#tw: abusive friendships

[mothkingfi]

A little bit of a vent post about friendship, and why I like to be a guide in sky.

[furiousgoldfish]

I have this reoccurring problem where I feel like I've found a friend in someone, and then some time later, this person does something to hurt me, and rather than apologizing, they snap at me, act like I'm awful and a nuisance to them, and generally get very angry with me. First it makes me feel guilty, and I go over everything I did to see how I deserved this, but then I realize I didn't do anything, they just hurt me and snapped at me, made me feel like it's my fault. And then I get scared that this person could do that, because I can't even imagine doing that to anyone, it's so deeply unethical and shitty, but people do it like it's their second nature. Once I realize that this person scares me, I know I have to get distance and move away from the friendship if I don't want to live a very anxious and triggering life, so I do that. And thus I have no friends anymore.

Now for me, this occurred easily over 30 or 40 times with different people, to the point where I've started to wonder if I maybe draw this behaviour out of them. Because I will usually pick people who I believe would never do that, who seem to be kind, understanding, gentle, funny, easy going, I go for that almost every time, and still they snap at me. I'm wondering if it's because everyone in their mind thinks there's one person somewhere they're allowed to snap at, and since I'm very mild tempered, easy going and understanding, it feels to them like snapping at me couldn’t possibly have any consequences?  Again, I don't understand this, I would rather never snap at any person in my life.

My problem is that sometimes, I end up very bonded to these people, and I start building hope that maybe I could be normal, have friends, function in society, just because it feels for a bit like I'm accepted, I'm allowed to socialize and chat and joke around and tell things to someone, and this means the world to me. I've lived in an environment where I was not allowed any of that. So when these specific people snap at me, my hopes crumble to the ground, and I'm back into the place where I don't feel like I'm a person anymore. Even worse, I get triggered back into my childhood, where my parents screamed at me telling me how disgusting I am, how nobody will ever want anything to do with me, and how I'm the worst thing to ever exist on the planet. That's how I end up feeling when anyone turns against me, or abandons me. I keep it to myself, because I don't want the triggers affecting the friendship. But they affect me deeply.

That feeling of someone I care about finding me disgusting and awful and poisonous gives me so much pain I want to curl up and disappear. I want to not exist anymore. I would rather be alone forever than experience more of that. And that's exactly what I do; I curl up in my own little corner and don't socialize out of terror that more of this will happen, because it does happen so often and I still never see it coming.

I know on some deeply logical level, that people are snapping at me because it's easier for them to do that than to face that they've done something wrong, that they've hurt our friendships and acted badly towards me; they need it to be my fault so they'd feel better about themselves. Taking it out on me is just an easy route because I have zero vindication in me and probably won't ever snap back or get angry in return; I'll just withdraw. I'm always too worried I've genuinely done something wrong when it happens, I'll apologize a thousand times, I'll spend a while trying to figure out what's the truth, and then before I even think about getting angry, I'll be swallowed by pain and sorrow that this happened to me again.

Has anyone found any ways to have people not snap at you when they hurt you? What kind of change in attitude would achieve this? Do I just have bad friend-picking skills? Is this just a normal part of life that other people can handle because being snapped on doesn't make them suicidal? Is it considered normal that your friend will sometimes snap at you when they hurt you? Is it not a glaring red flag? In some cases people will not only snap but also gaslight me about what happened, and I know gaslighting is way over the line. Has this been happening to others? Please give me any opinions or experiences of this, especially if you found a way to deal with it.

[wordingg]

Revenge Is Cold Comfort

Dead Boy Ween Day Two ~ Prompt: Comfort

Summary: Charles and Edwin go to a park to see some ducks and Charles gets into a fight.

AN: check the tags on this one, just in case. there is comfort, but you gotta make it to the end!

It was a rare day that saw Charles and Edwin spending time together without Crystal about. But, as she had so firmly told them "these curls don't maintain themselves" and had warned them in no uncertain terms not to bother her while she was at the salon or she would "punt them directly into the sun" they decided to honor her wishes and give her a day to herself.

So, Charles and Edwin found themselves with a whole day to fill, with no pressing cases to work on and no Crystal to bother.

After a few minutes of the both of them puttering around the office uselessly, Charles said, "We haven't had a day out ourselves in, God..." Charles looked up at the ceiling like it would have his answer.

"Not since April," Edwin helpfully supplied. That day had been quite lovely. Charles and Edwin had attended a performance of Shakespeare in the park and then spent the afternoon in a nearby combination coffee shop / bookstore where Edwin was able to peruse both the interesting people and the new releases just put on the shelves.

"Right. That's way too long, probably," Charles said with a wrinkle of his nose. "Let's go out!" he said, clapping his hands and grinning at Edwin devilishly. Edwin firmly told his heart to go back where it belonged and stop trying to climb up his throat. Charles looked quite devious, but he often did. It didn't require that kind of reaction from him of all people.

Swallowing, Edwin turned on his heel to grab his coat and shrugged it on. "Capital idea, Charles. Lead the way."

They ended up in a park a bit farther away from the office than Edwin had expected. "I want to see the ducks!" Charles had insisted when Edwin asked why he had picked that particular park. He supposed that was as good a reason as any. Ducks were perfectly pleasant to look at.

It was a clear and warm autumn day, the strong buttery sunshine chasing off most of the chill. That being the case, the park was full of people, despite it being the middle of a weekday. True to his word, Charles went straight for the duck pond, crouching down at the edge and gazing intently at the ducks swimming in lazy curves along the flat mirror like surface of the water.

"D'you ever think it's odd that only cats can talk?" Charles asked idly as he frowned at a particularly round mallard duck that looped around to point one beady dark eye at him suspiciously. "I feel that if cats of all creature can talk, surely ducks can too."

Edwin frowned down at Charles. He looked again at the especially rotund duck who was apparently engaged in a serious staring competition with Charles. Sometimes, even after thirty-eight years of living together, Edwin still had no idea what went on inside Charles' head. When Charles wasn't speculating about the communication abilities of aquatic birds, Edwin could appreciate Charles' unique way of thinking as an asset to the agency and something to be admired. It was hard to remember that while he was staring down a duck.

"I'm certain I have no idea," Edwin muttered, despairing at the thought of what the rest of the day had in store for him. Hopefully not more ducks.

Whatever Charles was about to say in response was cut off by the sound of a loud smack just behind them. Before Edwin had even fully turned around, Charles was on his feet and walking fast.

Only a dozen feet away was the apparent source of the sound. A large man holding a now crying little girl by her upper arm and whispering fiercely at her. His free hand was still raised threateningly and she was holding her steadily reddening cheek in one little hand, her big brown eyes welling over with shining tears. It didn't take a detective to put the sound and the scene together and realize what had happened.

