky- tell him that he was sick in the head, hurting himself like a damn fool again. But he knew that Momma wouldn’t be kind like that- she would take one look at him, dripping blood on the floor and she would blame the woman for his pain.

He could already hear her yelling, the shrill sound bouncing through his head. Momma wouldn’t care to listen, to see anything other than what she wanted. Momma was like that- kind and sweet and quiet until someone was stupid enough to go after the family. He was like her in a way, protective of them all. He liked to think that he got it from her- that he couldn’t possibly be bad when Momma’s blood ran through him, sweet and caring.

He couldn’t let Momma find out. Not now- not when he had decided that the woman standing in front of him was worth more to him alive than chopped up into pieces that would fit into the deep freezer.

With a grunt that shuts the woman up from her rambling, he grabs her arm. She’s soft and small under his touch- her sweater itching at his palm as he begins to pull her deeper into the hallway, into the darkness. Away from Momma. Away from a future he wanted no part in.

“No, Tommy we have to go downstairs. I don’t know what to do.” Her voice is shaky as she takes a couple steps forward before planting her feet and refusing to keep going. “Your mom might me better at this than me, please.” She pleads even as she begins to walk again when he refuses to stop.

He tries to tell her that Momma couldn’t find out. That if she did then he wouldn’t be able to protect her- to keep her safe. Momma would tell him to get rid of her and he always did what Momma wanted, even if sometimes he didn’t want to.

He loves Momma. Loves her more than Uncle Hoyt or Monty. He loves her more than anything or anyone- even himself. He could suffer through any pain as long as Momma was with him- as long as she was happy with him.

He tries to tell her that he knows exactly what he’s doing, but all his words come out as a garbled mess of a groan, the muscles in his throat too weak to form any actual words. It frustrates him- hearing himself talk in a way that no one would ever understand.

He lets out a low howl, that frustration growing when she stops walking again. He has to be careful not to hurt her- he didn’t want to accidentally pull her arm too hard if she was going to make this a habit. He just needed to get her to the bathroom. She had to wash off the blood on her hands before she went back downstairs. He could take care of his injuries himself- Momma had taught him how to clean and bandage cuts and bruises. Though he wasn’t concerned with the open wound dripping blood down his arm.

Right now, he needed to get the woman to understand that Momma couldn’t find out about this. That if she went down those steps, stained with his blood, then there was nothing he could do to keep Momma from lashing out. Facing her, he points to himself- finger beating against his chest twice before he points at her.

He’s watching her- his eyes on her as she watches him repeat the action two more times. Her face is flushed, her eyebrows pushed together, and he begins to worry that she’s not understanding him, that now that he’s let go of her, she was going to be stupid and try to push him back towards the stairs.

Letting out a small whimper, he grabs at her wrist. She’s pliant under his touch- her skin cool and soft. Touching her reminds him of the Cattle fences that were used back when the Slaughterhouse had been open. He had touched one by accident, not fully understanding why they had so many warnings signs- and just like back then, something hot and quick ran through him. Back then, the muscles in his fingers and arms had tensed and burned, taking away all his strength. But touching her, feeling the way his scarred thumb slid against the thin skin on her wrist- felt like a shockwave of warmth had run through him- intense and disorienting and addictive.

It scared him, but he didn’t let go of her even though his brain was yelling at him to stop touching her. He couldn’t. He had to keep her safe. Slowly, he began to raise her hand towards him, his mouth opening as he made a noise from the bottom of his throat.

He looked at her face as he pressed the back of her hand against his chest. She was already staring at him, her lips twisted into a frown. He couldn’t look into her eyes for too long, something in him ached when he did, so he kept his eyes on her mouth as he tapped her hand against his chest. That same warmth that was spreading through his arm poisoned his chest. He could feel it in his throat, in the depth of his belly- It knocked around in his head until he was dizzy.

For a moment, with her hand on him and his eyes still glued to her lips, he forgets about the bad people who called him all those bad words. He forgets all of the evil that he’s done, all the screams that haunt him, all the blood that he can never wash off.

He finds the confidence to raise his eyes to her own and part of him is scared that in them he would find disgust at having to touch something like him. A smaller, quieter, part wonders if she feels it too- the electricity that flows out of her and through him. He wants her to tell him that she feels him in her- that he’s also warm and electric through her veins. He wants her to tell him that a real monster wouldn’t feel the way he did- that if he really was a monster, the softness in her eyes wouldn’t be affecting him so much.

Dropping his eyes, he taps his chest with her hand twice before pointing it towards him. He does it one more time before he lets go of her. He expects her to pull her hand away, but instead she lets it linger on his shirt, the dirt and stains not bothering her. He wonders if she can feel the way his heart knocks against his ribs.

“You want me to follow you?” her voice cracks a bit as she takes her hand away.

He nods, grunting as he motions to a door off to the side behind him before he lifts his bloodied arm and runs his hand over the scratches- they’ve stopped bleeding already, his arm a mess of blood stains and dirt. Pointing behind here, towards the staircase he shakes his head, bringing his hand back towards his arm and covering the mess he made.

She doesn’t say anything as she tries to piece everything together- her face twisting into itself as she thinks. He repeats the movement, groaning when he points at the staircase and once more when he covers the cuts. ‘Not safe,’ he tries to tell her, ‘Take care of it here.’

Realization makes her eyes brighten, her features smoothing out. “You don’t want Luda Mae to find out?”

It’s not exactly what he was trying to say but he lets it be, seeing as it was close enough. She could have thought that he wanted her to go down and grab Momma- and he was worried that with how small she was she would take off running before he could stop her. In trying to help she would run straight into her end.

The thought made his stomach drop- a sudden chill rocking through him.

“Tommy- I don’t know if I can do anything about that…” she pauses, and he watches as she reaches for him, taking his arm in both of her hands. Her touch burns him again, and this time he can’t stop the small whine of delight from escaping his lips. Her mouth twists down as she inspects his arm- and he tenses, waiting for her to start yelling at him, for the bad names to come. But they don’t- she stays silent, her eyes glued to his arm.

The damage isn’t bad- compared to the collection of scars that line both of his arms, this was nothing. He had scratched a small hole in his forearm- breaking the skin and tearing apart the bit of muscle and fat there. He was lucky that he hadn’t hit anything vital- that he had stopped when he did.

When he was younger, he had taken to cutting- tearing flesh from his body and slicing himself open as a punishment for his mistakes, for his bad thoughts. He had done a good job of keeping it from Momma until the night he had cut too deep, and the blood wouldn’t stop. He had ran to her, howling in fear- bloody arm pressed against his chest. She had made Uncle Monty hold him down while she stitched him together, only a glass of whiskey to keep the pain away. She had yelled at him the entire time-first with tears in her eyes then when they had dried up and she had finished sewing his skin together- she had taken the belt and beaten him raw. When she got tired of beating him, she had told him that this was all Satan’s fault- that she had no choice but to beat the devil out of him. God was gonna soothe his pain, his fears, his anguish. He would see, Momma liked to say. She had kissed him on the forehead, and he swore he had seen the devil on her shoulder, laughing at him.

The pain hadn’t convinced him to stop- he simply learned how to hide it better, how to keep things clean, how to stitch himself together on those nights that he fantasized about finding peace in death. He learned where to cut and how deep to dig- and eventually, Momma made herself forget it ever happened at all. Sometimes, he thought that she was afraid of God- of making him angry, of him turning his back on her. It’s why he didn’t tell her that every once in a while, he could feel the devil itself pumping through his veins. Taunting him.

The woman gently turns his arm, and he pulls himself from the memories, watching as her fingers caress his skin. She’s too trusting- doesn’t she see the danger that she’s in? How easily he could overpower her? This was a Godless house, no matter what Momma and Hoyt thought- he knew the truth. He knew that they were all rotten, inside and out. She would be ruined by them all if she stayed. He would ruin her with his sins-but his guilt wasn’t strong enough to stop his desires.

“It looks a lot worse than it is, doesn’t it?” she asks him, but he doesn’t answer- too busy watching the way she touches him- her touch making his breath deepen.

He likes the way she doesn’t mind that his blood is on her hands- twisted into the tiny cracks of her bracelet. She’s careful and slow as she traces the tip of her index finger above the crater he had created in his flesh. He’s almost tempted to push her hand down- to feel her flesh against the inside of his own, to have her hurt him before he could hurt her- but she moves her hand away before he can make up his mind.

“Okay…” she sighs, not letting go of him. “Show me what to do.”

He grunts in satisfaction, the weight of Momma finding out and the woman being punished lifting from his shoulders. Slowly, he turns the arm she cradled in her hands so that he was grabbing her instead- his hand swallowing hers.

He tries not to think about it too much as he tugs gently and finds no resistance in her steps. He almost smiles- lip twitching against the leather on his face as he leads her to the bathroom. Inside him, the devil starts to dance in glee.

The room is cold as he pushes open the door and pulls her inside before he follows. He can feel the cold seep into his thin shirt, see it with every exhale when he turns on the light and shuts the door, dropping the woman’s hand. She shivers and he wants to know if it’s from the cold or the fact that he’s no longer touching her.

The light flickers and dies for a couple seconds, leaving them in darkness before it turns back on- low and yellow like all the others in the house. It makes the woman’s skin look sickly- washing her out as she blinks and tries to get used to the light.

“We have to clean it,” she’s already walking around him, towards the sink. It’s a small one, too low for him to reach without having to bend his knees uncomfortably. Maybe that’s why she pauses mid-sentence- was she trying to picture him, hunched over as he scrubbed the dirt and blood and sweat from his arms?

The thought of her thinking about him- caring about him- splits him in two, a feeling that he’s never experienced before.

“Where are the towels?” she asks, turning around to face him. “If we lay some down on the floor it should keep the mess down a bit, right?”

He doesn’t tell her that it’s not a good idea- that a pile of soaking towels would raise questions that need to stay buried instead. So, he shakes his head, already closing the small distance between them.

The bathroom is small- all of them are. The tiles on the walls are a faded green color, some of them cracked- some of them are separated by mold- the caulk so old and weathered by age and neglect. He hopes that she doesn’t see them- his blood warming in embarrassment as he tells himself that he would fix them later, before she realized that this house was falling apart right under their feet.

The toilet and sink and the bathtub are old- not quite as stained, but still the same faded shade as the tiles that surrounded them. Under the harsh yellow light, it all looked a mess. At least it wasn’t like Hoyt’s bathroom- with too many colors and carpet all over the floors that trapped the smell of tobacco and sweat and soap, the steam that seemed to linger and stick to the walls doing nothing to lessen the stench.

He’s careful as he walks around her- suddenly aware of just how close they were. In here, with the door closed, being near to her seemed almost intimate in a way that he could not quite grasp.

He was used to being alone with people- usually they were screaming and begging, or already half-dead, delirious and confused from the pain and the blood loss. He was used to them thrashing and running and fighting back- hitting him with their fists, kicking him, throwing whatever they managed to get ahold of. They would always scare him when they did that- the pain eventually making him mad until he lashed out and hurt them on purpose.

They didn’t seem to understand that he didn’t want to make them suffer- that he was being kind- taking their lives quickly so that they didn’t have to be so afraid.

He was used to the screaming, the name calling- no matter how scared or afraid he got, he always knew how it would end.

With the woman, he had touched her- she had touched him- without screaming, without her begging or flinching or trying to run away. Out in the hall there had been enough space for him if he needed to get away, but here it was just the two of them- existing in a space that no one else seemed to belong in.

It terrified him just as much as it thrilled him. It made him feel the same way as when he had to chased down someone that had slipped out of his hold- but this time his mind wasn’t telling him to kill. This time, as he stood besides the woman, her eyes on him as he turned on the faucet and waited for the water to warm, something inside of him was telling him to chase her down in a completely different way- to keep her at his side.

Even if he had to chain her and train her- he did not want her to leave. He would not let her leave.

He remembers when he had first started at the Slaughterhouse, when he had been put to work with the cows- separating the babies from the mothers as soon as they were born. He would take them- carefully scooping them up in his arms, a child at the time, not knowing better, not knowing what it was that he was doing- and carry them to another part of the barn where he would drop them into cages so small that even he couldn’t fit inside.

They would cry and shake, unable to stand, unable to realize what lay ahead of them. He would feed them scraps he had stolen from the feeding center- oats or barley or even handfuls of grass from outside- shoving his hand through and letting them eat from his hand. They would calm down, even though they could not stand fully- their heads hunched over and pressed against the metal. He would show them that even if they weren’t going to live long- even if the world around them didn’t seem to care for them- they weren’t alone.

She did not have to be caged like them- though if he had to, he would keep her locked up if it meant keeping her beside him. Down in the basement where no one would hear her- where no one would disturb them, he would get her to see that he was a kind man, that he only wanted what was best for her.

She was already so much like the calves from back then- stupid and small and too trusting of him. It wouldn’t be hard to break her, to convince her that it was all her fault- that there was nothing left for her outside this home.

When the water heats up- steam rising and filling his lungs- he runs his fingers under the stream. Dirt and blood stain the sink, the hot water turning his fingers pink. It hurts, but not enough for him to stop. He rubs his hands together, the water turning pink as it drains. He can feel her eyes on him as he scrubs the grains of dirt from his skin.

