#tw: inferred violence

[stolastar]

((Come to think, I don't know if any of the people stolas knows is aware of the domestic abuse he's been through x.x besides octavia who might think it's normal just because she grew up around it which. Really sucks.))

[andromedasummer]

god this news coming out of sydney is unnerving. my parents were walking by that mall only a week ago.

[taeaura]

More TCM 2003/2006 Analysis because why not

TW: Yapping; Rape/Sa, Groping, Strong language, Gore, TCM-Canon-typical Violence

So I recently found deleted / extended scenes {Part 1 / Part 2 of 2006, 2003} which gave me more inspiration to write again! Analysis time 😈

_____

I first want to talk about the most forgotten member of the Hewitt family: Jedidiah. Poor sweet little Jedidiah, probably the most underrated and least-considered member of the Hewitt ‘clan’. From the clips shown in the video and the movie itself, we can infer that Jedidiah is left alone quite often. He’s also very aware of what goes on both in and outside the walls. Either the family doesn’t try to hide it from him or they’re doing a shit job at it. Even then, it’s kinda hard to hide things from independent children anyway. Jedidiah’s a very empathetic and artistic child who understands the Hewitt family values. I.E; the scene where he helps Erin and Morgan escape. Especially when he goes:

“Don’t hurt her! Please, Grandma!” - 2003, 1:06:48 

He looks so defeated after..poor baby. 

At around 1:12:40 when he’s urgently trying to get Erin and Morgan out of the basement via the tornado shelter exit {I think that’s what the structure is?}

“Go - Go now! Run! Faster, hurry! - Come on, don’t let him get you!”

“Go! I’ll be fine!” - 2003, 1:12:45 - 1:14:05 

And when he tries to bite Thomas’ hand to hold him back?? Poor baby. I’d also like to acknowledge how Thomas didn’t get physical with him , simply just shoved him off his hand and onto the sandbag. In the deleted scenes for 2003, he seems much happier when he gets to show Pepper his drawings; It seems he really needs attention that he isn’t getting at home. Maybe this is similar to how Thomas was raised, though I'm not sure. This is even more apparent when he says “You sure you’re not just saying that?” after Pepper compliments his drawing. He very clearly needs a form of guidance and support; Not only for his development but for his confidence. As I discussed in a previous post, Thomas also really enjoys praise, which he gets mainly from Hoyt. Speaking of Hoyt, there’s two possibilities {that I’ve come up with} for how Jedidiah came to be. 1.) Jedidiah is the product of rape, most likely the child of Hoyt and a victim. 2.) They ‘adopted’ him from a victim or some similar situation. Not much evidence as to his origins, but we can theorize. 

____

Moving on to Hoyt; the ‘head’ of the family. In the extended scenes for The Beginning 2006, we get to see an even more aggressive and short-fused side of Hoyt. He yells more often, he’s more violent, and he’s definitely more ‘hands-on’....yay for us. At around 3:20 in this video, as he’s going to ‘attend’ to Bailey’s injuries, he discreetly gropes her, specifically groping her breast whilst repeating ‘I ain’t gonna hurt you.” Yeah, okay, pal.  And then he LICKS THE GLASS HE JUST PULLED OUT OF HER?? He also really doesn’t like the victims; Like. At all. He’s definitely lustful over Bailey, but he doesn’t like how ‘smart’ she gets at times. I.E; “Is having a dead biker chick ride shotgun proper police procedure, sir?” Now, in this video we get to see the more hostile version of Hoyt. Imagine his regular persona x2. At around 0:45 he pulls Dean’s head up by his hair and starts yelling is his face;

“You fucking idiot! I just told you we had to eat! Ain’t you listening to me?” 

This tells us two things: One, Hoyt really doesn’t like when his authority is challenged via questions, lack of interest, or defiance. Two, he really doesn’t like talking about his time in the war. It’s a traumatic near-death experience which is definitely a soft spot for him. I doubt having to dwell on it, much less repeat it over and over again to someone he already hates is easy. Following that tangent, he quickly switches to his condescending ‘I’m just trying to help’ bullshit. Specifically at 1:09;

“Now what happens if you kids drive all the way up to Austin just to find out that you don’t even qualify to be in the Army? I’m concerned about your physical fitness here.”

I’ve also noticed that Hoyt gets real up-close n’ personal when he’s being condescending. Connect this with the moment he ties up and chokes Bailey; We can see Hoyt really likes showing not only his mental dominance, but his physical as well. Now, Hoyt is 6 feet, that’s tall. Compared to Thomas? That’s 5 inches shorter, and at maybe half or ⅗ of the weight. {I headcanon Thomas at around 330/320.} Hoyt sure as hell feels intimidated by Thomas physically. Mentally? Nah, probably not. He knows he could manipulate Thomas one way or another. 