"Oi!" Charles shouted, still stalking toward the scene.

"Charles," Edwin called, hurrying after them. "They can't hear you," he said, already knowing that it didn't matter.

Charles got right up into the man's face, squaring up like he was ready for a fight. "Oi, you wanna do that again, mate?" he spat.

The man didn't react, of course. He couldn't see them. But, the little girls' eyes got even bigger as they focused on Charles and the way he had pushed himself between her and the man.

"Are you listening to me, you little brat?" the man shouted, giving the girl a hard shake.

"Get your FUCKING hands off her!" Charles shouted, giving the man a hard shove. The man went flying backward, his eyes now almost as big as the little girl.

When the girl stumbled, Edwin stepped in smartly to catch and right her before she could fall. She gasped at his touch and he took his hands away quickly. He understood that touching a ghost could be quite unpleasant for the living, but he didn't want to let the little girl fall either.

She turned her big wet brown eyes up at Edwin and he felt his heart melt a little despite himself. Her tears had stopped, but her cheek was already starting to swell, the poor thing. He tried his best to give her a reassuring smile and held his index finger up in front of his mouth.

"Oh," she said faintly and then nodded. She shuffled a little closer to him and Edwin tried not coo at her.

Just a few feet away, the man was shouting and cussing up a storm as Charles kicked his feet out from under him every time he tried to stand up. A small knot of people had gathered around to watch, a few of them with their smartphones out to record what to them likely looked like a man flailing about wildly and somehow failing over and over to gain his feet.

After almost a full two minutes of that, someone finally noticed the little girl standing back with a swollen red cheek and tear tracks on her face. A kind looking middle aged woman who had been watching the man in concern glanced over, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead as she saw the girl. She hurried over and physically put herself between the man and the girl, which Edwin approved of.

"Hello, dearie," she said as she knelt down to the little girl's level. She had a bit of a northern accent and she smiled kindly at the little girl. Edwin watched her closely, cataloging her appearance and temperament (the woman was wearing a cardigan, she had a purse and sensible shoes, she was wearing a wedding ring on her left hand third finger, the edge of a tattoo peaked out from beneath her collar) and found nothing to raise his concern. "How did you get hurt? Are you all right? Are your parents here somewhere?" the woman asked.

Behind them, Charles had stopped tripping the man and a few good samaritans had stepped forward to ask if he was having a seizure or a stroke and if they should call the paramedics. The man seemed shaken and confused and was having trouble answering.

The little girl looked up at Edwin questioningly. "I think you can trust her," Edwin said quietly. "Tell her the truth."

The little girl nodded seriously and then turned back to the woman. She was looking up at Edwin with a frown, but obviously couldn't see him. Her attention went right back to the girl when she looked at her.

"That's my uncle, Samuel," the girl said very clearly, pointing over the woman's shoulder at the man still slumped on the ground. "He smacked me for getting my dress dirty," she said sadly, fingering a little spot of mud on the end of her skirt.

"Wanker," Charles spat, stepping up behind Edwin. The girl's eyes flew to Charles and his own widened in surprise. "Oh! Uh, I mean. What a meanie?" Charles looked desperate to Edwin for help.

Edwin gave Charles an unimpressed look. "Really, Charles."

"Right. Sorry," Charles winced in apology. He turned back to the little girl to give her a big warm smile, the kind of smile that Edwin sometimes felt might be burnt onto the back of his eyelids because it was so bright and unforgettable. "Don't you worry about him, love. He won't be bothering you anymore, I don't think."

The woman, unaware of this little exchange, was already on her cellular device talking to emergency services. She had her arm tucked around the little girl's waist and was shooting nervous glances at the man who still seemed not to remember to look for his niece. Edwin thought this was quite right. It was gratifying to know that there were still good people in the world who would step in to do the right thing, whether he and Charles were there or not.

"Are you fairies?" the little girl asked Charles with her big shining eyes focused entirely on him.

"What?" the woman asked, a little shocked. She looked toward where Charles and Edwin were standing with concern and then demanded into her small rectangular telephone "Please hurry! She's in shock, the poor thing."

Edwin wrinkled his nose at the implication that he and Charles might be fey. "Absolutely not," he declared. "If you ever see a real fairy, do not speak to them. They are quite insufferable," Edwin informed her seriously. He and Charles had more than a few run in with fairies over the years of working cases and every one down the last was the most awful bit of nonsense he had ever had the misfortune of coming across.

"We're ghosts. Ghost detectives, actually," Charles explained. He then elbowed Edwin, which Edwin felt was quite uncalled for. "Give her our card, mate," he said with a smile.

Huffing, Edwin pulled one of their enchanted business cards from the inside pocket of his coat and offered it to the little girl. She took it very carefully, looking down at it like it was magic, which Edwin supposed it was. Luckily the woman had been too busy watching two police officers approach at a fast walk to notice the card appearing in the little girl's hand.

"You can tuck that business card into an envelope with a letter and then put it under your bed and it will be delivered to us," Edwin informed her.

"Or you can call the number on there," Charles said, pointing to the phone number printed neatly under their address. "We have one now. Right handy, it is," he said with a smile.

Edwin looked up at the clear blue sky and took a deep breath. A phone number just didn't have the same gravitas as a magical business card that could summon the dead postman who delivered their mail, but he couldn't begrudge Charles anything. Even ruining a good moment.

"Yes, or you can use the telephone number," Edwin sighed.

"Thank you," the little girl whispered, before the two police approached her and the woman and they were both pulled into a serious conversation about what had just happened.

Charles and Edwin stayed in the park for a long time. They watched the police talk to the little girl, and then more police arrived to speak to her uncle, and then more police arrived to put her uncle in the back of a vehicle in handcuffs, and finally the girl's mother, still dressed in an apron and non-slip shoes, ran crying through the park to scoop her daughter up in her arms. The nice older woman also stayed the whole time. Edwin had privately begun to think of the three of them as the little girl's volunteer security team. She certainly looked at all three of them like she trusted them to keep her safe. That was a feeling that Edwin would cherish for a long time.

The sun was setting by the time that the last of the police and the crowd of onlookers finally dispersed. The ducks, who had been avoiding the side of the duck pond that had been host to so much chaos, finally returned to swimming lazy half circles in the water near the edge.

Charles sat in the short brown grass watching them. Edwin wanted to scold him for sitting on the bank that was surely more duck feces than it was grass, but knew that it didn't really matter. It wasn't as if Charles' clothing could get dirty from something as mundane as duck poop.

After a long time spent with the two of them staring morosely at the ducks, Charles said, "Sorry for losing it there for a bit."