For some reason, it embarrasses him- having her watch him do something so mundane and ordinary. He almost swore that he could feel the warmth from her eyes on his skin- hotter than the water. It makes the simple task suddenly seem foolish, makes him feel as if this was the first time he was doing it and he wasn’t sure if it was right or wrong.

With a grunt he tries to push the thoughts from his mind- cupping his hand and filling it with water before he splashes it onto his arm, onto the wound he had given himself. It makes a mess- water splashing onto his rolled sleeve and onto the floor, the sink too small to prevent the mess.

“Can I?” she says- and she’s suddenly closer than he had thought, her body pressed against his side. He can feel her through his shirt, through the thick fabric of her sweater. He swears that he can feel the softness of her body, the beating of her heart, the blood rushing through her veins on his very skin. It makes his heart leap into his throat- the sudden touch making him want to push her head into the glass of the medicine cabinet or pull her closer- he wasn’t sure which one he wanted to do most.

He stands still, body tense as she reaches for him, grabbing his arm and lifting it closer. She must have found the linen closet- an old, red washcloth in her other hand which she places underneath the running water. She hisses, pulling her hand away and opens the cold water.

“Doesn’t that hurt you?” she asks- and there’s no anger in her voice, no underlying judgement that has him tensing up, muscles rippling with dread that he had done something wrong. Momma liked to talk to him like that sometimes. She liked to ask questions that made him feel bad, that made him regret coming to her- guilty that he had bothered her. Hurt that she saw him as something bothersome.

He shakes his head, his way of telling her that no, it wasn’t hurting him. If he had a voice, he would tell her that his skin is so damaged that he could barely feel it, that some days he even preferred it- he liked the way his skin turned red and pulsed in a way that was almost comfortable, soothing.

“This will feel much better,” she holds her fingers under the water, and once it’s at a comfortable temperature she lets it run over the washcloth. “Tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?”

He nods sharply and she smiles at him- the corners of her mouth lifting. He expects her to rub the wound directly, desperate to clean it off before infection sets in. Instead, to his surprise, she wipes around the length of it- scrubbing gently at the blood matting the hair on his arm. The hand holding his arm is gentle, her fingers sinking into his soft flesh and holding him still.

He watches her- watches the concentration on her face that has her eyebrows knitted together as she wipes and rinses, repeating those two motions over and over and over again until his skin is cleaner- until the dirt is gone and there’s nothing left to hide the many sins he carried on his skin.

She pauses- and he can almost read her mind at that moment. He can see it in the tension in her wrist, feel it in the way her fingers tremble just a fraction of a second before they dig a little deeper into his arm. The feeling of her nails scratching at him isn’t painful, but it startles him just the same as if it were- a warmth growing in his chest that travels down to his belly and pools there- filling him with a different sort of sin.

He expects her to say something about the hundreds of tiny little cuts and bruises that she’s unearthed- he can feel it hang heavy in the air- his lips tingling from anticipation. From the worry that she would open her mouth and ruin it all.

It would either be disgust or pity- and he wanted neither. The scars were his to carry- his own punishment for his terrible deeds. Uncle Hoyt always cringed and acted like he didn’t see them- even though his mouth and face twisted as if he had eaten something sour. The pity always came from Momma- her hands on his as she prayed to God to take away whatever burdens he seemed to be carrying around in his heart. She wouldn’t touch them- maybe out of fear, or anger, or maybe just like Uncle Hoyt, she was disgusted as well- scared that if she touched the scars, they would somehow ruin her as well.

The corners of the woman’s mouth are still twisted down when she glances up at him- her eyes too dark to read. He wonders what he looks like in her eyes- what is it that she sees in him that no one else seems to see?

He waits for her to talk- to break the tense silence that’s choking him- but she doesn’t say a word, dropping her eyes as she picks up the bar of soap that’s been there for months. It almost slips out of her hand, and she lets go of him completely- his arm frozen in place, his body already missing hers. The tension disappears, as if nothing had ever happened, as if it had never been there to begin with. It rolls from the points of pressure that she had left behind on his flesh and up his arms. It moves in his veins, thick and syrupy- coating all of him in a feeling that’s doesn’t sit right.

Maybe he did want her to speak- to pity him after all. But the moment is gone, and he doesn’t have a voice to bring it back- to tell her what he was feeling, so he lets the discomfort drown him just a bit as he watches her act like nothing wrong had happened.

She rubs the bar between her hands, underneath the stream of water and his heart sinks at the thought of her cleaning all traces of him from her skin- he wanted to coat her in all that he was- his scent, his hatred, the bitter taste in his mouth that never seemed to go away- he wanted her to have it all, to carry him even if they were apart for a split second. An extension of him- equally as fearsome.

“Come here,” she motions for him to bring his arm towards her hands, letting the bar fall into the sink. Her hands are covered in soap as she takes his arm in between them- gently scrubbing from his wrist to the inside of his elbow, where his rolled-up sleeve sat. At first, she doesn’t touch the wound- and he can feel the hesitation in her fingers as she scrubs at his arm, circling around it. She scrubs at his skin, at the spaces between his fingers, taking his hand in her own and gently massaging it.

It's the first time anyone has done something like that to him- and while he can’t understand why she was being so thorough when it would have been easier to just hand him the soap and let him do it, he has no intention of stopping her.

He simply watches and enjoys- his mouth twisted into the closest thing of a smile that he could manage underneath his mask.

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” she says quietly, and it takes him a second to understand her words, his mind lost even to himself- her fingers lightly press against the cut as she speaks, drawing him back into reality. He tenses as she begins to clean it out, rubbing soapy water into it. It doesn’t hurt- not with how light and slow she moves her hand, her finger dipping into the hole he had scratched open. He expects it to hurt or sting or startle him- but pain doesn’t come. Instead, he groans in delight- enjoying the way her finger seems to be tearing into him, stretching his skin open. It’s like she’s making space for herself inside of him- forcing herself into the parts of him that held him together, sinew and muscle and blood- now poisoned with whatever sickness the woman had inflicted in his heart.

“Sorry!” she says quickly, pulling her hand away from him. The once white bubbles between her fingers are now a soft shade of pink, mixed with his blood. It all disappears down the drain as she rinses her hand, drying them on the front of her jeans.

He grows frustrated at the fact that there’s no way to tell her that she hadn’t hurt him- that he wanted her to do it again. That the pain she caused him was almost addictive- sweeter than the whiskey Uncle Monty sometimes let him have whenever he was in a good enough mood to share.

The woman motions for him to rinse his arm, already cupping her hands together under the faucet and letting the cool water pool between her hands. He angles his arm awkwardly into the sink and she lets the water trickle from between her fingers over his arm slowly. He watches as she repeats the motion, rinsing his arm- it’s so trivial and boring, yet he’s in awe as she takes care of him.

Without a second thought, the woman is already devoting herself to the mundanity of life with him. He could see it as she turns the water off and tells him to wait- as if he would leave her side, as if he could do something so absolutely stupid- subjecting himself to an agony he had no intention of experiencing firsthand.

He hears the closet door open behind him, making him turn around and look at the woman as she rummages through old fitted blankets, washcloths and towels until she finds what she needs. With one hand pressed against the pile of folded towels she pulls one free, tossing it over her arm. “I don’t know how long this has been here for-” as she talks, she moves onto her toes, stretching her arm out as she reaches for something on one of the top shelves.

He almost moves to help her, his body already swaying in place, eager to move, to make himself useful to the woman. But he spends too long trying to decide- her hand closing around whatever it was that she had seen earlier. She lets out a small noise of delight as she drops down to the balls of her feet, and it wracks through him, sending a shiver of warmth up his spine that spreads across his chest- tightening the muscles in his lower belly.

“Expired medicine and antibiotics are better than nothing, right?” She asks as he turns and faces him- lips curved up into a smile and he almost finds himself mimicking it- the corners of his lips twitching. He catches himself, hot embarrassment forcing his eyes to drop from her face- down to the small plastic medicine bin in her hands. It did not matter that he had his mask to hide behind, the way she looked at him made him feel as if she could somehow see through it- his face exposed for whatever ridicule and insults she would eventually throw at him.

There are bottles of pills stacked on top of one another- the type that Momma used to give him when he was feverish. It would take his sickness as well as his hunger- leaving him too heavy to do anything but lay in bed until the heat of his body burned through the drug. There are other things as well- gauze and bandages, silver packages of pills he couldn’t identify, the label worn off a long time ago- a bottle of Vaseline, faded from the years sits next to a glass jar of Vapor-Rub. Looking at it, he swears that he can smell it even with how far away from the jar he was- even though his nose hasn’t worked properly for months, he feels the ghost of it wrinkle as he cringes from the offensive smell his mind reminds him of.

Momma used to slather him with it when he had first started working at the Slaughterhouse. He hadn’t been used to the smell of it back then and every day he went back had been miserable. The scent of death and blood and shit had soured his stomach until he had gone and thrown up the oatmeal Momma had made for breakfast all over his worktable. All over the slab of meat he had been told to break down. He can still remember the taste of animal blood on his tongue after he had wiped his mouth- forgetting that his hands and arms and chest had been covered in chunks of offal. His boss had called him every bad word under the sun-some were words that he had never heard before, now fully engrained in his mind, tearing at his heart once Monty had told him what they meant.

When he had gone home that night, after scrubbing his station clean- the blood mixing with his waste underneath his nails, in the strands of his hair and in between the cracks of his boots, Momma had slapped him. She had been waiting for him on the porch, her face twisted down in anger, the blue of her eyes dark and cold behind her glasses.

She had called him a great big idiot- uncaring of how dirty he had been, of how hard he had silently prayed to God for the day to hurry up and end so that he could leave and go home. At one point, when the bell for Lunch had rung and he was forced to stay and catch up to everyone else- his boss throwing what Momma had packed for him in the garbage before spitting on it with a laugh- he had wanted to die, his chest burning every single time he brought the cleaver down. He had wanted to die right then and there- to stop existing all together. To be nothing but the air around him- free from the bad people, from the stares, from feeling like all that he did was somehow inherently wrong. No matter if it was an accident or not, no one ever seemed to care enough to listen to him.

Momma had gotten a call from the Slaughterhouse- telling her that because of his careless mistake he would have to be let go. Momma had told him, as she dragged him to the hose out back, that she had begged and begged and begged for them to give him a second chance. They couldn’t lose his income, not with Uncle Monty getting less hours at his job and the Government cutting Uncle Hoyt’s veteran checks so suddenly. They were barely making ends meet as it was- this would ruin them.

She had yelled and shouted, spraying him with cold water until he was a shivering mess, the blood no longer crusted over on his skin. He could feel the cold water pooling in his boots, making his socks stick to his toes. It hadn’t even mattered to him then, his heart hammering away at his chest at the thought of never having to go back. Of not having to wake up so early to walk all the way to the other side of town in a place that he hated.

He didn’t even mind when Momma had beat him, welts forming on his wet skin from the belt she kept exclusively for punishments. The pain was nothing in comparison to when Momma had told him that she had made sure that he had kept his job.

They were going to cut his pay, a little every check, until he paid off the cost of the half cow he had puked all over. But he still had a job, he was still able to help the family out- wasn’t that good? Momma asked him, smiling at him like she hadn’t just beat him tired.

Momma warned him that he couldn’t mess this up again. That there were no more chances after this- sending him up to his room with no dinner, his stomach already empty and rubbing against itself.

The morning after, when she had woken him up- his body sore from all the walking that he had done and the bruises forming on his back and legs- Momma had twisted open the jar of Vapor-rub for the first time, filling his room with the slightly sweet- minty smell.

She had bought it last night, right before the shop closed- with the bit of lose change she had managed to scrap together. It’s gonna help you from making another mistake she said right before she shoved a finger full of it into his nose. It was thick, and cold, burning the inside of his nose as he moaned in pain, trying to push Momma away before she shoved more into the other nostril. She had smacked his hand away, telling him that this was for his own good. That this was only until he got used to it.

He had moaned as tears began to form, shaking his head- trying to empty his nose, the burning crawling up into his head and making his eyes water painfully. Every inhale he took through his mouth burned its way to his lungs. Momma only slapped him again- telling him that this was his fault. That he had to do this for the family.

“You’re so selfish Thomas!” she shouted at him, holding his jaw and shoving another finger into his empty nostril. “There’s no room for useless boys in this house, do you understand?”

He couldn’t remember anything after that. His memories about that day lost to the pain he had put himself through. He remembers bits and pieces- the hunger. The burning. The anger.

He always seemed to remember the anger. Flashing through him- hot and cold, boiling his blood.

Something outside of his thoughts rattle and he’s once more standing in the bathroom, a man three times the size of the child that he had once been. Beside him, the woman had set the medicine bin on top of the toilet tank and was rummaging through it- the source of the noise that had brought him back.

He’s tense, the muscles in his neck thick and tight. He doesn’t like how he seemed to live more in his memories- constantly remembering all the things that he just wanted to forget. He didn’t want to remember, to be reminded of the pain he carried.