Now; I’d like to focus on how Hoyt treats the family. He rarely if ever gets fussy with them to the extent of the victims. In the 2006 deleted scenes, at around 5:54 - 6:20, Hoyt never yells at Luda Mae and corrects himself when she scolds him. As she raises her voice, he gets fed up but never yells, only says;

“God damnit, Momma, let me handle this.”

He’s stressed, she’s most definitely stressed, and he feels the need to control everything to manage it. His speech at 2:01 of the 2006 extended scenes part 1 is very loving coming from him. He’s trying to reassure his family that everything will be fine whilst also shit-talking the ‘enemy;’ Further isolating them from civilization which they’ve only known to be a negative. He also calmly tries coaxing / ordering Thomas in for supper as opposed to yelling at him. He definitely switches between Hoyt and Charlie around his family; Even though he keeps Hoyt as the ‘default’ to remain in power {which is his source of comfort}, he lets Charlie slip through when it’s needed. 

____

Now for everyone’s favorite big boy; Thomas <3. The extended scene in part 2 {0:00 - 0:30} when Bailey see’s him and just starts screaming {rightfully so, she’s terrified}. Thomas is just standing there, fidgeting with his hands like 🤨/😐 - I know bro was reliving some school / work trauma. Seeing him fidget and doing what’s called ‘T-rex arms’ makes me think he’s neurodivergent. Obviously that’s not the only thing, I’ve been thinking he’s autistic specifically for a while now {Me pushing my autism onto a character} but it fits, no? {Maybe I'll do a post talking about his neurodivergence, idk} And he looks so overwhelmed during the dinner / Hoyt’s speech scene {In the extended scenes part 1.} OH! And ESPECIALLY when Hoyt brings him down to the basement at 37:40 in The Beginning 2006. He looks so overwhelmed and possibly terrified? When you brighten the scene, his expression is much easier to see {I’ll put a picture / gif below}. I think it’s safe to assume Thomas was a bit reluctant to continue as Hoyt had to coax him;

“Come on, Tommy, ain’t no different than the slaughterhouse. Meat’s meat; Bone’s bone. Get it done.”

I think Thomas really only got comfortable with the new lifestyle after he used it as an artistic outlet. Especially when he got to ‘experiment’ on Eric. I’ve seen multiple people use this scene as a means to say Thomas is gay. And listen, I don’t necessarily disagree, I don’t think he’s completely straight either {Reminder, any character that’s sexuality isn’t confirmed means that labeling them as ‘straight’ is a headcanon too!} I just think there’s more to work with here. I myself have struggles with my sexuality, specifically with how I view women. I’m not trying to push this onto Tommy, I just see potential similarities. I think Thomas was definitely envious of Eric, therefore, taking his face and ‘becoming’ something similar to him was a way to hide himself and present in a more ‘attractive way.’ I think he’s attracted to men, but his attraction is either masked or based on the idea of being like them. Eric has a life with such intense purpose. An army veteran {returning as well} with a partner, good family dynamic, and a friend group? ONTOP of being attractive and fit? Oh, hun, you know Thomas was yearning right there. He just wants to be good enough. I mean, really really, good enough. I don’t know why, but my brain automatically went to ‘he wants to become and consume Eric.’ As in, he’s attracted to the idea of being {like} Eric; As well as being attracted to Eric. I don’t know how to communicate this properly so I hope you get what I’m putting down.

___

Again, apologies for my long incoherent rants; I have so many ideas that I want to share

Much love, 🫀

[ally1uvsu]

The Last Train to Survival. | Squid game x Dystopian au

Summary; The world fell apart in the most unexpected way, nothing mattered anymore. Debts didn’t matter, getting high or worrying who’ll you sleep with in the next party. All you have to worry about is survival, if the dead won’t creep up to you at night and kill you, in a world such as this, only the fittest and the smartest survive. Giving the ones in debt a sick irony of a second chance.