"Quite understandable," Edwin assured him quietly. He peaked at Charles from the corner of his eye. He was frowning at the shining surface of the pond, his eyes not tracking any of the ducks, his hands fisted in the material of his pants.

"It's not," he bit out. "If I was smart, I would have looked out for the little girl instead of just-" Charles bit off whatever he meant to say. Edwin actually heard his teeth click together as he did it. "You had your priorities straight. You kept her safe," Charles said, finally turning to look at Edwin. His eyes shined too much in the warm orange light of the sunset, betraying the tears swimming at the edges of his dark curling eyelashes.

Warning lights were going off in Edwin's head. This subject was a minefield and Edwin was uniquely unqualified to navigate it. He never knew what the right thing to say was, when emotions were involved. He barely knew the right thing to say when they weren't.

But, Charles looked so beautiful and tragic in the fading light of autumn, that Edwin knew he must try, come what may.

Hesitantly, Edwin reached out and placed his hand over Charles'. He carefully pulled the hand loose from his pants and weaved his fingers between his friend's. He looked down at their fingers twined together, because he felt if he looked at Charles' face he would never be able to put his thoughts together.

"Perhaps I stayed with the girl, but the only reason I could do that was because I knew I could trust you to keep that man away from her," Edwin said.

Charles made a strange sound and Edwin looked up at him. The tears had escaped and were running down Charles' cheeks, spectral fluid glowing a pale blue in the fading sunlight.

"Charles, you are kind, and strong, and most of all compassionate. I would never disparage you for being yourself, because I love the person that you are," Edwin said firmly.

And then he wrapped his arms around his best friend in the world and let him cry onto his shoulder as the sun sank below the horizon and the ducks finally left the pond to find their own place to roost.

[luci-luck]

Papa Pie was less than pleased once he found out what Sandstone (Pinkie) does for a living.

[marshmellowtea]

not to continue the angst train but i'm thinking about chris having really bad panic attacks leading up to when the pilot (not the pilot) is supposed to air, partly because he knows there's more at stake if the play goes wrong because his dad's going to be here and he needs so badly to impress him and prove to him that this is something worth doing, that he's meant to be in theater........but also because he's just really fucking afraid of his father and the idea of him being here in his (relatively) safe space is terrifying to him, and he really doesn't want to admit that to anyone so he downplays the hell out of what he's going through even though it's obvious to everyone that he's an anxious, irritable mess lashing out like a wounded animal during practices :'))

[a-homiesexual-book-boi]

i hate how much my bad relationships in the past still fucking affect me

i’m still the same person

going through old convos

with someone who i know was bad to me

and still

shaking

still fucking telling myself

“You were terrible to him and should be ashamed of yourself he was nothing but nice to you”

even when i’m the one

who has to navigate my life

entirely differently

because i’m still under his control

[op3ra]

do you think rusty and dinah ever sit in silence together and just feel the pain of the abuse they endured at the hands of the same person. even if it's so wildly different for both of them. even if dinah feels like she could've stopped it and rusty knows no one could've. even if they never knew each other outside of their abuser. the trauma runs deep but together the weight is shared

[curiositysavesthecat]

*This poll was submitted to us and we simply posted it so people could vote and discuss their opinions on the matter. If you’d like for us to ask the internet a question for you, feel free to drop the poll of your choice in our inbox and we’ll post them anonymously (for more info, please check our pinned post).

[callalillywrites]

An Unconventional Pack Part 1

Of the packs I've written so far for my It Takes All Packs to Make It Work series, this one was the absolute hardest, most gut-wrenching one to write. We definitely have two sadder pups in this story compared to what's been seen before.

But, I still hope those who find enjoy this series will still like this story and what it has to offer to the series as a whole.

Part 2 / Series Masterlist

Relationship: Alpha!Reader / Beta!Ransom Drysdale / Beta!Nick Vaughn

Word Count: ~1650

Summary: Ransom's never been all that lucky in finding a pack unlike his best friend, Angel. He does find some promise with one Alpha though, but even that becomes complicated when he realizes that her hidden other isn't an omega but another beta.

Warnings: abusive parent (Linda), implied past abuse, Ransom Drysdale (sad boy, soft, protective), Nick is a sweetheart, fiercely protective best friend!Angel, angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort

A/N: This story was one of the hardest I've had to write so far in this series, and I'm still not sure I'm satisfied with it. Ransom is absolutely a lot softer than I originally intended, but he's what the story ultimately intended. I do heartily recommend reading Their Sweet Omega first because it'll give you more insight into Ransom's characterization for this story. Either way, I do hope you'll enjoy this angst-ridden but happy ending story.

I also do not give permission for my work to be copied or posted on other sites or fed into an AI machine.

*****

The gala event was as insufferable as Ransom knew it would be.

Yet, he couldn’t leave even if he wanted to.

No, his mother had seen to that after he’d reluctantly come back to them, asking for some help with his finances for the month. All his careful planning had gone awry because he hadn’t been able to let down his only true friend in the world.

Said friend hadn’t hesitated in accepting his invitation to accompany him.

Her presence helped to break the monotony and grating snobbery of those his mother continued to push upon him.

Well, that and the memories of the recent dinner he’d had with the first Alpha to ever capture his full attention. It was quite surprising to him how much he hadn’t wanted their evening to end.

Sure, it’d been some shock to discover the claim mark at the base of her neck, but he assumed the bite came from an omega she wanted to keep safe until she was certain of him. He’d seen it plenty of times, and surprisingly, he didn’t even mind. If this Alpha’s omega was anything like her, then he could perhaps find himself content to be claimed.

“You’re doing it again,” Angel teased as she picked a few things from the overloaded table of finger foods. “I know it can’t be because of these people, so what’s got you smiling? Not that I mind. It’s nice to see you like this.”

Schooling his features into a scowl, he spared her a glance before turning his attention to the food.

“No idea what you’re suggesting,” he murmured. Though, try as he might, he couldn’t quite keep his thoughts from straying once more to the Alpha.

If he didn’t know better, he might’ve said he was smitten with her, but that couldn’t be true. Thrombeys and Drysdales don’t do smitten. Don’t do anything resembling love.

“Fine. Keep your secrets.”

The look Angel shot him told him she’d return to the subject soon enough.

Hoping to change the subject, he asked instead, “So, what are your alpha and beta doing tonight while you’re here?”

“They went on a date.” She smiled. “It’s been a while since they’ve gone out together without me, so this was a nice excuse to let them have some time alone together.”

“And you’re not jealous or worried they’re leaving you out?”

Angel shook her head. “No, I’m not. I mean, it took us a bit to figure it out, but our pack works because we love and trust one another. Is there some reason you think I should feel jealous or worried?”