The woman glances at him, holding a small yellow squeeze tube and a roll of self-adhesive medical tape in one hand. Their eyes meet and she smiles at him, even though he can feel the way his face is twisted down into a scowl- his eyebrows heavy over his eyes.

He doesn’t mean to glare at her- to make her smile falter slightly as her eyes widen just a fraction. He could almost see himself in her eyes and he doesn’t like the him that he imagines. Large and imposing- a thing that only knows how to hurt, how to cause fear. He waits for the woman to realize her mistake- to realize that she was trapped in a small room with a monster.

“Give me your arm?” she asks him, holding out her right hand. “Let’s get you all wrapped up, okay?” her smile is still small, and he can see the wariness in her eyes, but when he places his arm in her hand she doesn’t flinch, she doesn’t rush him- wanting to get this over with.

She pulls him towards her instead, slender fingers wrapping around his forearm as much as possible. She tugs, and he moves- lightweight in her hold.

He’s aware of the muscles in his face- of how, even if he’s partially hidden behind his mask, his face sits. He makes himself relax- something that comes easy with the warmth of her hand on his body, easing the tension that he still carried from his memories. Her touch burned into him, filled him until he swore that he could feel her in his blood- pumping through his heart.

Her eyes don’t leave his as she pulls him closer, and motions with her head for him to sit down on the toilet. “It’ll be easier, that way you don’t have to keep your arm in the air.” She explains, shuffling out of the way to make space for him.

Underneath his weight, the toilet squeaks and shifts as he does as told, awkwardly sitting down. She’s taller than him like this, his head at the same level with her chest, making him have to tilt his head back just a bit to meet her eyes.

Her smile had grown in the time he had looked away- and he can’t help the heat that spreads across his face, his ears growing hot. Could she feel it? The warmth that she caused him? The uneasiness thrumming through him that had the tips of his fingers aching to touch her? To hold her like she held him?

“Can you hold this?” she asks, already dropping something into his expecting hand. It had been resting on his lap, calloused covered palm open and waiting- a beggar’s pose. The ointment and tape weren’t what he had been waiting for, but he takes them, closing his thick fingers around them.

What he didn’t expect was for her to lean over him with a mumbled “sorry”, her hand falling onto his shoulder as she reached for something behind him- inside of the medicine bin.

He doesn’t know what to do- his body freezing underneath hers as her neck grazes his mask covered face. It doesn’t last long- maybe a fraction of a second before she’s pulling away and dropping the hand from his shoulder, but it was enough.

Enough for him to inhale the light scent of her- woodsy and sweet and nutty- just the smallest hint of sweat underneath that. It reminded him of the baked goods Momma used to make for him on his birthday when he was small. It was comforting in the same way that it twisted his stomach with the pain of remembering something that used to make him so happy, something that had been taken from him so abruptly once Momma decided that he was too big to celebrate his birthday. Too old to be cared for.

The woman had been so close that he swore that he could almost hear the blood pounding through her veins. He had almost been tempted to turn his head and feel its pulse with his lips. To scratch her skin with his mask- the scent of her tainting it the same way it has already ruined his senses.

He could picture it- his teeth sinking into the warm and thin flesh she had so stupidly given him access to. It was almost scary- the way his mouth began to water at the thought of her blood on his tongue, raw flesh between his teeth. He wanted to fill his belly with it- to make her a part of him in a way that no one could take from him.

Would she taste as sweet as she smelled?

He swallowed down saliva, clearing the bad thoughts from his mind- scared that if he kept focusing on them, he would do something that he didn’t really want to do. Something that he wouldn’t be able to take back, no matter how hard he begged and prayed and tried to undo.

He didn’t want to hurt her right now. No matter how hard his mind was telling him to do it- replaying all of the times that he could have done so. Showing him all of the ways that he still could.

He feels ashamed of his thoughts, of the temptation that he was barely keeping at bay- and finds himself unable to look at the woman as she rips open a piece of plastic, tossing it in the garbage can between the toilet and the sink. He keeps his eyes on the space between his legs, on her beat-up boots as she stands in front of him- sweet and unaware of what a horrible person he truly was. Of all that he was struggling to not do to her.

“Do you think Luda Mae is getting suspicious?”

The question startles him, reminding him of the world outside of the bathroom, outside of the woman in front of him.

“She’s probably thinking I ran away; don’t you think?” the woman’s laugh is small, feathery light. He doesn’t know how to answer- not knowing how long they had been up here. There was a possibility that Momma had grown suspicious, or maybe she thought that he had snapped and taken care of her in the only way that he knew how.

Vaguely, he shakes his head. Whether it’s to disagree with her or to tell her that he wasn’t sure- he let’s her decide on which one he’s trying to communicate. If Momma had been concerned, she would have come upstairs to check on her already, so he wasn’t too worried. He shrugs, and her laughter fills his ears again.

“Right. If you’re not worried, then I won’t be either. I just don’t want her to think that I’ve been a horrible guest- running off in the middle of helping her with dinner.”

He shakes his head again and this time its to reassure her that Momma wouldn’t think that. At least he hoped that she wouldn’t. The thought of Momma angry at the woman made his chest burn uncomfortably. An ache that slithered in the tight spaces between his ribs- hot and uneasy in its slickness.

“Well, what’s done is done, lets just get your arm bandaged. I might need your help facing her again.” The woman likes to talk with a smile, he’s noticed. It was as if her mouth had no other way to rest- the corners turned up towards the heavens, towards her eyes that liked to seek him out- unafraid of what she saw, of what others liked to look away from.

He wondered if she was joking- if she was just talking in order to fill the silence. He knew people who did that- people like Hoyt and his old boss at the Slaughterhouse, who had to keep their mouths moving or they would stop existing all together. He liked to think that if he had a voice, he would be like that too- not quite as annoying, but loud enough that people were forced to look at him, to listen to what he had to say.

He would tell the woman that he would keep her safe. That he wanted to go down with her and show Momma that she had done nothing wrong. That if anyone was to blame, it was him. It was his fault that she had stayed away for so long. He would hide her away from Momma’s anger- keep her tucked behind him- safe.

If he was being honest, he wasn’t sure that he wanted her to leave just yet. They could stay here a little longer- everything behind that door non-existent. He could make believe that Momma was still at work, busy with too many customers- outsiders who were just passing by, headed for more than the meat hooks in the basement of this house. That for a bit his uncle’s Monty and Hoyt didn’t exist. That the world was just for him and her.

That would be enough for him. He was almost tempted to ask God- to check and see if he was still paying attention to him after all that he had done.

The woman moves from in front of him and takes a seat on the edge of the tub, her knees rubbing against the outside of his thigh as she grabs his arm and places it on her lap. He can feel the buckle of her belt against his knuckles- his arm suddenly a solid weight as he feels the warmth that radiates from the space between her thighs.

It crawls along his skin- up to his shoulder and through the space in his chest. It reminds him of the times that he’s stayed in one spot for too long, his limbs falling asleep. Though there was no uncomfortable pain this time- Instead it felt like a million little bugs were crawling around inside of him- a buzzing under his skin that he was unused to, but not disgusted by. It was something that maybe he could get used to.

It settles in his belly- thick and heavy and hot, stirring awake thoughts that felt too uncomfortable to focus on. Shamefully, he raises his eyes from the woman’s lap, trying to think of something other than the way her jeans clung to her thighs or how close his fingers were to the space between her legs- somehow hotter than the rest of her, the back of his hand burning pleasantly. He wanted to keep it there- to soak all of himself in her warmth until he knew nothing more.

He pushes the indecent thoughts from his mind, suddenly growing paranoid that the woman would find out what he was thinking about her. He didn’t want her to think that he was disgusting. Rotten just like Uncle Hoyt, who was obsessed with playing with their food.

“Is this uncomfortable for you, Tommy?” maybe it was because the silence had gone on for too long, but the woman whispers her question- her voice only for him, distracting him slightly as she reaches for the things she had given him, plucking them from his hand before he even had a chance to register the movement- her hand too fast that he barely feels the way her fingers skim his palm.

She’s already twisted open the bottle of ointment by the time he shakes his head- the cap balancing on the edge of her knee. With a hum she nods- her eyes focused on her own hands even though he wants her to look at him again. He wanted her to ask him more questions- her voice tender and sweet whenever she spoke to him. He wanted her to distract him for his thoughts that liked to pull him away from her- and right now he wanted to stay right here, to not miss a single moment.

The ointment is cold against his skin- the woman squeezing a light amount right above the wound. He can feel it cleansing away all of his wickedness- her finger swiping at it until it’s in the deepest layer of his flesh, leaving nothing behind but an oily residue that coated her thumb. Without a pause she sticks a piece of gauze on top- taping it up until the gauze is well hidden under flesh colored medical tape.

He had found it in the pocket of one of the first of Uncle Hoyt’s guests- setting it aside for Momma along all of the jewelry he had collected. Maybe it was for a reason that he had second guessed his decision to throw it away. Maybe that had been a sign from above that you were on your way- that God hadn’t abandoned them after all.

The woman is gentle as she pats the covered wound and leans back a bit to meet his expectant eyes. What does she see in them- in him- that makes her look at him so sweetly?

“You’re all set. How’s it feeling? It’s not too tight, is it?”

#texas chainsaw massacre #thomas hewitt x reader #leatherface #thomas hewitt #slasher fandom #slasher fanfiction #slashers x reader #slashers #slasher community #leatherface x reader #the texas chainsaw massacre

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teaboot · 5 months ago

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Batman? As in extended batman universe, specifically batman, or movies batman? I'm going to die from the hilarity of /accidentally/ following another batman fan. Generally it's on purpose lol

I was actually absorbed into the Fandom by osmosis before I even touched any of the Canon material

Even now I've only seen the Affleck movies and the Battinson one, plus a couple cartoons and like. Four comics out of order

With next to zero evidence tho I have decided that

Dick Grayson has Eldest Daughter syndrome that, speaking as an Eldest Daughter (tm) really should be addressed in the lore somewhere before he goes on a drunken bender, gets a tramp stamp, kills a man, and has a full-on mental breakdown when the Repression Dam breaks

Stephany Brown radiates "angry teen girl needs a hug" energy imo but I feel like she might break my arms? I don't know anything about her except her dad sucks but honestly same boat, would hang

Timothy Drake cannot be the helpless boohoo I see a lot of, but somehow the cool, collected, hypercompentant, übermensch-tweenybopper look is kinda sadder, like seeing a twelve year old buying groceries at the store by themselves. I want to send his ass to normal kid summer camp

I don't know pretty much anything about Duke Thomas except that he's a meta whose parents might be alive but crazy. I can only conclude that he suffers from Black Character White Fandom syndrome. I headcanon that he had an embarrassing weeb phase in middle school because he feels like the kind of kid Who'd have gone through a phase of saying "ohaio" with peace signs as a baby tween. I have no evidence to support this

Cassandra Cain might be my favourite. I think she deserves to go on an angry, irrational rampage or two, as a treat. Aggretsuko vibes that I cannot explain. I bet her favourite colour is purple

Jason Todd is my guilty comfort character and I refuse to believe he kicked the shit out of a fifteen year old while wearing a legless adult onesie. I refuse. Also yeah as a huge angry-kid-book-nerd there is no way that pride and prejudice was his number one fave, my money is on the Percy Jackson series but that could just be me projecting

Damian Wayne is Autistic, personal subscription. Because I am too and I said so. Reminds me of my baby brother, but crankier. Like a tiny old man who doesn't want to be at bingo with the other folks at the senior center.

I feel like Alfred should be allowed to be wrong about something sometimes but I still love him. Give that grandpa a gun

Bruce Wayne strikes me as a man who should have put a lot more thought and study and personal therapy consults into the idea of adopting multiple highly capable highly traumatized children he's never met before before but fuck pobody's nerfect am I right. Bisexual

#Batman #Fandom posting #Ignorant assumptions

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sillygoofyqueer · 3 months ago

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I WOULD LOVE MORE DEMON REACTIONS!! I love it both when you add lore and when you just describe sy’s relationships and peoples’ reactions to him. It is so awesome!!!! For demons I imagine that everyone is just like, look at the little funky crow man(when they aren’t terrified of his reputation at least). I imagine some upstart demon noble or something goes to try and make an alliance with/conquer the corvids or smth and then they either get absolutely bodied by the crows who don’t want to share their king or the meet sy and are just in shock because this guy?? This is the feared corvid king?? At least until sy mentions something from his knowledge of PIDW and they get absolutely freaked out because how does he know that?? What do you mean my daughter will be married off soon?? Maybe there is going to be rumors about him being a seer or something. ESPECIALLY if what sy mentions is in relation to a bloodbath that bingge from PIDW caused since crows are associated with death(at least in our world). I wonder how intimidated they would be since not only does sy have a terrifying reputation. But he is a heavenly demon. And like you mention, Tianlang-jun ran a whole empire. ALSO!! I love the reactions so much! Tianlang-jun just shipping sy with zzl when they brawl whilst sy is just in full bird brain and doesn’t want to share his shinys. Imagine all the rumors that would fly around(probably encouraged by tlj) When Binghe sees this he’d throw an absolute FIT!