Info; Okay gang, since this ain’t ao3 and I don’t have an acc, I’ll try to tag properly here; Ships so far - Choi su-bong (Thanos) x Nam-gyu, Cho hyun-ju x Gyeong Seok, Hwang In-ho x Seong Gi-hun, Kim Jun-hee x Se-mi, Park Min-su x Kang Dae-ho Tags (for the whole fanfic); angst, fluff, character death, dead dove, smoking, use of drugs, killing, blood, sexual content, sexual tension, threatening, stealing, suicide, self-harming, mutual pinning, slow burn, violence, abuse, self-harm, internalized homophobia, transphobia, trans!nam-gyu, Jun hee is still pregnant in this, autistic characters (hcs), SA, mentions and inferences to r4p3 (even scenes with it, the chapter in itself will have a TW), Implied autistic characters, organ harvesting mentions, transgender (hc and og) characters, EDs, Thanos is a little shit in the beginning, depression, EXPLICIT mentions of harmful substances, behaviors, fighting, spanking (sexual and nonsexual), overall NSFW stuff, near death experiences, stalking, kidnapping, just normal zombie apocalypse shit, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Notes; I DONT HAVE AO3 💔💔💔 I LOST MY ACC BRO but the second I get my hands on that invite I’ll update this there. I’VE BEEN W THIS IDEA IN MY HEAD FOR SOOOOO LONG LIKE!?!?! So I hope y’all enjoy it<3 (also, should I mayhaps drop this on other sites like wattpad, and etc?) Also, the main focus here is Thagyu!! We have other ships but they’re the actual mcs here. So hence why that heading, this will be Nam-gyu’s POV.

Dead for a little while. | Pt.1

Nam-gyu had a huge fucking headache that no drugs or smoking could cease.

The bar he was working out was loud enough to burst his eardrums, he groaned as he cleaned some countertop, now, normally Nam-gyu would be fine, it's just that today in particular he hadn't gotten enough sleep, so he was grumpy the whole time.

Checking his phone, he had twenty minutes left on his shift, the clock marked nearly midnight; the weather was clear but cloudy, expecting rain. Nam-gyu sighed as he shoved his phone inside his pocket, this place would get fairly more humid and disgusting with the hot rain.

He tucked his hair behind his ears, not really paying mind to anyone or anything until some guy with two girls clinging to his arms came to the counter, "Hey, man. Can you pour us a few shots of whiskey? Like, three?" 

For fuck's sake, what a dumb question. Of fucking course he could. Nam-gyu lifted his head up, controlling his temper. He wasn't normally the best one to deal with migraines, and plus, judging by the look on this guy's face that had a cheeky grin as he talked to the two girls with his arms interlaced with them, he was some sort of rich guy who certainly knew how to fight.

Don't get Nam-gyu wrong, he could fight. But today he wasn't in the mood and this guy was definitely stronger than him. So against his normal behavior, Nam-gyu just nodded and dropped the cloth he was using to clean the countertops. He walked back behind the counters, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and three cups used for shots, pouring three of them and sliding them to the trio in the opposite side. 

Stating the given price, Nam-gyu took the money and watched the guy and the two girls turn around on their heels and leave off, disgusting. Not that Nam-gyu thought hooking up was bed it was just.. two girls at once seemed a bit too much.

The pounding in his head was insistent, Nam-gyu swore his head would fucking blow up if he stayed in here any longer. "So-ri, can you cover for me? My shift ends soon anyways." Said the raven haired as he called out to one of the many bartenders the club had, whose shift would be right after his.

So-ri would normally arrive twenty minutes earlier to take some time to secretly get high, and she was still good at her job even while doing so. It was admirable, really. Nam-gyu never snitched on her, ever. One because it was none of his business, two, he'd do the same. And lastly.. it just made her owe him something.

"Go ahead, dude. I'll take over. Boss' ain't even gon' care anyways." And Nam-gyu didn't have to think twice before going to the bathroom where they normally had lockers to keep their shit in. Getting in and out was fairly easy, Nam-gyu was so used to that damn combination that he could do it far more quickly than he used to.

Soon enough, he fell into step on the streets. Jacket tied around his waist and bag slung over his shoulder, again, he wasn't quite sure why he brought a jacket along with him, the weather was disgustingly humid, after all. But maybe it was just a force of habit, considering he was someone with a cold body and was cold constantly. Today was just one of the rare times where he didn't need his jacket to fell warm.

He grabbed a cigarette from his bag, lighting it up with a lighter he also kept in the back pocket of his jeans. Closing his eyes as he took a long drag and let the smoke mix into the air and become nothing, just another part of it.

His ears weren't difficult to pick up sounds of footsteps, he ignored it for the first couple of minutes, but then he figured something was wrong. And Nam-gyu knew exactly who was following him, fucking shark loans. 

He turned just around the street, and to his surprise (or maybe not), more of them were already waiting for him. Nam-gyu took the cigarette away from his lips and let his hand that was in charge of holding it fall limply to his side as his face became a grimace for a split second.

"Nam, fancy meeting you here." The guy said cheerfully, but Nam-gyu wasn't dumb. He could see the pure disdain in his eyes deep down. "Don't call me that, fuck do you want?" Nam-gyu gritted out, hell, he knew exactly what they wanted.