Ransom quickly shook his head.

He’d seen the way Jake and Steve acted around Angel and knew without doubt that his question had no bearing. But he couldn’t tell her why the question had come out of him. He didn’t want to reveal what he knew about this new Alpha in his life just yet, especially since it doesn’t really bother him.

Okay, maybe he was a little worried about it.

He had every right to be a little worried, especially given his history.

It didn’t stop the happier thoughts from peeking through, from giving him a glimpse of what could be.

Damned hope.

“Ran?” Angel asked, breaking through his thoughts.

He shook himself. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“You’re lying,” she countered but didn’t press further, much to his relief.

The two of them had fallen into their easy camaraderie when another beta stepped up to the serving table.

Ransom didn’t mean to notice him, but he couldn’t help doing so.

Something about the beta had him immediately at ease in ways he’s never experienced before. Almost without realizing it, Ransom found himself leaning towards the beta which Angel noticed with increasing interest.

She held out her hand and introduced herself to the beta.

The beta grinned softly at her. “Nick.”  

“You’re the trumpet player, right?”

At his nod, she added, “You’re very good.”

“Thank you.”

While Angel and Nick chatted more, Ransom took the opportunity to study the other beta. He still couldn’t figure out what was drawing him to the other man, and he couldn’t shake the notion he knew Nick from somewhere.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long as Nick turned to him. “I never got to thank you that day on the train platform. You really saved me.”

Everything clicked then.

The day came back to him as though it’d been yesterday versus weeks ago.

A group of young alphas had been up to mischief as they waited on the train platform. Ransom had only been there because of his family. He hadn’t really meant to get involved, but the group seemed easy enough to scare away from the hapless trumpeter sitting on the platform and previously minding his business.

Then like now, Ransom couldn’t figure out why he was drawn to the other beta, yet that inexplicable line pulled him toward Nick and had him intervene when he would’ve minded his own business usually.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed Nick recounting that day’s events for Angel’s benefit.

“It wasn’t anything worth mentioning,” he said when she gave him a look. As if to emphasize his words and keep her from saying more, he shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe you’ve rubbed off on me or something. It was an odd day for me.”

That didn’t deter Nick to Ransom’s surprise as Nick’s grin graced him. “Whatever it was, you did me a great favor. I can only hope to return it one day.”

When Ransom would’ve responded, Angel grabbed his arm and nodded behind him. Her voice came out a whisper. “Witch incoming.”

“Ransom Drysdale,” Linda managed to both hiss and screech at him, “could you be any more of a disappointment?”

Ransom’s jaw ticked, but he faced his mother with the practiced nonchalance he’d cultivated from years of living with his family. “I’m sure I could, Linda. Perhaps I should try harder.”

As usual, she ignored his comment in favor of continuing her tirade, “It’s bad enough that you brought this mangy omega tonight. Now I find you talking to the help when you’re supposed to be shmoozing potential donors. I swear if you don’t straighten up, you can repay the money you borrowed from us right here, right now.”

His jaw hurt from how he clenched them ever tighter during Linda’s tirade.

“You borrowed money from them?” Angel asked, turning him to face her instead of Linda. “Why, Ran?”

Again, his mother answered before he could even open his mouth. She even had the temerity to crow about it. “For you, you little charity case. Told us some sob story about needing the money to save your birthday or some such nonsense. Should’ve listened to your father all those years ago about you and that bitch mother of yours. Nothing but two-bit omega trash. Always have been, always will be.”

The rigidity of Angel’s body told Ransom she was preparing to launch herself at Linda.

Quickly, he wrapped an arm around Angel’s waist and held tight. A shake of his head had her blowing out her breath even as her scent grew thick with her displeasure.

As much as Ransom wanted to see Angel kick Linda’s ass, he also knew that his mother would press charges against Angel, delighting in finally taking down one of her main nemeses.

After all, it was Angel who’d told Ransom from their earliest days that he could do so much better than the Thrombeys and Drysdales. Hell, she made sure he had plenty of exposure to what a decent family should be like with her grandmother and mother. Both had done what they could to make up for what Ransom lacked in his home life.

“How much?” Nick interrupted Linda’s tirade.

Linda stalled at that.

Her thwarted ire had nowhere to go while Nick waited patiently, munching on one of the finger sandwiches he picked up. His casualness despite Linda’s obnoxious and deprecating outburst had Ransom wondering about this beta and his self-assuredness.

It was Ransom who answered Nick. “About three thousand.”

“That’s it?” Nick’s brows rose at hearing the paltry amount. “Hm. Well, how about I write you a check, lady, and we’ll all go our separate ways? I mean, nothing’s happened yet that we can’t just move on from.”

Linda guffawed. “You? You have three thousand?”

Nick nodded, finishing off his sandwich and picking up a carrot stick.

Ransom, unsure what was happening yet kinda interested in seeing this play out, kept his mouth shut.

“You don’t look like you have five dollars to your name, let alone three thousand.” Linda’s haughty manner increased as she completed a deeper inspection of Nick’s person. Her grin grew downright cruel, something Ransom knew meant trouble for its recipient.

“Linda, don’t,” Ransom growled.

His mother didn’t listen. Instead, she spared him a glance and one of her signature scoffs. With a single step, she closed the distance between them, which wasn’t much, and poked Nick in the chest.

“My son must really be losing his touch if he’s trying to manipulate a nothing beta like you.”

“The only nothing around here is you,” Angel said.

Ransom never got the chance to stop her.

The words had an instantaneous effect.

Linda didn’t even move from where she stood toe-to-toe with Nick when she struck Angel across the face. The sharp edges of her ring broke Angel’s cheek, producing a thin but marked line.

Seeing red, Ransom hauled his mother away from both Nick and Angel.

What had been a quiet squabble to one side of the venue became a full-blown spectacle in moments.

Linda, ever able to manipulate the situation, merely grinned at Ransom. “You’ve really blown it this time. There’s no coming back from this.”

Nothing could’ve prepared Ransom for the familiar voice that spoke up then.

“I do believe the only one who’s blown it is you, Linda Drysdale,” Alpha said from the small but growing crowd.

*****

Verse Masterlist / Main Masterlist

[backpackingspace]

Okay but consider post Canon over protective Athena who is sick to death of her most devout being raped.

Athena sticking close to the whole family and promising penelope that she'll keep a close eye on odysseus the first time he has to go into the market and penelope can't go with him. (She was going to go anyway. She's never actually going to let any of them out of her sight ever again. And it's an easy promise to her dearest weaver who seems so distressed to have odysseus leaving her side.)