There is a lot to unpack here, all of it absolutely delightful, but I'm going to be a little freak and start on what's been tugging at my mind as I read this. (I'll probably have to write a part two because I can feel my autistic little brain whirring at at least ninety miles an hour, I'm so sorry) DID YOU KNOW THAT IN GREEK MYTHOLOGY, CROWS ARE ASSOCIATED WITH APOLLO, GOD OF (amongst other things) PROPHECY. I am a teeny weeny bit of a Greek mythology nut, so this immediately jumped me the moment I read about demons viewing SY as a seer of sorts (in the instance that the system was either far more relaxed or non-existent). So, so, basically, in Greek mythology, Apollo learned that one of his lovers (Coronis, I believe) was being unfaithful through ravens/crows and this led to him turning them from white to black! Due to them being featured in this myth, he is heavily associated with them and, in general, they are associated with prophecy and divination. SO, if we want to fuck around in our little sandbox (under the impression that Airplane is stealing from other mythologies aside from just Chinese mythology), we can decide that there is at least three wife plots in PIDW that surround crows and their ideas of prophecy!!! When Shen Yuan starts blabbering about these different future events, and then they HAPPEN, the other demons are like GASP. FUCK. The crow knowss.....ANDANDANDAND, RIGHT, THE IDEA OF CROW DEMONS BEING ABLE TO DIVINE VIOLENT/DEADLY DISASTERS BECAUSE OF THEIR ASSOCIATION WITH DEATH JUST MAKES PEOPLE MORE SCARED OF SHEN YUAN'S PREDICTIONS. HFGROGERGWOHRGHGS SOSHOHRORRRY SORRY SORRY, THIS HAS BECOME A RAMBLE THAT'S ONLY A LITTLE BIT OF WHAT YOUR ASK TOUCHES UPON BUT A P O L L O . HE HAS A TUMULTUOUS RELATIONSHIP WITH CROWS/RAVENS BECAUSE HE SCORCHED THEM BLACK AND THEY CHATTED ABOUT HIS LOVER'S UNFAITHFULNESS, SO IF WE HAVE A DEITY THAT IS LIKE APOLLO IN PIDW, WE COULD ALMOST EVEN IMPLY THAT WHEN THE DIVINE CROW BEINGS FELL TO SIN, THIS IS WHAT CAUSED IT! THEY FELL TO GOSSIP AND WERE DIVINELY PUNISHED BY THIS DEITY, AND AND, OUT OF SPITE AFTER THEY BECAME ENTRENCHED IN SIN, THE HEAVENLY CROW DEMONS BEGAN DIVINING TO THE WEAK MORTALS WITHOUT THE DEITY TELLING THEM TO BECAUSE THEY WANTED TO GET BACK AT THE DEITY AHAHAHAHAHA. (obviously this isn't a definite thing, it's just an alternative way for the heavenly crows to become heavenly demons. It's just me chattering to myself) I'll make a separate post on the MAIN demons' reactions to SY but, in general, most demons are either actively petrified of him because of his image as a deity, or they're relatively disillusioned because they've seen him in person and he's been a SWEETHEART, hitting them with the wife beam. That doesn't mean that they aren't still kind of terrified of the powerful, prophetic crow heavenly demon deity, but in a "scared but horny way", and that's only when SY displays this power! Most of the time he's an undeniably strange but incredibly kind hearted guy that just seems to want to help everyone!! Even if he hates doing things!!! Tianlang-Jun is always under the full determination of "ONE of my relatives is going to marry this crow demon, or I'm going to do it myself." The first time Zhuzhi-Lang and Luo Binghe hear that they both immediately just stare at TLJ like "don't you dare, you whore" (ZZL a lot more respectful than LBH, of course), but TLJ is booored. Someone better fuck marry that freak or he'll do it himself.

(When I write part two for the important demon reactions to SY, I'll link it here, so keep an eye out!!!)

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just-antithings · 8 months ago

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The anti mindset is far more damaging to real life than any ship I've ever seen. The reach of it has made it so that I can't even openly be with my Actual Real Life Boyfriend(tm), because they'll call it abusive - and the thing is we're not even sure which one of us would be called the abuser! Is it me, for being a white girl dating a black guy nearly six years younger than me (note - both adults) ? Is it him, for being a lot taller and stronger and richer than me? Is it abuse not on those grounds, but because I'm autistic while he's neurotypical (as far as we're aware)? What about the part where I'm bi, but in a relationship with a man anyway - am I doing bi erasure? The privilege-points system they seem to operate with is broken, it doesn't work because real people have layers - what should take priority, height or race or disability or age or financial status or sexuality or what? I hate that "I love you, and you love me, and we've had conversations about how we are going to navigate our relationship and its nuances, but don't tell anyone because we're going to be outcast from our community if you do" is a thing we've SOMEHOW cycled back to. I have to call him "just my best friend" and he is, of course, but the word I want to use is "soulmate", and it KILLS me. (Please only post this if it's anonymous, thank you.)

#mod erin #ask #just anti things #abuse mention #posted without comment

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the-s1lly-corner · 9 months ago

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Various HH characters x autistic!reader

Prize 1/5 for @coldsushisworld ! I hope you enjoy!

This post includes: charlie, vaggie, alastor, Lucifer, adam, and lute

CHARLIE

Honestly I can see Charlie herself being somewhere on the spectrum! So she can relate to you in some way when you're having some struggles. Shes so so accommodating when it comes to your needs, quite literally bending over backwards to make sure the hotel is a safe space for you. Theres likely a sensory room somewhere in the hotel, where you (or really anyone!) Can go to unwind and just vibe. Protective of you, as she is with everyone else she cares about. You.. may have to get her to cool it if things get a little too heated. Warm and smells like apple pie, and I dont know about you guys but that's possibly one of the most pleasing and calming combos

VAGGIE

Very quick to shut things down if someone tries to get on your case for your needs for whatever reason, same goes for anyone who does it without intending to be harmful/doing it unknowingly. Shes your guard dog, and shes going to make sure you're safe mentally and physically. Likely stands trying to choose between different fidgets to pack for an outing trying to determine which one might come more in handy. Packs both. Actually she definitely has a pack somewhere for you that has a bunch of items to carry on you to help you out (water, headphones, ect ect). Despite that she does think you're capable and will step back if her worries cause her to overstep and make you feel bad. Vaggie does tend to have trouble gauging how much effort and feeling into things

ALASTOR

In the nicest way possible, he does not care. Obviously he doesn't care in the "I dont care that you're ND and I'm not going to avoid doing things that trigger you", it's a "I dont care because it is what it is", and besides hes got manners! Sometimes the static ambience around him can be comforting, like white noise.. sometimes he hums or softly plays music if you need something to focus on during an overwhelming moment. However if it makes things worse it's getting cut the second you say something. You're the only person allowed into his radio tower, if you need an escape

LUCIFER

As stated above I headcanon that Charlie is somewhere in the spectrum so he already has an idea of what to do to make things easier and more welcoming for you! Thankfully his home isnt too chaotic and he doesnt usually switch up his routine so if routines mean a lot for you Lucifer is your man! Puts his crafting skills to good use and makes you personalized fidget toys! He loves talking to you but if you need him to be quiet for a while he'll be understanding and work quietly on his ducks. Similarly to his daughter he doesnt let anyone try to make you feel bad for trying to tend to your needs. Though hes less of a pushover/holds his temper a little easier than charlie, but hes still quick to shut anything down

ADAM

In the beginning he can be a little.... how does one say this nicely? Not the best.. hes not at all educated so you're probably going to have to sit him down and find a way to get him to listen. Hes a little misguided when it comes to helping you moving forward but there is a new added effort in there. Takes you away from environments that are too overwhelming for you, or tells everyone to shut the hell up.. which might make things worse thanks to his shouting. He's got the spirit but his methods are not the best. His wings are soft and as long as you dont pluck anything out, he let's you run your fingers through his feathers. Would get sucked into those sensory and/or asmr videos with you

LUTE

I can see her being on the spectrum too tbh but I dont think shes aware, so anytime you try to bring up the possibility of her being ND she kind of just dismisses it. "Everyone does that," mindset. While she doesnt totally understand all of your habits and needs, she still does her best to make sure you're satisfied. She can be callous with others, often causing conflict to those who choose not to listen to an exterminator.. though to heavens citizens what status to exterminators have..? Shrugs. Shes a little.. tense? Harsh? No harsh sounds mean. Shes not used to being tender for someone else, so this is all a learning process for her.. its going to take a while before she grows accustomed to you autism or not.. but shes trying, because she does love you even if shes not used to these feelings!

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 4 months ago

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hii! i love your casey x autistic!reader fics and i had a request. you know how in a lot of the episodes where the men get sa’d, they think it means they’re gay and they blow up in the interrogation room shouting slurs and everything? i’ve always wondered what it would be like for a queer detective to be in the room seeing someone say that in front of them. could you do something like that where a suspect gets defensive and starts spewing homophobic stuff in the interrogation room where detective!reader is interviewing them and casey is watching from behind the glass? pre-existing relationship if possible and maybe some fluff as well :)) these are just some ideas you can really do whatever you want - i give you full creative freedom 🙏

Hey, friend! Hope this is what you're looking for! Much love to you! 💕 –illdowhatiwantthanks

Interrogations

Casey Novak x autistic!fem!reader Warnings: homophobic comments, threats of sexual violence, autism times, police (duh), explicit language (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.2k

Summary: A threatening, homophobic outburst from a victim has you overstimulated and panicked. Casey is there to help calm you down. That is, if she can calm down herself.

“Sir, it’s in your best interest to be honest with us,” you said, rubbing your temples.

Round and round you’d gone with this man. This married man with 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. He’d been assaulted at a gay club, and the implications were clear. You sat down across from him. Your partner, Resendez, leaned against the back wall, letting you take the lead on this one. As the only out, queer detective working special victims, you were often the one they chose to interview queer victims or even suspects. There was a level of relatability; you were better than most at getting them to open up.

This man–clean cut, button-up, eye swollen shut, split lip–you felt sorry for him. You felt sorry for anyone who wasn’t out, wasn’t free to be themselves for whatever reason. It had taken you a long time to come to terms with your own sexuality, even longer to be comfortable in a relationship. But you knew the cognitive dissonance it took to lead a “straight” life while trying desperately hard not to be gay. He’d given you some bullshit story about being drugged and dragged to the gay club, but there had been no drugs found in his system. He was clearly just trying to come up with an excuse for being there.

“Mr. Berg,” you started again, softening your voice. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying sex with men. We just need to know what really happened so we can catch the person who did this to you.”

Suddenly, he exploded, standing and throwing his chair against the wall. You nearly fell out of your seat as you backed toward the wall and Resendez surged forward to cuff him.

“I’m not a fucking faggot, you bitch!” he spat. “Maybe you like pussy, but that’s not my problem! You just need a dick in you! I could do it, too, I’m not a fucking fag!”

You kept your eyes fixed on a scratch on the wall, trying not to react. You were used to people saying ignorant things. You were used to perps saying all kinds of disgusting things to you, but this outburst had rattled you more than usual.

“Just go, Y/L/N,” Resendez said, nodding toward the door.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You let the door slam shut behind you, leaning against it and exhaling shakily.

“You okay?”

You jumped a bit, then calmed when you saw it was Casey. She’d been watching the interview.

You nodded, but your hands gave you away, shaking at your sides. Casey frowned and pressed one of your hands between hers, flattening it and attempting to massage the stress away. You were trying hard to stay calm, but Berg’s outburst–the force of it, the volume–had taken you off guard. Normally on the job, you went into situations expecting belligerence or violence, and your body and brain were primed for it ahead of time. But this had come so out of the blue. Your heartbeat was fast and loud in your ears, and you closed your eyes, the lights overhead too bright, too much.

You could feel yourself growing panicked, not because of what Berg had said, but because you knew you were getting overstimulated, and you couldn’t control it. Of course, your squad knew you were autistic. Huang evaluated you every six months to ensure you weren’t burnt out and were able to perform your duties. There were parts of solving a case that being autistic made you very good at, but there were also things it made hard for you. You hated for your squad to see you like this, to see the worst parts of being autistic. You wanted them to trust you, to believe that you were capable of doing your job and doing it well. But nobody else fell apart like this. Just you.

“Sorry,” you whispered to Casey as your breathing grew more rapid.

She wrapped her arm around your shoulder protectively. “It’s okay. Come here, come with me.”

She led you to the bullpen and knocked lightly on Cragen’s open door. Cragen looked up and was about to ask Casey what she needed when he noticed her gesture subtly toward you–hunched, eyes on the ground, fingers tapping the sides of your head as your body rocked back and forth.

Cragen gathered his papers and stood, squeezing Casey’s arm as he passed. “Take as long as you need,” he said quietly, leaving his office.

Casey pulled you into the office and shut the door behind you, turning off the overhead lights and shutting the blinds.

“Okay,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around your rocking body and squeezing you tightly. The longer she held you, the more your heartbeat slowed, the more even your breaths grew, until you were left shaky from the spent adrenaline, limp in her arms.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, lowering yourself into a chair and rubbing your eyes.