Athena fully manifesting in the market when someone grabs odysseus with godly flashes of snakes and owls and the drums of war to scream /release him/ (odysseus is feeling indulgent for both his patron and his wife it's so cute that they're this worried it's not like he couldn't defend himself just fine. Especially from whatever poor fuck just grabbed him who definitely doesn't deserve a goddess screaming in his face. Hes trying so hard not to laugh if he did athena would send him flying.)

Athena telling all the other gods that yes she knows odysseus is the favorite barbie doll she choose him well after all and to back the fuck off if any of them bother him again they will have made an enemy of her.

Athena disguising odysseus only as an old beggar from here on out instead of an irresistibly tall and handsome man. Because she saw how uncomfortable nausicaa's attention made him.

[good-beanswrites]

A little alternate scene to @kyanako5972 's Amane request. I like the other drabble a bit better regarding how things would actually play out, but I couldn't resist trying something that included Fuuta. He's Amane's closest friend. He's the other person to openly say he'll go after a child and not give them special treatment. He literally looks like the orange cat she saved. I couldn't cover it all but there's just so much going on with them. Warning for references to Amane's cult/abuse mindset.

“Jeez, you scared the crap outta me…” 

Fuuta looked up to find Amane standing over his bed, staring intently as he woke. Amane knew he was doing his best to appear upset with her for the intrusion, but his grimace could be mistaken for pain in his condition. 

She knew she didn’t look much better, an eyepatch tucked under her short hair and bandages circling her body. It had taken all her strength to rise and make her way to his cell. She was used to walking off a bit of pain, but this was a different level altogether. 

She opened her mouth. She had come in here with a mission. She had her speech prepared. She didn’t write it out like her father was known to do, but she did rehearse it a few times quietly to herself, as she’d seen from him. 

Fuuta had listened to her when no one else would; there was a chance her passionate words could convince him to reject that doctor’s evil work and find the light. They could shed these bandages together, becoming pure and following their intended paths. She’d already tried removing her eyepatch several times, but there was always someone there to put it back on. It had been hard to fend off so many overbearing adults, the way her body screamed at her each time she tried. She despised them. She was suffocated by them.

But with Fuuta by her side, she could do it. There was power in numbers. Her mother, Es, Kotoko – all of them thought she was wicked. They weren’t important. They were only human. She could still be a good girl, in the ways that mattered. They could be good together. 

“Kajiyama Fuuta.”

“What?”

But the words caught in her throat. 

His voice was so weak. It was nothing like the way he spoke to her before. His eyes dulled with exhaustion, half-hidden under ginger hair. She couldn’t keep her gaze from the makeshift sling Shidou had put together with one of the bedsheets. It didn’t look much different than her own handiwork. The thought brought with it a surge of pride, which immediately made her tremble with shame. 

He had changed so much. This wasn’t the same person she had found camaraderie in before. If only she could help him. If only she could save him.

No. There was a right way and a wrong way to help him, and she mustn't be led astray. She had come here to help in the right way. Thoughts spun rapidly through her mind. Her trembling worsened. Her chest ached, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the emotions or the broken ribs. She just had to follow through. She had to be good. She had to –

“Stop being creepy,” he wheezed. “Just spit it out.”

“I – I have to go.”

She spun around. She could save Fuuta another day.

“Oi, Amane.”

“I said I have to go.”

“I'm sorry.”

She paused in the doorway to the cell. She glanced back at him, curious.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I’m just... Sorry that happened to you. It was a fucked up thing to do.”

Amane shook her head. She held her chin high. “It was meant to be, and thus, I can bear it. You must, too.”

Fuuta's laugh turned into a cough. “You’re a weird kid. But tougher than I gave you credit for.”

Amane couldn’t meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

[bearsinpotatosacks]

If anyone wants a heart breaking idea, what if when Mikey took somethings, cocaine, some kind of painkiller, he got nasty, said hurtful shit and got violent like we see at the end of Fishes. We know he already had a temper on him so what if, when Richie's picking him up from a bar or his dealer's house, when he's at the peak of his high, or coming down from it, he gets nasty. He doesn't remember these moments, he wants everything to be a blur so he doesn't remember yelling at Richie when he's trying to get him to take a shower, to eat something and go to bed. He doesn't remember trying to say the most hurtful shit he could think about, mentioning his parents, how his dad probably hurt him because he was an annoying little shit, how his mum gave up on him because he was nothing.

He doesn't remember hitting Richie when he's at his worst, when he's just trying to get him to bed, get him through the shift at the Beef, when he's too tired for a fight and in too much shock that this guy he loves, his best friend, has turned just as vicious as Donna and doesn't care that he's given him bruises or drawn blood when he got really bad.

And Richie knows he doesn't remember, he knows that this isn't his friend, that Mikey Bear wouldn't do this. He doesn't want to lash out or fight back because he's just high, he doesn't know what he's doing, he's not himself. Or maybe he just tells himself that because he knows how his mother felt being married to his dad, stuck and loving the version of the person you fell in love with and unable to fight back when they become this monster you don't recognise.

[calamitydarcy]

yknow sometimes (ok often) i think i never fully. recovered. from being cut off from the world and living in almost total isolation from any other human being for 4 months. i don't think i ever relearned how to be part of society. how to be a human.

[bleedingfromeveryorifice]

gib them hugs :(

Thought I'd put this here. No reason.

(art by @plxtypusbearr73 )

[bodrewritten]

Daughter of Discord Rewritten Chapter 19: Contact Sport

Cw: child abuse, very brief

"I never wanted any part of Mother's plan," Mothball explained. "Not after I met you."

He and Screwball were sitting at Zecora's table, eating soup with one hoof and holding hooves with the other. Well, Screwball was the only one eating anyway, since Mothball was not accustomed to solid food.

"But what was I supposed to do?" he continued. "I was young, I had nowhere else to go. The hive is the only home I've ever known. The changelings never really felt like family, but..."

"I get it," Screwball said, giving his hoof a gentle squeeze. "No matter how crazy they are, you can't pick family." She hung her head. "And sometimes, you'd do anything to please them."

"but the family I made is so much kinder to me...Part of what my mother told you is true, though. I was supposed to feed off your love, but...I couldn't bear to hurt you. Eventually, I kept away from you altogether."

"It's funny. You keep saying that the more time I spend with you, the weaker I get, but the thing is..." She put down her spoon and scooted closer to him. "When I'm with you, I feel...stronger."

"You do feel stronger. I still don't understand how that's possible."

"Perhaps I can explain," Zecora volunteered, "why she feels no pain. I spoke to you of balancing your traits. There is more to what the candle dictates. You gain power from Screwball's love, it's true, but from your love, she gains power too. What you give replaces what you take. 'Tis such a rare magic that you two make."

"So what you're saying is," Mothball attempted to clarify, "that instead of me taking away her power, we're...sharing our own?"

The zebra nodded.

"It makes sense," Screwball declared. "Love is the most powerful form of chaos there is." She smirked. "But I thought you didn't have a heart, you big softie."

"So did I," the prince said. "But Zecora told me something interesting. If I were heartless like my mother, I would have left you for dead." He gazed into her eyes. "But I didn't."

Screwball smiled and nuzzled her head into his chest. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

He grinned nervously. "Well, you had reason."

She studies his face for a moment, taking in all the intricacies. The way she cannot see the muscles moving under his skin from under the exoskeleton he bears. The way he has a beak-like mouth with pincers instead of teeth...

"can you open your mouth real wide for me? Really quick?"

He complied and she looked down his throat. She illuminated the way just a bit...

"you have teeth in your throat! Why do you need those if you only eat love?"

"pharyngeal teeth, lots of aquatic animals like turtles have them. I've always wondered about that, nopony would tell me why."

She slowly pulled away and looked at him seriously. "What else do you know about Chrysalis' plan?"

He turned his head away in shame as he explained everything to her.

"...and zany?"

"He's alive, as far as I know. He's being held in the hive's nursery. Changelings find babies to be..." he winced, "a bountiful food source, because in their innocent age, they have no morals. They attached to anypony. I would have rescued him, but I was banished from the hive. "

Screwball's eyes were wild with worry. "Why is she doing this?"

"She wants revenge on your father. What for, I'm not sure, but this was all so she could get him back into stone. With him out of the way, and his power transferred to Chrysalis, the changelings would be free to take over Equestria!"

As He spoke, a frog crossed with a teapot hopped onto the windowsill. Its lid opened as it croaked.

"I think your dad's alive," Mothball observed.

"But we might not have much time!" Screwball exclaimed. "We have to warn him! We have to save Zany! We need to explain things to..."

"No," Zecora said. "You have not fully recovered, and you cannot risk being discovered."

"But if I wait too long, it'll be too late!"

"Your father is crafty, clever and cunning. He will sense the ponies coming. It will take time for them to hunt him down. I suggest you rest till morning comes round."

"But..."

She trailed off as Mothball laid a hoof on her shoulder. "She's right. You need your strength if you want to go up against my mother." He hung his head. "I wouldn't recommend it though. My mother is clever too, not to mention she has a whole army on her side."

"Yes," Screwball said with a sigh. "I'm sorry, my mind is so jumbled right now!"

"You should get some sleep."

"Yeah. Zecora, do you have a sleeping bag or something?"

"You are welcome to sleep in my bed," the zebra offered. "I will find a place to rest my head."

"But where can I...?" Mothball started to ask.

He trailed off as Zecora winked at him. He was silent as she gathered the empty teacups and disappeared behind a curtain. Screwball and Mothball simultaneously glanced at the bed and then at each other with a blush.

"I don't really want to do anything."

"Neither do I..."

"I suppose there will be no harm in..." Screwball stammered, "snuggling?"

In a few minutes, they were lying under the covers, tight in each other's embrace, their hooves entwining. Mothball finally let himself kiss her forehead. She smiled, finally feeling him willingly give himself little steps to love.

She sighed again and gazed up at the ceiling. He looked in the same direction and for a while, neither of them said anything.

"Did you know?" Screwball asked abruptly.

Mothball raised an eyebrow at her. "Did I know what?"

She locked eyes with him. "Did you know how I felt about you?

He looked away shamefully. "I can sense emotion a mile away. I've always known."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I thought I couldn't return your feelings. And...I didn't want you to think I was just staying with you so I could feed."

Screwball could understand that, considering how she had treated him earlier.

"Also...I never properly thanked you for saving my life."

That made her feel even more guilty.

"That's okay," Mothball said with a shrug. "I never thanked you."

"For what?"

"For saving me...from my myself?" He winced. "Okay, that was cheesy."

Screwball laughed. "Cheesy's how we do it in pomyville."

She took his hoof and snuggled against him again. He smiled and stroked her mane.

"What I mean is...would have been just like chrysalis if I had not met you. Not only that, but you showed me what it's like to have fun, to be crazy, to be...well, a kid."

"When we first met, you were so different that I found you interesting. I knew you weren't as bad as Daddy said, because you tried to save me from that manticore. I...I can't really explain it, but...I just feel so...complete with you."

Screwball sighed contentedly as he wrapped his hooves around her.

"I feel the same way."

She was so happy that she finally had her prince, but her heart sank at the thought of her family.

"I have to make things right," she whispered. "She was stopped before at Cadence and Shining Armor's wedding."

"Huh?"

Screwball raised an eyebrow. "You mean your mother never told you about that?"

"If she was defeated, I don't think she would have."

"Well, basically, what happened is that Princess Cadence and Shining Armor cast a spell that banished the changelings from Equestria. But they're all the way in the Crystal Empire now! By the time they hear about Chrysalis, it'll be too late!"

"What kind of spell did they cast?"

"I...I don't remember. My mom told me a long time ago, right after I met you, but I don't remember. I just know they cast it together and not even Chrysalis could fight it."

"We'll worry about it in the morning. For now, let's get some sleep."

As they held each other, Mothball could feel her love transfer to his body, but he could also feel his love going to her in return.

"how did you end up here? You already know Zecora?"

"she saved me. When I was... Cast out, she took me in because I nearly died."

Screwball shuddered and held him closer. Gosh, she was so cold, so afraid of death.

He had to clean up the mess he had caused, and he knew exactly how.

When Screwball awoke, she was alone. Her hoof went to the empty space beside her.

"Mothball?"

She stepped out of bed and looked around the hut. Her eyes fell upon a note on the table:

Stepped out for a moment, will be back before evening. MB

A few minutes after Screwball had read the letter, Zecora returned with a plate of fufu and soup. "Your father turned the waterfall red, in place of dye he used paprika instead."

"Typical."

The two waited hours for Mothball to return, untill Screwball grew impatient.

"Where could he possibly be?" she demanded, slamming her hoof on the table.

"Hush, my dear," Zecora said sternly. "You must have patience. It's not like we've been waiting for ages."

"But what is he doing?! Can't you look in your magic brew or something?"

The zebra rubbed her chin. "I will see what I can do. Hand me that mirror, would you?"

"His twenty-four hours are up," said the voice of Princess Twilight. "I'm sorry it had to come to this, Fluttershy."

"No!" cried Fluttershy's voice. "Just a little more time! Please!"

"You could try to reason with him once more, but it must be done. Come on, girls. Let's find Discord."