Casey sat next to you, taking your hand in hers again. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, honey.”

You disagreed, but you didn’t want to argue the point. Casey would win anyway. She was a lawyer, after all.

“I want to go in with you next time when you question Berg,” she added.

“Casey…” you protested.

“I don’t want him talking to you like that.”

You smiled softly at her and pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Casey. Honey. I’m a detective. People are gonna say shitty things to me.”

“Yeah, well,” she grumbled. “If he threatens you again, I’m slapping him with an assault charge.”

“He’s an assault victim, Case. It’s your job to protect him.”

“Maybe so,” she conceded, leaning forward to caress your cheek. “But my number one job is to protect you.”

You melted into her touch. Usually it was you protecting people. Your whole job was protecting people, and you were good at it. But Casey? Casey looked after you. Casey made you feel safe.

You leaned in to kiss her lips softly, making sure to meet her eyes when you pulled away, so she knew you were feeling better, less overstimulated.

“I’m okay, honey,” you whispered. “I promise.”

The rest of the squad made it a point to be extra normal when you and Casey emerged from Cragen’s office. Someone who didn’t know you might think you and Casey had been in there for less-than-professional reasons, but the squad knew the only reason you’d lock yourself in there was for you to regulate yourself. And they never wanted you to feel embarrassed about it.

You made your way back to the interrogation room where Berg now sat handcuffed. Resendez observed him through the two-way mirror.

“Want another crack, Y/N?” he asked. “I’m getting nothing.”

“Might try good cop, bad cop with Casey,” you told him. “Or, well, I guess it’d be bad cop, worse ADA who’s pissed you threatened her girlfriend.”

Resendez shrugged and grinned at you. “Worth a shot anyway.”

Casey squeezed your hand before following you into the interrogation room.

“Alright, Mr. Berg. Allow me introduce ADA Novak.”

#casey novak #casey novak fanfic #casey novak x reader #casey novak x fem!reader #casey novak x autistic!reader #svu #law and order svu #svu fanfic

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honey-flustered · 1 year ago

Text

Made With Love (Fluff)

Eddie Munson x Crocheter!Soft!GF!Plus!Reader

Summary: You love making gifts for your boyfriend and his cool uncle. And Eddie just simply adores you.

A/N: Just short draft that ive kept for a while now because i just didn’t know what to do with it. So ive decided to publish it as it is so that in the meantime i can get my shit together.

Word Count: 1.5k+

Summary: inexperienced!reader and eddie, plus size reader, hinted!autistic reader, eddie being a simp for reader, lots of fluff, wayne being reader’s number 1 supporter (don’t tell eddie 🤭), sexually suggestive language and behavior, some body worship, kissing, cuddling

Eddie Munson is the luckiest man in the world. No really because just how did he manage to get a girl like you in his arms? You went beyond his criteria of a perfect girl which was simply to be a woman. But you’ve exceeded in ways he could have never imagined.

For one, you’ve got amazing taste in music. Despite the differences in your music genres, you both appreciate the variety and exchange songs all the time. Second, you’re absolutely gorgeous. Eddie knew he loved rubenesque women but you were all that and more. He swears could die and go to heaven at the feeling of your thick thighs and soft belly as you’d lay his head on either part. And not to mention that beautiful face he yearns to see smiling at him constantly with those enchanting eyes that seem to twinkle endlessly.

Lastly—a fact about you that has both facts, one and two, beat—you’re awfully talented. You bake, paint, and, best of all, you crochet.

You crochet just about everything and he admires it. The best part is you always came up with the most interesting things that even Eddie wasn’t sure he needed.

Currently, you and Eddie were curled up on his couch. Your eyes wandering his shaky lean frame while his eyes stays glued to the television set, a gentle hand caressing your thigh.

You pride yourself for being an observant one, a skill you’ve had to perfect throughout your childhood in order to understand the world around you. And because you’re so observant, nothing gets passed you including the way he continues to shiver beside you.

“Something wrong?” You ask, concerned.

“Just my unusually cold wrists as always,” Eddie sighs. “Strangely specific, I know. It’s the chain bracelet and leather cuffs. The silver and leather are like ice against my skin with this freezing ass weather.”

You smile brightly, clapping your hands in excitement. “Actually, I have just the thing for this little issue.”

“Oh, do you?” Eddie smirks, nose scrunching up in amusement.

“Mhm,” You nod as you began rummaging through your bumblebee bag (crocheted by yours truly). “Close you eyes.”

“‘Kay.” He obeys with a smile never leaving his face.

Rushing up to stand in front of the television set, you held the items behind your back before commanding your boyfriend to open his eyes once more.

“So…I’ve noticed the way you rub your wrists for the friction to radiate some heat because they’re always so cold lately. And I also notice that when the cold becomes to unbearable you’re forced to remove your wrist accessories,” You began your spiel as if you’re in an infomercial. “Why should you sacrifice style or possibly losing your accessories because of naked wrists? Well not anymore with my handy dandy…wrist bands!”

You shoot your hands up and out in front of you, dangling each red and white patterned wristband in either hand. “I also call them Eds Bracelet Warmers as a placeholder product name.”

“That’s metal!” Eddie praises, standing up to study the bands closely. You release them into his hands and he stares down at them in awe, sliding each onto his arm and making a little show of them before his attention resumes back on you.

“Do you like it?” You say rocking back and forth on your heels anxiously.

“I love it! It’s the best gift you’ve ever given me.”

You snort out a giggle. “You say that with every crochet I’ve made you.”

“I was wrong all the other times. I mean, as much as I love the crocheted mug warmers, pillows, and seat cover…I’m thinking this might top them all. Just look at the detailing on this. You’re like a goddamn Picasso. Thank you, sweetheart,” Eddie says with a hand on his chest, letting you know just how much you’ve touched his heart. Then he suddenly grows shy, tapping his index fingers together as he avoids your gaze. “Permission to hold you. Maybe…kiss you a little.”

“You don’t have to ask,” You run into his embrace, cupping his face in your hands to plant a searing hot kiss onto his lips. With the mixture of your forwardness and his knee-buckling reaction, he’s sent falling back against the couch with you still in his arms.

You scramble to peel yourself off from above him, not wanting to put to much pressure on his slender frame. And yet he interlocks his fingers together right on your lower back, keeping you still. “Wait, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You could never, baby,” Eddie says, bringing a hand up to your face to caress your cheek. He then traces his thumb faintly around your lips. “I want you on me all the time.”

He suddenly becomes nervous, a tinge of pink coloring his cheeks. He’s nervous under your alluring gaze, aware that you’re clocking every shift and change in his facial features and mood. Embarrassingly, he had an erection that you no doubt felt in between your bodies and pressing against your belly. Eddie decides to release you from his full grasp.

Instead of pulling away, you draw his thumb into your mouth slowly, pursing your lips around them as you look him through your lashes and half-lidded eyes.

He chokes out an audible whine, even the inside of your mouth felt good. He’s never wanted to explore it this badly. When you pull your mouth around the digit with a pop, Eddie’s quick to cup your face now and shoves his tongue into your mouth. He takes control of the motions, gradually rolling your bodies over so that he’d end up on top.

His eager hands glide up your smooth skin of your thighs, pushing up your dress that fit snug around you. Your hands entangle themselves in his hair, letting your long nails lightly scratch his scalp.

You and Eddie have been soft lovers with one another, taking your time and being patient with one another regarding physical affection. It took a lot for the two of you to feel comfortable enough to ask each other for touches and eventual kisses. You’d say you’ve gotten pretty far.

Sometimes, things would get heated and you’d be concerned that it might lead to sex considering you’re both virgins. However, aside from your anxieties and insecurities, you actually did feel as if you’re ready to give yourself to him. But ever the gentleman, Eddie is usually one to call it quits.

But with his lips moving against your own so passionately, you couldn’t see how he’d pull away now. Especially not when you’ve got fistful of his Hellfire club shirt in your hands to prevent him from doing so.

Nonetheless, he pulls away much to your chagrin. The faint reminder of his lips against yours still felt by you in the span of a millisecond. You wish that feeling could linger forever.

He stares down at you, examining the look on your face. It’s your turn to hold him still against you, your nails burrowing in his exposed lower back.

“Sweetheart…” Eddie begins as if in a trance.

“Yes…Eddie.”

“I think…that I—”

The swinging of the creaky, trailer door is enough to lurch you both apart, sitting in your designated seats on the couch. Uncle Wayne enters the room with a hand over one eye and an outstretched hand to guide himself into the home.

“All clear?” He asks.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “All clear, Waydog. We’ve been good.”

Wayne opens his eyes slowly, his gaze landing on you on the couch. He perks up with a bright smile. “Oh, y/n, what a pleasant surprise! I wasn’t sure you’d be here. I was actually worried I was going to walk into Eddie watching—“

“Dude!” Eddie interrupts, staring at his uncle in incredulous betrayal.

“Aw come on. I kid, I kid. You know that’s what we Munson men do. She’s used to that by now.” Wayne chuckles, placing some bags of grocery on the counter.

You giggle, soothing Eddie’s hair as way of ensuring him that it’s okay. Going over to the kitchen, you and Eddie help Wayne unload the groceries when Wayne notices the crochet bands around his nephew’s wrists.

“Those look neat! You think you could make me a pair?” Wayne asks you with hopeful eyes.

“Of course! And don’t you worry, I’ll even get them to match the beanie hat I’m still making for you.” You beam.

“Woah, woah. Wait a minute. He gets a matching hat?” Eddie inquires with a pout.

“Oh, like you haven’t stolen the first hat she’s made me.” Wayne chuckles.

“I didn’t steal. I borrowed.”

“For 4 whole months?”

“There isn’t a time limit for borrowing something. If there is, I’d like to see the rule.” Eddie challenges.

“I think you’re just jealous of us,” Wayne says, standing beside you with you nodding in agreement. “Why else would you take my gifts if not to have them all to yourself?”

“My girlfriend and my uncle in alliance against me.” Eddie laughs, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Didn’t think I’d see the day coming so soon.”

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takemebacktowheniwassane · 9 months ago

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i've been seeing a lot of falsettos posts recently deconstructing the fandoms beliefs and firstly

holy fuck thank you, i try to steer clear of fandom (and fandom-izing thereof) drama but this is getting a lot more visible recently so here's some little tidbits for you

whizzer brown is not an unflawed character!

okay so i haven't seen enough dissecting this but!!! in the chess game!

the whole point of marvin using that game to determine the ending of their relationship is because he suspects whizzer is constantly deceiving him and wants to prove it.

whizzer LITERALLY proves him right!

he asks marvin to help him along (yes i know he says he doesn't want help, hear me out, it's a little more complex than that) and takes advantage of the fact that marvin is- like- infatuated with him.

he draws him into a sense of false security then starts throwing accusations at him ("since you need a man!" "what?" "who's 'brainy'," "or witty, move.") until hes able to win, which he does with ease because he's been using marvin having this idea that he isn't smart against him.

of course, marvin's side of this isn't the best either but honestly, for once the fandom should focus on a different character when they think 'insane asshole'. typically we should also probably change our perspectives a little to be more unbiased cuz fr guys, this is getting really.. annoying.

i understand he's the most visibly flawed but that doesn't excuse constantly picking the worst parts of this musical (without other context, btw) to use against him.

and this post certainly isn't here to excuse anyone either i've just got a lot of opinions that i wanted to share while falsettos is.. trending? right?

2. marvin's (headcanoned but still somewhat researched) autism

this one isn't brought up as much but when i do see it around, it's kind of a skewed viewpoint.

while rewatching bits of the proshot i realized a lot of different neurodivergent traits that he shows-

he's helpless during I Never Wanted to Love You and is childish and regressive when he's upset (not every autistic person is like this either, i know this is a bit of a touchy subject so i just wanted to add that).

usually when people depict it i see it either toned down or joked about which is fine when all in good fun, and when its done respectfully.

not here to attack anyone, just here to point it out and say that yes :) he most likely is neurodivergent, but despite that his actions aren't condoned. he's still kinda a dick who needs to get his shit together

3. ..the lesbians also have shit going on?

just putting this out there- I DON'T SEE ENOUGH FOR THE LESBIANS! OR TRINA!

the girls in this musical are like thoroughly neglected and i think that's kind of shitty just assuming the fact that william finn put them in to demonstrate how gender roles put people in degrading positions (and he even makes it more prevalent by showing marvin as something like a misogynistic character who forces whizzer into more feminine roles to show the audience what woman have to/had to go through in society).

anyways, the lesbians aren't just there guys. they have a plotline too. in Something Bad is Happening, you derive a lot from charlotte singing about the outbreak of HIV/AIDS and realize how she operates on a daily basis (she's passionate about her work and takes every bad day as a hit to her life and career, explaining in a way that as a black, jewish, lesbian, FEMALE doctor in this time, everything that goes wrong is immediately brought down on her so much more than it would as any straight white male pharmacist-).

cordelia on the other hand has to handle the fact that her girlfriend is so adamant about her work ethic that she can't actually be super present in their relationship at times like that.

but either way she still sticks by her and is constantly trying to be supportive and endearing despite feeling like she's not amounting to her gf who's basically a hero in her eyes.

i kinda just wanted to bring that up because they mean a lot to me and they don't get enough love from the fanbase, thank you for listening to my TED talk <3

#why did I spend 20 minutes typing this #rant #whizzer brown #falsettos #marvin falsettos #charlotte falsettos #cordelia falsettos #hhhh

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homestuckreplay · 22 days ago

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As somebody who’s nuerodivergent and has MDD (Major Depressive Disorder aka Clinical Depression), I find those points about John very interesting! Is there any other hints of this throughout the comic that we’ve seen?

hello!! sorry this took so long, I reread every John page so far and I now have a normal length answer to this question!! (2.9k words shhhh) I will broadly talk about neurodivergence first and then depression, but some of these points could apply to either or both.

I’m also neurodivergent, and I’ve had depression in the past, so this is based on my personal experiences + reading through the diagnostic criteria. if anyone else has different experiences I’d love to hear about it!

So my favorite academic article I’ve found this year is in a journal of disability studies by autistic writer David Preyde, and it’s just him listing all his special interests and how and why they became important to him. It reads like a blog post and I love that it was ‘officially’ published. It reminds me so much of how the Homestuck kids have been introduced, just more in depth.

John is hitting some common/stereotypical special interests, like computer programming and movie trivia, and some less common ones, like old comedians. I don’t think the fact of having interests makes John neurodivergent, but his approach to them might. John sees a Con Air reference and immediately starts explaining the plot of the movie (p.132); he also does recreations of Deep Impact (p.21), A Time to Kill (p.109) and Armageddon (p.223) He can list all the rare Gushers flavors (p.979). He thinks Colonel Sassacre will be able to tell him the ‘precise index of elevated hilarity’ of a joke (p.36). John treats things really methodically, he likes to list and sort and categorize. It’s why he likes programming computers but isn’t good at it – he knows it’s a great hobby for all that, but hasn’t quite mastered the rules yet.

This is also how he figured out punch card alchemy. Not only does he pick up a new skill much quicker when it relates to an existing special interest (stage magic), but he’s a super fast problem solver when the rules make sense and it works the same every time. He prefers familiarity, taking a while to adjust to changes, like taking time to warm up to the new MSPA adventure (p.112).

I would even argue that John’s sylladex could be a new special interest �� it’s something he’s just found at the start of the comic (while his friends have all been into it for a while) and he’s deeply frustrated by the rules at first, when its behavior constantly changes due to different numbers of cards, lack of available cards, options to combine items, new modi, etc. But he still works at it for hours even though it’s hard, because it’s captivated him somehow. He picks up the language and techniques at a speed that’s only possible for someone very dedicated, and he’s super excited to get the control deck for his birthday, a very practical gift that other kids might be bored by. This is like the Homestuck equivalent of getting a backpack with a lot of pockets.

John is really proud of the computer wallpaper he made (p.25) and still gives his dad drawings to put on the fridge (p.253) – he’s very earnest about his interests. He also kind of has the fandom impulse to create his own canon that he likes better than the source material – upon seeing Harry Anderson: Wise Guy, he thinks that ‘Mike Caveney's glowing treatment of the man does him every bit of justice’ (p.253), but when he actually re-reads the book, Caveney’s ‘ambivalent attitude toward [John’s] favorite magician in these anecdotes always struck [him] as a little weird’. John is inventing Wise Guy fanfiction in his head which is incredible. It’s also an example of black and white thinking, and the quick switch from one extreme to the other in opinions without much room for nuance, that John often exhibits.

John also has a lot of specific object fixations, or comfort objects – the Con Air bunny has quickly become this. In the original movie the bunny is owned by a 7-year-old girl, while John presents as a 13-year-old boy, someone for who it’s far less socially acceptable to own a stuffed animal – but John isn’t concerned about that. The green slime ghost pogo ride is another object he returns to over and over – other people might see that as a dangerous knockoff piece of junk, but to John it carries a lot of meaning (p.105, 476). He’s always carrying things like a wizard’s hat (p.44) or shaving cream (p.488) in his sylladex that have no practical use, he just wants to have them.

John is really weird in social interactions, and often tries to avoid them altogether. The lengths John goes to to not run into his dad while exploring the house in the first 100 pages take more time and effort than actually talking to him, but John avoids him no matter the cost. On page 30 he’s also frustrated because Dave is texting him again, and John wants to be left in peace to look at his video games. Not play the games, just look at them. It’s very relatable to me to want to just enjoy my cool stuff even when not actively engaging in it, and to have a lot of ‘off time’ even from my close friends.

John responds to Rose’s genuine sentiments with ‘haha, oh jeez, that is silly!’ (p.256) and struggles with getting his dad to talk about his nanna’s death – on page 543 he considers asking her about it directly; I think some neurotypical people may see that as an unwritten social taboo. But John isn’t uncaring; he marks his friends’ birthdays on his calendar (p.999) and buys them all personalized gifts that they all end up loving, even if Rose interprets hers as a ‘subtle dig’ which John didn’t intend (p.442). John also says ‘ok, i guess i will take your word for it’ to Nanna (p.420) could come across as passive-aggressive, but John means it so genuinely.

John struggles to see beyond his own perspective, like when he’s surprised that it’s already dark in Rose’s house (p.174) despite knowing where she lives. He’s generally very preoccupied with his own concerns, but he eventually remembers to ask Rose ‘are you ok? hasn't your house been on fire for like... five hours now?’ He clearly cares about the people he’s close to, but doesn’t show it in the most obvious ways.

John is hilarious, but he doesn’t tell jokes in a standard format. He is straightforward in all social interactions, and doesn’t have the bantering instinct that Rose and Dave do. Some top tier examples of John humor: ‘it is understandable because you are really attractive. i am attracted to you... jk haha’ (p.35), ‘oh, btw... jk I was wearing a funny disguise this whole time. gotcha! hehehehe’ and Rose’s accompanying response of ‘I know, John.’ (p.63), and ‘yeah, more like the opposite of all those things is the thing that is true!’ (p.386). He clearly has the jokester’s spirit, but unusual execution.

John generally takes things at face value, thinking that Jade ‘seems like a pretty regular girl’ (p.652), and his dynamic with Dave is really fascinating. All their conversations read like Dave is doing a bit and John is taking him completely seriously, but Dave isn’t making fun of John, they’re both having a good time. So it’s not like when a so-called normal kid bullies a weird kid in school, it’s more like these two people who are both different flavors of neurodivergent bouncing off each other in a way that unexpectedly works. This also explains why John hates GameBro and Dave likes it – John takes it seriously while Dave is reading it as a satire of other gaming magazines. (I actually don’t know which is true).

John has a bunch of rigid rules for the world that read like shortcuts – he doesn’t innately understand societal norms, but has figured out these approximations through careful observation. A kid’s yard must have a tire swing (p.27), a fireplace must have a fire (p.50), and a father must have a pipe (p.74) and by satisfying the checkboxes you can make a family. He’s hesitant to break rules he knows even when it’s a logical course of action, like when he doesn’t want to break the window of his dad’s car to get the Sburb disc and save Rose’s life (p.289).

But if he hasn’t added something to his List of Known Social Rules, it’s open season – he’s completely unconcerned when he accidentally throws one of Dad’s harlequin figurines into the abyss (p.266) even though he gets upset when the things he likes are defaced. The imps are ‘stupid lousy’ for ‘mucking up all [John’s] cool stuff’ (p.473) and have ‘fucking ruined’ his movie posters which ‘were like children to [him]’ (also another example of object fixation). John being overly cautious in some social situations but totally oblivious in others is SO neurodivergent to me, so obviously someone who wants to get it right, but doesn’t have the innate skill.

John clearly struggles with emotional regulation, I don’t think he’s good at masking in face-to-face interactions, and even online ones when he gets stressed enough. He also has very physical reactions to emotional distress (and excitement!), and that can’t be explained by the medium needing to show emotions visually, because he does this to a FAR greater extent than Rose and Dave. John does a victory dance when he wins in battle (p.405) but scrunches up his face and covers his ears when Nannasprite offers him cookies (p.429). Some panels where he’s having a meltdown are really evocative, and it’s so easy for me to imagine how he must be feeling – the chaos of page 517, where John is paralyzed and panicked from way too many stimuli both inside and outside his head, is my best example.

His panic is also evident in his pesterlogs with Dave and Jade shortly after arriving in the Medium. He’s pretty rude to Dave, saying ‘dude, i don't have time for your nerdy raps!’ (p.204) and his sudden use of lots of exclamation points make all his messages sound distressed. He pours the whole story of his meteor escape to Jade, seemingly unable to stop himself (p.293) where someone with more control over their emotional responses might bottle it up, or at least calm down before explaining the story to a friend.

John’s intrusive thoughts are part of the medium; hearing commands in his head is better explained by the story’s rules than by John’s mental state. However, studies have found that intrusive thoughts are very common among humans – they’re just easy to dismiss for most people, while a small minority find them distressing to the point that they affect daily life.

Rose posits that John’s reactions to WV’s commands could be ‘the early symptoms of an anxiety disorder, like post-traumatic stress’ but I read it a little differently; I think his distress at WV’s commands, as opposed to the background radiation of reader commands, kind of represents how a symptom that is manageable in one context becomes debilitating in another.

Related to commands, John likes having clear instructions to follow, and doesn’t respond well to uncertainty. When he has no idea how to use the alchemiter, he just stands on it (p.161) – but he also doesn’t uncritically accept authority. He defers to expertise and likes to ask specific questions and get clear instructions before acting, but that has to be earned. He sees Rose as smart and capable in general, so he follows her instructions within Sburb (for example, p.178) unless he has a better idea (for example, p.187). But the Wayward Vagabond hasn’t earned John’s trust or done anything besides shout and insult him, so John resists his commands (for example, p.264).

A few miscellaneous things I noticed are John just HAVING to complete high fives with his sprite’s raised arm (p.198, 880), John being clumsy and accidentally toppling his nanna’s urn (p.53), John having very strong preferences when it comes to food, as he loves Gushers enough to get them as a birthday gift (p.972) but pulls instinctive faces of disgust at the thought of eating cookies (p.430), and the line ‘there is apparently no crisis so imminent that will deter you from contemplating idiotic and frivolous actions’ (p.199). I think that someone whose brain processes things differently may appear idiotic and frivolous, and they might even internalize that perspective, but the logic actually makes sense. (In this case, John trying to eat a unit of build grist taught him more about how grist as a gaming abstraction works).

Most evidence for John’s depression is in early act 1, before the plot really kicks off. John is very depersonalized at the start of the story; it’s only on his thirteenth birthday that he gets given a name, and he’s associated with a regularly-changing disguise throughout the first hundred pages. There’s a broader theme of mistaken identity in his home – his dad might be a clown or might be a businessman, the figurines might be clowns or harlequins or mimes, the poster on the wall might be Michael Cera but isn’t, and both John’s dad’s room and his own room are not what he expected them to be.

I think this theme of disguise relates to how John doesn’t see himself as having a real identity, perhaps not even a recognizable personality outside of his interests. I also think John is much better at masking his depression than his neurodivergence in a way that’s pretty tragic. Both Rose (p.63) and Dad (p.89) see through John’s CLEVER DISGUISE immediately and think they know John for it, but there’s another part to the disguise that they never notice.

John puts himself down a lot in the early story, insulting his own taste in movies and skills at programming in his list of interests (p.4), thinking of himself as a pooplord (p.5), as neither a skilled magician nor cunning prankster (p.8), stupid (p.16), etc. The “sad clown paradox” (for sure one of my favorite Wikipedia article titles) refers to the correlation between comedians and depression, and while it’s not universal, I think it’s very true for John. Playing a prank on someone and seeing their reaction is a moment of predictable pleasure in an endless drudgery of whiling away the hours, and those tiny bursts of dopamine – and connection with another person, if they respond well – are what keeps John going.

John struggles to focus on reading – every book he owns, we’ve seen him contemplate reading and put off until later. He does this with Colonel Sassacre’s (p.32, 69, 885), Wise Guy (p.123, 253), Data Structures for Assholes (p.116), and the Shaving Almanac (p.544). When he does sit down to read, he’s easily distracted (p.391) – he has good reason here, but this struggle to focus could be a sign of depression. This could be why John has an interest, paranormal lore, that we don’t really see him engage in; it’s easy for depression to take the joy out of something that was once filled with it.

I actually think it’s really interesting how Homestuck’s version of Wise Guy presents Harry Anderson – John’s hero – as a clumsy, incompetent fool (p.629) while the real world Wise Guy describes him as charismatic and in control of the crowd. I say this with all the love in the world, but John has the charisma of the fake Harry Anderson and not the real, and he believes that of himself too. John picking a hero who is described in such a negative light speaks to the type of people he identifies with.