As the image disintegrated, Screwball felt a wave of panic.

The filly rushed to the door.

"Where are you going?" Zecora demanded.

"I have to warn him! Or, if I find Mom first, I'll explain things to her! I have to fix this! When Mothball gets back, tell him where I've gone!"

The zebra was about to protest further when Screwball slammed the door.

Mothball hid behind a dead tree so the changelings guarding the entrance to the hive would not see him. For a second, he considered turning back. Suppose he were caught, or worse, if his mother caught him! She would do worse than ground him! She would blast him to dust!

The prince closed his eyes and took the form of a nurse changeling. "I hope my smell doesn't throw them off," he muttered to himself.

The guards did not appear to be suspicious, which was a great relief to Mothball, but the most difficult part of the task was yet to come. He took the passage to the lower level of the hive where the nursery was. He immediately caught sight of the gray foal lying in a cocoon shaped like a cradle.

The night before

Within the arms of discord, a baby lay, seemingly bountiful with energy, never letting up his excitement. At the same time, A changeling drone was on the front lines, deceitful in every sense.

Mantis and his legion reconvened with Queen Chrysalis and marched forth back to ponyville, where the queen would return to her post as the baby zany. As the others walked along, Chrysalis turned to Mantis.

"My son," Chrysalis called to him. Mantis trotted over to her, head low and respectful.

She commanded the others to fly forth, and swiped her hoof across his face, throwing him off his balance. He clutched his face and bowed to her immediately.

"My apologies mother, I meant not to disappoint-"

"That maggot is going to ruin all of our plans and it's your duty to exterminate him. You could not do it once, and unless I'm to assume you're no different from him, you will not disappoint me again."

The fear on his face wrapped around the stinging pain.

"Never, mother. Never again. I promise."

[ashes-writing-corner]

Yall getting spoiled today cause here i am updating a little over a whole 24 hours later!

Ghosts That We Knew- 2

Ellie was very much aware something else was in the house. She didn't actually know to call them someone or something, as they had been a person before and well, they retained the shape of a person. She had taken to calling the entity Skull Face, but kept it mostly to herself. Her mom thought it was just the name of an imaginary friend, or something along those lines. 

That was until the night of the freak out. Ellie had woken up to the entity in her room, looming over her bed like a hulking shadow. The skull faced entity was pink in the light of her nightlight, but it could easily be misconstrued as red. Ellie watched Skull Face for all of two seconds before shooting up in bed and screaming for her mother. 

The entity was taken aback of course, its own dark eyes widening in surprise and, dare she believe it, a little bit of fear. But that fear was quick to turn to what briefly flashed to sorrow and then to anger. 

And a ghost's anger held immense power. 

Power that he, only having been dead for a little over a year, had little control over. 

His anger manifested into thrown objects such as books, little art supplies, and a knocked over lamp. Her curtains tore under his rage, and only when You ran in to protect your little girl did he realize what he had done. 

He could've hurt Ellie. 

The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt someone, much less a little child whose only crime was being afraid. She had a right to be. He didn't have a place in her world. Watching you shield your daughter, much like his mother had tried to do for him and his brother against his father, killed his intense rage almost as soon as it started. 

Clarity hit him like a truck as everything stopped. He only manifested for a few seconds before stepping through the wall of the girl's room and into the hall. 

Back to the closet, where he belonged. 

He was a monster in their eyes. He had been stupid to think that either of them would want anything to do with him. His intention wasn't to harm, but he had no way of telling them that. He didn't have a voice anymore, at least not one YOU could hear. 

Ellie on the other hand could. Children and animals were more susceptible to supernatural entities. Some children could speak to spirits, hear their voices, and Noelle was one of them. 

But what good was that when she was afraid? He didn't fault the little girl for her fear, but it was frustrating. He wanted to be heard, known, and…well…maybe cared for  by these two. Something in him saw what he had been missing when he watched you two bake, play, and spend time together. 

Hindsight was a real bitch when you were no longer living. As a ghost, he had a higher sense of self awareness that he had lacked as a living man. He had wasted his life trying to solve the world's problems. Not by himself, of course, but still it was his calling. But in the end, the pressure of that calling had destroyed him and no one had been there to stop his destruction. This world that he tried so hard to make better had turned its back on him in those final days…

It broke his heart, quite literally. 

Then you started to talk to him. How strange was it that homemade miniature dinner rolls and a simple cell phone could bring two strange people together? He couldn't eat the rolls, but he appreciated that you thought of him anyway. And he didn't mind sharing, as you made them anyway. If anything, he now felt like an intruder despite this apartment being his home for a long time. 

He watched as you worked on the blueberry muffins you had promised, head cocked. He wondered if you were a baker by trade. Your phone was on the counter, close to where he had his head laying on his arms. 

Trade?

The word came through clear on your phone and you nearly jumped. 

"Oh shit!" You laughed a little after your initial fright, "well…good morning to you too. What do you mean by trade?". 

Baker? Trade?

"Are you asking if I'm a baker by trade?" You asked. 

Affirmative. 

You rolled your eyes. "Seriously, you don't have to use military words with me. I got that enough from my partner before…yeah" you shook your head, "but to answer your initial question, no I'm actually not a baker by trade. I just have a passion for it, and someday I wanna open my own bakery slash Cafe kinda thing". 

He could see you doing that. If you have a passion for something, why not use it to do something good? It was better than what he had wasted his life on. The smell of muffins baking hit his nose, and Ghost swore he could smell everything she was putting into them. All the while you hummed softly and prepared to make a blueberry frosting to go with them. 

Sorry. 

The word came through on your phone and you looked up. “For what?” 

Last night. Mess. 

“Oh! The room…Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it before she’s out. Just, try not to have another freak out like that, okay? That lamp’s gonna be hard to replace. I thought of getting her a fish tank too, since I know she loves fish”. 

Help. 

“You wanna help?” 

Off-yes. 

You chuckled. “Caught yourself I see. I guess even ghosts aren’t perfect”. 

Far from. 

“I don’t know if there’s really anything you can do right now. Just hope things don’t get too crazy now. She’s really aware of you. I think she has been since we moved in”. 

She has. 

“Ah so the theories are all right. Kids can see ghosts”. 

Some. 

“And animals?” 

Yes. 

“Hm…interesting. What is it like? You know, to be dead and all that?” 

There was a pause, as Ghost had to take a moment to think. He didn’t want to make it seem like a good thing or a bad thing. Death was still taboo to talk about, as people weren’t meant to think too much on their own mortality. The brain wasn’t built to process it. So he went with possibly a neutral term for it. 

Enlightening. 