On page 82, which is both the Homestuck title card and the best evidence for John’s depression, he refers to the streets as ‘empty’, to the ‘voids keeping neighbors apart’, ‘hollow’, ‘Desolation’, to feeling something ‘missing’, ‘eluding’, a sense of ‘lack’, ‘Absence’, a ‘mystery dispersing’, a ‘black well’. All that imagery is packed into two paragraphs that do not describe a happy person. This sense of emptiness, distance, space and loss of something is what I most associate with depression, and it provides a real contrast to those autistic meltdown moments where John is feeling too much.

John explicitly says that he feels trapped in his room (p.30) but I think he’s actually trapped in a mindset, and the room or house is more like the physical manifestation of that. That’s not a criticism of him, as I think that can be equally hard to break out of. I have talked a lot about growing up in the suburbs being terrible for finding community, but there is another angle. The Egberts are comfortably middle class, Dad has a car, money, flexible enough work schedule to take John’s birthday off, and supports John’s interests. There are probably computer programming clubs or amateur magic classes in a nearby city, and if John said he wanted to join something like that, I bet Dad would support him. John’s depression makes it impossible for him to even imagine a better situation, much less take steps to grasp it – he needed to be seconds from death for his survival instincts to kick in and make him take action.

I hope that answers your question! Again, I’d love to hear other people’s thoughts on this if anyone has different experiences or picked up on different John moments.

#homestuck #analysis #john egbert #asks #ty so much for this ask it was cool to dig into!!#chrono

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oneslimybastard · 5 months ago

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Another underutilized aspect of N, Natural Harmonia Gropius himself, is that he's conceptualized as not just a Math Guy, but a Math Genius if we go by some interview trivia notated on Bulbapedia.

It clearly shows in the way he speaks since his (translated) dialogue (idk about the original japanese one) is full of hamfisted references to formulas and frustration expressed when the chaos of the world does not align with them — which to me is like, the core of his character, something that makes him both An Asshole to deal with but also a very intellectually curios and creative individual. It's just a brand of creativity not a lot of people can keep up with nor understand.

N likes math because a lot of math is about clearly defined variables and their relationship to one another. If you come across an inconsistency that doesn't fit any prior definitions, you iron out a new definition and suddenly the field has expanded upon itself tenfold. It aligns with how his Very Autistic Brain functions, x + y = z, if I do x to y then z will happen. If z doesn't happen, then that just means I have to identify the hidden variables within the exchange and rewrite the formula to be more accurate.

Black and White's quality of writing is. Like pokémon often is. Questionable at best. The foundations are there but the execution is dumbed down and corny because it's still aimed at kids, BW in specific really cutting the theme of pokémon trainer ethics short in favor of just "dang u beat me in the pogiebattle guess ur right!". How-ev-er. In my head, and the reason why I still find the plot of those games compelling (aside for my unhinged thirst for goth man-milf Ghetsis) is that to me they're about local cult-raised autist Normal Henry Gropus bashing his head against the world over and over to desperately try and make the formulas make sense, to distill it into variables he can understand and predict on a consistent basis, and failing miserably at it. Because even if the world is Technically made up of a bunch of chemistry that you could, in theory, predict, there's just a lot of random noise in there from microscopic complexities that fuck everything up.

Pokémon are simpler creatures (discounting the eerily intelligent ones) who will be nice enough to behave like math problems most of the time. Humans rarely extend that grace, the more N studies them like a science project the more contradictory variables pop up. They have a million thoughts in their head he doesn't have access to, that brew into feelings he doesn't understand, which leads to actions he can't do a proper traceback through. Which is frustrating, devastatingly frustrating. At least at first.

Due to how BW2 pans out and my own yearning for thematic mirroring, whereas Ghetsis gives in to the Autistic Bitterness over all these NTs he doesn't fuckign understand, I like to think N develops a sort of joy in studying people like the impossibly complex math problems we are. Because he likes math, he likes figuring shit out, he likes buying a nightmare rubik's cube and charting the squares out on a nightmare variable graph (listen i am not a math guy. i respect the hustle but my skill level is too low to accurately attempt to simulate the process in writing. im sorry math guys) so he has a home-made flexible cheat code on how to solve any possible mix-up of it. It's fun for him, it stimulates his brain and he is so stupid good at it that he can only share that joy with like a stray alakazam or metagross because he's a bit of a tarzan just hanging out in the wilderness, he doesn't know any high end mathematicians he can casually geek out about combinatorial game theory with, and the normies just do not get it .

I think this math enjoying is kind of a big part of his ~Innocence~ as well, since there's a lot of childlike glee to being a Math Guy. It's the love of problem solving as a process rather than a means to an end, it's playful, but severely misunderstood to the point where people kinda might assume things about you if you are a math guy.

N's love of math helps him love the world but it also isolates him. He's a genius, but since he can't communicate it in a palatable way it'll get overlooked in favor of him just being a loomy weirdo on the street chatting up the local patrats.

If introduced to DnD though he'd spend so much time on forging ridiculously optimized multiclass builds, then migrate to digging through old obscure sci-fi ttrpgs from the 80s with hellishly complex systems just for the funsies of learning how the presented variables behave within a variety of frameworks, but then if you actually invited him to play with your group he'd look at you like you'd just called his mom a llama.

He's a neat guy to me, STEM guy who's also one of those animal rights activists who's a little too PETA-coded, I like him :)

#this is mostly just headcanons and shit I've made up but we can pretend its meta *wink*#natural harmonia gropius #n harmonia #n pokémon #long post #pokemon bw #pokemon black and white

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wangxianficfinder · 7 months ago

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In the mood for...

May 31st

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1. A) Hi I'm looking for fics where Wei Wuxian actually gets angry after lan Wangji r-words (rapes) him.

B) ITMF fics where wwx and lz fight over their kid(s) and wwx is trying to stop lz from taking the kid(s) away @thehappyyellow (In the future please use the full word or 'non-con' for clarity and for possible phrase filtering ~Mod L)

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2. So I saw a reel on insta the other day where someone was like: bloodbenders on a battlefield, controlling corpses. And my thoughts immediately went to an untamed/avatar the last airbender fusion? Firebending wen, energy bending removing "golden core equivalents", water bender &/or energy bender wwx, nonbender jyl...jin= n water tribe, Jiang south. Nie=earthbenders, lan=airbenders. Idk. Lost avatar. Hunting spirits to bond with to get more bending/be more powerful. Big wars in both, lots options

Avatar: The Untamed Waterbender by KouriArashi (T, 181k, wangxian, JC/WQ, JC & WWX & JYL, Avatar fusion, action/adventure, families of choice, light angst, developing relationship, hurt/comfort, pining)

Brightly Burning by Netrixie (Not Rated, 11k, WangXian, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, No Yin Iron, Touch-Starved, Tiny Angst, Slow Burn, Pre-Relationship, LXC is a good big bro, Element control, [PODFIC] Brightly Burning by Netrixie by kealdrakemna)

Heart of the River by meyari (T, 23k, XuanLi, JYL/MM/WQ, WangXian, ChengQing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, No Yīn Iron (The Untamed TV), fire manipulation, Water Manipulation, Drowning, War, major character death (no one we care about), most people live / some people die, BAMF JYL)

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3. Hi! For itmf I am looking for fics where WWX and LWJ are together (or confess, or kiss, or something romantic happens), then they split up for a long time, and then get back together. Preferably canon era (not modern). I would love to read about their time apart as well as their reunion, if any fics like this can be found! Thanks, everyone! xoxo

there's no promised goodbye here by Yuisaki (T, 54k, WangXian, WWX & WN, JC & WWX, WWX/OCs, Modern, Post-Break Up, Roommates, Domestic Fluff, Drunken Shenanigans, Sharing a Bed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Sharing Clothes, Drinking, Fluff and Angst, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, Ensemble Cast,bUnreliable Narrator,bCW IN BEGINNING NOTES)

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4. Do you know any daemon au where the daemon isn't tied to the golden core? (because losing his GC is already a lot so losing also his daemon would be a real torture for both JC and WWX)

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5. Do you know any fics where we have both wangxian and Mingjue/Xichen? Not in a modern au but in the canon or in a canon divergeance/time-travel/etc

A Future Family In A Broken Past by Hauntcats (T, 121k, wangxian, time travel, not jiang friendly)

🧡 All will be well when the day is done by abCEE (T, 76k, wangxian, time travel, canon divergence, fix it, not YZY friendly, not Jiang friendly, butterfly effect, no sunshot, madam lan lives, lan WWX)

🔒 in the shadow of moonlit flowers by Reverie (cl410) (T, 56k, wangxian, LXC/NMJ, cloud recesses, NHS & LWJ friendship, developing relationship, LWJ pov, minor injuries, autistic LWJ, implied/referenced child abuse, aka YZY warning, genius WWX, light angst, hurt/comfort, WWX protection squad)

No Paths Are Bound by stiltonbasket (G, 3k, WangXian, NieLan, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, LQR is a good uncle, and also a good man, shufu saves the world, Background Relationships, Introspection, Happy Ending, title shamelessly stolen from tian guan ci fu, mild warning for implied nc re: madam lan)

Blooming in white by luckymoonly (T, 38k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, MM/WQ, NMJ/LXC, NHS/JC, Canon Divergence, Mpreg, Getting Together, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, hidden pregnancy, Mutual Pining, Drama, Misunderstandings, Everyone Lives AU, Miscommunication, WWX and NHS are BFF, matchmaker NHS, Fix-It)

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6. Hello! Could you lovely folks recommend me fics where Lan Wangji just about launches himself at Wei Wuxian at the Banquet after WWX drinks the cup Jin Zixun tried to force Lan Wangji to drink? Please? @kaitou-cure-prism12

My request was about the horny not about LWJ being worried or terrified.

Give Me One Good Honest Kiss by thunderwear (T, 1k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, First Kiss, horny LWJ agenda, LXC is suffering in LQR's name, [PODFIC] Give Me One Good Honest Kiss by thunderwear) If 6 wanted Lan Wangji launching himself at Wei Wuxian because he thinks it's hot that he drank the wine (rather than out of fear or concern), then Give Me One Good Honest Kiss

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7. hey admins! itmf more fics like 'transcend' by covalentbonds where people react to wwx og body or just his beauty in general. extra bonus where lwj gets jealous. thank you <3

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8. Hi!! I am in the mood for a fic where Wei Wuxian dies but he hangs around as a ghost or raised corpse. I would love it if he is still a very active/central character to the fic (just, ya know, dead). Thank you!

asymptotic by chinxe (T, 26k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Pining, for 20+ years as per the course with lwj)

one good thing by Yuu_chi (T, 26k, WangXian, Modern, Ghost WWX, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, I swear there really is a happy ending, And an alarming amount of rabbits)

Friends, Sabers, and Other Essentials for Solving a Conspiracy by MeridianGrimm (T, 50k, NHS & WWX, LWJ & NHS, WangXian, Humor, Friendship, Love, Mystery, Canon Divergence, Smart NHS, WWX doesn't stay dead, LWJ gets a new friend, Happy Ending, Fix-It, To be clear the WangXian is mostly background, This fic is about friendship)

🧡 Vow by draechaeli (E, 216k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, BeliefGod!WWX, Adoption but WWX birthed them all, Pregnancy Kink, Mpreg, minor male lactation, Consensual Non-Consent, Light Bondage, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con because JGS, Mentions Canon Typical Incest, Canon Typical Violence)

Death of a Ghost by Gotcocomilk (E, 107k, Family bonding, Fluff, Angst, Parental WWX, BAMF WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Ghost sex)

Ghost of Mine by SasukiMimochi (E, 139k, WIP, LSZ & WWX, WangXian, Golden Core Reveal, Canon Temporary Character Death, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural Elements, Canon-Typical Violence, Post-First Siege of the Burial Mounds, Romance, Domestic Fluff, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Alternate Canon) This one Will make you cry and it’s mainly in WWX’s pov. (It’s also got Amazing art)

🔒 The Time Traveler's Soul by mondengel (Not Rated, 2k, WangXian, Time Travel, 🔒[PODFIC] The Time Traveler's Soul by flamingwell) WWX does die and come back as a ghost in this, but he comes back pre-canon because of time travel. Hopefully this still fits what OP is asking for!