“Oh…Yeah I can imagine so. But hey, you get to see what the world becomes at least. That’s probably my biggest hang up about death, if I’m being honest” you admitted. 

That was true, but on that same note there was nothing he could do to stop it from going in the wrong direction. It already was before he died, and he had a feeling things were only going to get worse. For now, Ghost was content that you and Ellie were his world. He watched as you made the frosting for the muffins, head on his arms once again, just keeping his eyes on you. He didn’t recall muffins having frosting. That was more like a cupcake. 

Cupcake…

The phone sounded, making you smile a bit. You were almost afraid that Ghost had gone back to that closet. You shrugged a shoulder. 

“I…like to mix the two. I think a little icing or frosting on muffins is pretty good. Ellie proposed the idea when she was like four I think. My partner thought it was weird, but they came around to it. Now, it just stuck. Trust me, once you go icing or frosting on muffins, you don’t go back” you said with a confident grin. 

But then you remembered that he couldn’t eat them and mentally kicked yourself. Surely this whole thing was just going to upset him…You looked down and away at your phone. 

“I’m sorry. I feel like I’m again rubbing your nose in it. I wish there was a way I could get you to taste it. Do…do ghosts even have senses?”

We do. 

“So could you technically taste this?” you asked, cocking your head. 

No. 

“But you just said-” 

Taste. None. 

“So you don’t have all of them? Gods that’s terrible. Well I know you can hear, you can touch-”.

No. Texture. 

“Oh I get it. You can grab things but you can’t feel them. Like the texture of them. Okay…” you held your arm out in front of you, “Maybe I can feel you, touch my arm”. 

Ghost raised a brow. He wasn’t sure how you’d respond, and physical touch wasn’t his thing. He moved away feeling a little uncomfortable. 

“Ghost?”

No. 

“Oh alright. I just wanted to see, sorry if I upset you. So you can hear. You can see, obviously. But you can’t taste, and touch only half works sorta-kinda-ish. Got it” You looked thoughtful, “I’m assuming speech is iffy as well”. 

Varies. 

“I have a theory that maybe I’ll be able to hear you as time goes along. Maybe I just need to be a little more in tune with you”. 

Maybe. 

The timer went off for the muffins and you got a mitten out to take them. “Gods they smell amazing…Wait, can you smell too?”

Yes. 

“Huh…gods that’s gotta suck. You can smell but you can’t taste? Maybe that’s how the ghost body compensates?” you set the muffins down and got out a cooling rack for them, “Still, that’s kinda a shitty trade off if you ask me”. 

Agreed. Makes sense.

“Hm, no you’re right, it does. ‘Cause ghosts don’t digest things, it only makes sense. See? I’m already becoming in tune with you! And it’s not even been a full twenty four hours yet” you chuckled and got everything out to frost the muffins. 

He watched you from his spot on the counter. Your tongue poked out of the corner of your mouth as you concentrated on making them look nice. He recalled doing the same thing when he was focused on a task. When they were done you presented one to your new ghost friend. 

"And voila! Blueberry muffins, my way" you chuckled, "that makes me think of a joke". 

Share. 

"What do you call a sad strawberry?"

What?

"A blueberry". 

There was a quiet before you swore you heard a softly spoken "boo" close by. 

"Okay yeah I'll admit that was lame, but your reaction was berry rude" you grinned. 

Ghost facepalmed. He wanted to hit his head on the counter because one that was lame, but two he walked right into it. 

Fucking hell. 

You laughed at his reaction. "Look, you walked or like, floated, into that, okay? You set yourself up for that". 

Oddly enough, having this strange entity around was proving to be beneficial. You hadn't laughed genuinely this much in a long time. Sure you laughed at silly things you or Ellie did, but it wasn't every day someone else enjoyed your particular brand of humor. You munched away on a muffin, happily enjoying the warm silence that embraced you. You let out a soft breath and looked down the hall towards Ellie's room. 

"I gotta clean that up soon. Then, I gotta work on orders" you noted aloud. 

Orders. 

"Yeah, I have a client ordering some chocolate truffles that I gotta make. I also make the boxes they come in" you answered with a proud smile. 

Crafty.

"I've always wanted to do something involving creativity with my life. Baking started out as a coping mechanism and a sort of retrain of my brain, and now it's what I do". 

Ghost was curious about that. Baking as a coping mechanism? He probably should've thought of that. Better than keeping all those negative emotions in like he had…

Coping mechanism?

You nodded. "I was never actually taught how to cook. My…my stepmother used cooking as a punishment. Apparently I didn't do enough up to her standards, so she added a day for me to cook, despite never having taught me. I'd try to make something and if she didn't like it, she wouldn't eat it, and then I'd feel guilty for that cause she couldn't eat a lot because of some surgery or other she had. I swear that woman was addicted to going under the knife". 

That seemed like a horrible idea to Ghost. Cooking was an essential skill, not a punishment. And guilt tripping your kid when the food wasn't up to your standards, when you didn't help them, really was just the final nail in the coffin. You didn't deserve that, no matter how old you had been at the time. 

What made it worse was your heart condition. That stress could not have been healthy. 

Bitch. 

"Yeah…that she was. I mean she sorta tried to teach me to cook, but any time I'd screw something up or volunteer to help she'd get shitty with me so I stopped until I had no choice. My dad helped as much as he could, but honestly the man was completely whipped by his wife" you rolled your eyes. 

This felt oddly better than therapy, venting to a ghost. He didn't seem to judge, just more than willing to let you vent. What happened to you wasn't okay. He watched you munch happily on a muffin, curious as to how you got into baking. 

How?

You raised a brow. “Hm? How what?” 

Baking. 

That damn device did not pick up well on what he was trying to say. Ghost tried again. 

How…did…baking…

This was frustrating. He hated struggling to get his message through. You were so patient though and caught on rather quickly. 

“How’d I get into baking?” You figured it out, “Well a combination of my partner and watching a lot of baking videos on youtube. They gave me the confidence I needed to get back in the kitchen and make stuff. I’m not the best cook admittedly but I’m still learning. But I started baking cause well, I have a pretty bad sweet tooth. That, and I wanted to surpass my stepmother in skill in that. It was the one thing she didn’t ruin for me. My partner encouraged me in my ambitions and my dream to make a successful business. Yeah, she tried to do that too, but it didn’t work out”. 

Fail. 

“Yep, it failed hard. But…that’s enough trauma dumping for today” You finished the muffin and looked toward the little muffin you had moved in his direction, “Still wanna help clean up?” 

Yes. 

You grinned. “Well then…let’s get to work”.

If you guys enjoyed please consider following, liking, and reblogging! Thank you so much for reading! I got a bunch of ideas for this, but I'm always open for ideas if anyone has suggestions :)