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9. Hii. So basically right now I'm looking for some fics that can basically be anything but it's has to have a scene or scenes of the Jiang sibs being jealous. Whether they are jealous of Wei Ying with the Lans or him with the Wens. I just want them to have a scene or scene with them going "he's supposed to be here not there" etc. @thatperson0-0

💖 Hoards and treasures by apathyinreverie (T, 21k, WangXian, Siblings, Family, not particularly Jiang friendly, YZY Bashing, slightly darker Gusu Lans, LXC being the best brother, Some manipulation, But with the best of intentions, and not between wangxian, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX, Smitten LWJ, Fluff, perfect happiness, adorable WWX, Romance, Some worldbuilding, courting)

The Price of a Golden Core by AshayaTReldai (M, 9k, WangXian, Angst, Tension, Aggression, JC pays the price for his choices, demanding letters, JC is a Brat, Supportive Lan Brothers, WWX deserves the best, Life Debt, Sad Ending Sad Ending for JC)

Like stones on an unseen board by Vir_Abelasan (Not Rated, 11k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dark LWJ, Older LWJ, Teacher LWJ, dark twin jades, Age Difference, Manipulation, Protective LWJ, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Relatively canon-typical abusive Jiangs, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Not Jiang Clan Friendly)

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10. Hello hi? I want to know if there’s a fanfic where the juniors get to meet with past family (like sizhui to meet head disciple Wei wuxian, or Jin Rulan to meet his young parents) and such ? Or even just all of them meeting the past in general, anything associated with the idea

Time, Time, Time by skeletonofaplant (G, 44k, WangXian, JYL/JZX, LSZ & WWX, JYL & JZX & JL, LSZ & LJY, Time Travel Fix-It, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Probably gonna definitely be some, Angst, But also, Fluff, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Time Travelling Junior Ensemble, Junior Ensemble Shenanigans, Humor) Has the Junior Quartet finding themselves in the past & meeting various characters

River Stones by littlesystems (M, 18k, WangXian, Time Travel, Post-Canon, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Junior Quartet, Oblivious WWX, Suffering LWJ, LJY having the time of his life, Voyeurism) CRSA-era WWX & LWJ end up in the future & interact with the Juniors while there

A Room Full of Dead People by BurningBlueDiamond (T, 10k, WangXian, Time Travel, Fix-It, but not really, Canon Divergence, Conference in Qinghe but canonically they stay in Gusu, strangely fluffy, POV Outsider)

❤️ Tragedy is Not the End by Hobbsy3 (T, 358k, wangxian, Time Travel, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Canon Divergence from Qiongqi Pass, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Yunmeng sibling bonding, good dad wwx, good dad lwj, JZX Lives, JYL Lives, Junior Quartet Dynamics)

Time Travel, Obviously by nirejseki (Not Rated, 1k, Time Travel, Crack) feature the Junior Quartet time traveling.

The Trouble with Talismans: a Treatise on Time-Travel by Young Master Lan Xiaohui (Age 6) by stiltonbasket (G, 26k, wangxian, Time Travel, Parenthood, Developing Relationship, Getting Together, Happy ending, Accidental Baby Acquisition)

How to get anxiety from time trave and not mess up (by fall out boy) by SerlinaBlack (T, 5k WangXian, Time Travel, Post-Canon, Fluff, Family Fluff, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Pining LWJ, Pining WWX, WWX in WWX's Body, Slightly, Canon JC, he isn't there much, like two lines mentioned at tops, but JC fans might jot like it) feature Lan Sizhui and sibs meeting past Lan Wangji and others.

Song of Joy and Regrets by HelloKitten (Not Rated, 134k, wangxian, hualian, WIP, TGCF, Angst, Self-Harm, Child Abuse, characters watching their series, Time Travel Fix-it)

Spring Again by Saori (M, 646k, JL & LJY & LSZ, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Time Travel, Canon-Typical Violence, CQL Canon Complaint, Spoilers, Platonic Relationships, Friendship, Action/Adventure, Violence, Investigations, Mystery, Punishment, Angst, War, Canonical Character Death, Slow Build, Burial Mounds, Sunshot Campaign, Implied/Referenced Torture, Politics)

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11. Hi!! is there any modern au fics where wwx gets a boyfriend or a hickey or something and LWJ gets jealous @yesibest

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12. itmf wangxian pride and prejudice au??

only the deepest love by occultings (microcomets) (T, 40k, WangXian, Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Canon Divergence, Jane Austen Fusion, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Epistolary, (briefly), Everyone Lives, Podfic Available)

Half Agony, Half Hope by queenklu (T, 105k, WangXian, LXC/JGY, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, LXC/NMJ, Jane Austen Fusion, persuasion au, Pining, Broken Engagement, Secrets, Espionage, Child Injury, Terrible Parents (YZY & JFM), Past Child Neglect)

Clans and Cultivation by ChalionKat (G, 86k, WangXian, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, SL/XXC, WIP, Regency AU, Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Yes we did just rewrite P&P with Untamed characters, although the plot diverges more later, spelling mistakes are deliberate because Austen)

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13. for the next itmf, im craving some really good worldbuilding, im obsessed when the little details of everyday life are explored, be it on cultivation (when they aknowledge that wwx created a wholenew school of cultivation when he started gui dao), architecture, cuisine, clothing, etc.

it can even be a whole new au, that is not in the canon setting but has at least some supernatural going on, and follows book canon and characterization.

🧡🔒Truth Will Out (when caught on video) - End_OTW_Racism! by KizuKatana (E, 179k, wangxian, WN & WWX & WQ, graphic depictions of violence, modern cultivation, canon divergence, YZY abuses WWX , caught on camera, partial core removal, WWX kicked out of Jiang sect, livestreamer WWX, meet ugly, dual cultivation, smut, no war)

🧡 The Shade of Old Trees by Kryal (T, 363k, WangXian, Ridiculously Long Notes, History, Canon Divergence, Modern AU, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Slow Life, Action/Adventure, Magic Returns, BAMF WWX)

when the sun goes out by travelingneuritis (E, 174k, WangXian, Modern Cultivation, tech cultivation, Necromancy, Angst with a Happy Ending, insecurity around adoption, Dad WWX, dad LWJ, Grief/Mourning, Mistaken Identity, Mood Whiplash, Body Swap, sex tears, Falling In Love, Consensual Somnophilia, apocalypse (localized), Smut, unrealistic sexual stamina, Flashbacks, Time Skips, Illustrations, Horror, Canon Temporary Character Death, Cultivation Sect Politics)

🔒 he’s worth it, for every bead in his hair by overgrownruins (E, 74k, WangXian, LXC/NMJ, minor NMJ/WWX, MBJ/SQH, A Companion to Wolves AU, Minor Character Death, Animal Death, Wolves, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Outdoor Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical SexismNordic Setting, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Minor Breeding Kink, you know how it is with wangxian)

sweet chaos by eachandeverydimension (G, 86k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Romance, Light Angst, Falling In Love, Different First Meeting, Qīnghéng-jūn’s A+ Parenting, Night Hunts, Chinese Language, Good Sibling LXC, Good Sibling JYL, POV LWJ, Getting Together, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Chinese Culture, Slow Burn, No Homophobia AU) sweet chaos has lots of references to culture and daily life

Grave dirt by esama (T, 92k, wangxian, canon divergence, necromancy, demonic cultivation, farming, found family, pre-slash, politics, Fix-it of sorts, yilingwei sect au) and Grave dirt for Wei Wuxian creating a sect based on demonic cultivation.

transmuter by WithLoweredVoices (Not rated, 113k, wangxian, Modern with Magic, Magical Realism, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending) an incredible and underrated modern with magic (but not cultivation)

As You Like It by cosmicmilktea (T, 8k, WangXian, JC & WWX, LXC & WWX, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Tea, Finding out preferences, Yes LWJ likes his WWX but what else does he like?, Childhood Memories, Yunmeng trio feels, child rearing, This is very indulgent tho like all I want is for LWJ to be pampered, Post-Canon, Very Very Light Angst, Fluff)

A Mother's Love by FirefliesNLightningBugs (M, 170k, WangXian, XuanLi, Canon Divergence, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Mostly combo of the Untamed and MoDaoZuShi timelines, Unreliable Narrator, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Miscommunication, Family Feels, Found Family, PTSD, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Political Intrigue, Mystery, POV Multiple, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Strong Female Characters, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Good Brother In Law JZX, Genderbent WWX, Intersex WWX, not a/b/o, POV Original Character, Expanded Universe, Unplanned Pregnancy, Golden Core Reveal, WWX Has No Golden Core, Cultivation Sect Politics, Bisexual WWX, YLLZ WWX, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Pining WangXian, Parent-Child Relationship, Getting Together, Protective Yúnmèng Jiāng Sect, MXY Lives) has a lot of worldbuilding. At one point author comes up with a mph for sword flight and how it compares to other types of travel, and wwx gui dao is a key point

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14. Itmf a ff similar to concord by deastar with wwx slowly getting depressed after marrying to the Lan clan, the more gut wrenching the better, thanks 💕

a light hidden and singing by occultings (microcomets) (E, 48k, wangxian, arranged marriage, pining, getting together, slow burn, misunderstandings, miscommunication, blood & injury, happy ending, smut)

Mourning Robes by Starlight1395 (T, 17k, wangxian, No Sunshot Campaign, Arranged Marriage AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Depression, dissociating, Mild Blood, Fluff, juniors idolizing WWX like he deserves, slowburn between WWX and Cloud Recesses, Hinted smut, Jingyi has a CRUSH, Supportive JC, Mojo’s Post) 14 is nearly identical to request 14 on the May 26th ITMF. These are the ones I suggested for that post: a light hidden and singing and Mourning Robes but maybe today's poster is looking for more in the same vein?

Betrothed by Dixielis (E, 10k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Hybrids, Fox WWX, Dragon LWJ, Arranged Marriage, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, Miscommunication, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mpreg, Unplanned Pregnancy)

To Bring You Back Within My Reach by ablaiseofglory (M, 20k, WIP, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Angst with a Happy Ending, No dubious consent, Adopted Children, Kid Fic, A/B/O Dynamics, omega wwx, Alpha LWJ, Misunderstandings) I think it's abandoned but it's one of my favourite wips.

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15. Hello! ITMF favorite canon-era (not modern) Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen fics? Or, WangXian fics where the Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen feature prominently? Thank you!!

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16. In the mood for: Wei Wuxian living his best life as Lan Wangji’s trophy husband being spoiled every single day

Thank you in advance I really appreciate all the suggestions you usually deliver everyone 😘 @kanrax-blog

🔒 The Second Jade of Lan's late but incendiary sexual awakening by KizuKatana (E, 41k, wangxian, First Time, LWJ's Horny Grip, LWJ does not know what hit him, and yet somehow he still realizes it before WWX, canon wangxian dynamics, college AU, LWJ starts off annoyed at WWX, But quickly discovers both his competency kink and a caretaking kink, Genius WWX)

🔒To Make Him a Perfect Bride by Hinu (E, 139k, WangXian, Modern AU, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, Feminization, Crossdressing, Marriage Proposal, Romantic Comedy, Meet the Family, Homophobia, Cultural Differences, Discrimination, Wealth kink, Potentially Unhealthy Beauty Standards, Rich LWJ, Power Bottom WWX, Sugar Daddy LWJ, Plot With Porn, Mild Kink, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Coming Out, Implied Canon-Typical Child Abuse, Phone Sex in Public, Sexual Harassment, competent wwx, Financial Domination, Sexual Roleplay, Light BDSM, WWX's dog phobia, Submissive LWJ, Blood, Smoking, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, WWX's dissociative panic attacks in later chapters, Gay LWJ, Protective LWJ, Weddings, Wedding Planning, Secret Relationship, Genderqueer WWX, BAMF NHS, Gay WWX, LWJ and WWX Have a Breeding Kink, fem! WWX is A-Jingyi's and A-Yuan's sexual awakening, Office Sex, Airplane Sex, Happy Ending, Class Differences, Crazy Rich Asians Fusion) So Full Of Love (Wouldn’t Know Where to Start) by witchupbitch (M, 63k, WIP, WangXian, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Possessive LWJ, Protective LWJ, Blood and Violence, Idiots in Love, Humor, Mafia AU, Modern AU, Flirting, shameless WWX, Confident WWX, Explicit Language, Mutual Sexual Tension, dark LWJ, Dark WWX, Exhibitionism Sex, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings)

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17. For the next itmf, does anyone have any good WWX harem or happy poly fics? Like the Jades Lotus where WWX was with both jades and they were all happy and sweet? Please and ty!!

With This Shadowed Blade by Anonymous (M, 134k, WWX/LXC/LWJ/NMJ/NHS, WIP, WWX has a romantic harem, WWX Gets a Hug, Slow Burn, Dragon LWJ, Dragon WWX , WWX is a magical dragon, Polyamory, Angst with a Happy Ending, WWX is Loved, Bad Parent YZY, Creature Inheritance, Creature Fic, Dragel Dynamics, Dragel fic, WWX Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Past Child Abuse) might like, it’s WWX with LWJ/LXC/NMJ/NHS and has some good fluffy moments but is a little angsty too and is not very jiang friendly but has lots of worldbuilding and everyone’s a dragon

We can fix that by Spindoctor (E, 73k, WWX/LWJ/NMJ, WIP, Threesome - M/M/M, NMJ Lives, Arranged Marriage, Oral Sex,bAnal Sex,bCock Warming, Caretaking, Light BDSM, Thigh jobs, Everyone Loves WWX, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Starvation, Canon-Typical Violence, Starvation recovery, PTSD, PTSD RECOVERY, Suicidal Ideation, Scars, Discussion of Surgery, mild body horror, discussion of starvation, body talk, Nightmares, screaming ghosts, WWX's canonical cnc kink, cnc fantasies, Light Bondage, tender fucking, instead of talking about feelings, Slow Burn, JYL Lives, BAMF JYL, Erectile Dysfunction, Weight Gain,bChapter Specific Tags in Beginning Notes) NMJ/LWJ/WWX, a lot of fluff and healing. Might have a conflict in the future but it's ongoing and currently there's not any mention of future conflict I can remember

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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