"You know what we want," Well, fuck him sideways, it was like they read his mind, fan-fucking-tastic. "I don't have the money right now and you know damn well our agreement isn't until next month." Nam-gyu said rather annoyedly.

"That's the same thing you said last month, wasn't it? We keep postponing the date because you can't be responsible enough to save up and pay for it." A vein popped on Nam-gyu's temple, they weren't necessarily wrong, but it still stung. Before he could even speak up again, he was cut off by that guy, Nam-gyu hated being cut off.

"And we thought we should teach you a lesson to put you straight in line." Fucking great, Nam-gyu was exhausted and outnumbered, but hey, it is what it is. He dropped his bag to the ground, tucking his hair behind his ears.

A loud sound of knuckles cracking and meeting a bone was heard, maybe someone's jaw. And then he realized, it was his jaw. Blood inevitably splattered out of his mouth and he stumbled back, he threw a punch that hit the guy in the nose and because they were all fucking pussies, like Nam-gyu thought, everyone ganged up on him.

He felt a punch on his nose, warm blood trickling down it and a bit pushing past the gap of his slightly parted lips, his tastebuds immediately catching on the sick and metallic taste of blood, he cringed. Another punch to his stomach, his head meeting the ground, his knuckles split on the second attempted impact at someone's face, he couldn't even tell who at this point. And then his wrists were pinned down, and he had to fight the stinging pain.

Eventually, it stopped. And someone's hand was on his chin. Nam-gyu's vision was turve, blurry. He couldn't exactly make out who was in front of him, just a big blur of colors before his vision somewhat focused, but never fully- maybe because Nam-gyu knew he needed stupid vision glasses.

"Now, don't be mad. This is only a lecture, nothing personal. You have until next month, Nam." The guy said as his fingers trailed down with a voice falsely dripping with gentleness, Nam-gyu would have scrunched his nose if it wasn't hurting so bad. 

The feeling of that finger, moving like a feather down his jaw, neck, trailing his collarbones so gently made Nam-gyu seriously want to puke. And then, it stopped right where his heart should be. "Otherwise we won't have a choice but to sell your organs, especially heart, to the black market. You're a shitty person, with an even shittier heart. You won't need it as much as someone else will."

Nam-gyu let the words sink in, panting and slightly wheezing for breath once the man stood up straight. "Alright, boys. Let's pack up and go, business is done around here." And then the sounds of footsteps, first loud and then slowly vanishing into the corner were picked up by his ears.

Nam-gyu slumped against the wall, the back of his hand wiping his bloody nose and his tongue licked his cracked lips, now split open at the bottom. He looked up at the sky, staying there in silence and unmoving for around five minutes, if he had to guess. 

"Fucking pussy, can't even come fight me alone." Nam-gyu finally uttered out to himself as he stood up with  the a grunt of effort, ignoring how sore and painful his muscles felt, this was nothing new. Nam-gyu deep down knew he deserved it, he was indebted and owed these guys.

He quietly walked back home, not bothering to light up another cigarette. He stared at the air with an emptied stare, this was and has been his life. Maybe that's where he realizes something inside of him is broken, maybe not. But life sucked, really fucking sucked. His job did, the people did, but it wasn't like he had a escape, hell, his money from work mostly went to drugs and sometimes he got so low he would barely have money to buy groceries, often opting for convenience stores because they were so cheap.

It took him a while, normally a walk from the club to his house was fifteen minutes. It was painful but Nam-gyu really didn't feel like sleeping in the middle of the street. The second he got home, his shoes were nowhere to be seen, maybe mingled in the mess of his other cheap ones. And his bag was thrown on the couch carelessly as he dragged himself to bed.

He didn't bother unbinding even if his ribs hurt like a fucking bitch. A groan left his lips, mixed with a sigh of relief as his eyes fluttered shut. Nam-gyu never had went to bed so.. 'dirty' but he couldn't help it when his eyes fluttered shut and he fell asleep almost instantly.

. . .

Sleep wasn't easy on him, like always. But tonight, due to the exhaustion, he might have slept a bit better. Like everyday, he was up at exactly six in the morning, taking a while to properly get up and go to the bathroom to do a proper hygiene.

Once he created enough motivation, he was back up on his feet, rubbing one of his eyes as he reached the bathroom. He turned on the tap and stared at himself in the mirror, split lip, a hint of a black eye, and dry blood around and in his nose. They really didn't go easy on him this time.

His hands moved to make a cup form to catch water, splashing it onto his face. The pointy feeling of the water waking him up somewhat, then he did it again just to make sure he was fully awake.

Opening the cabinet, he reached out for some already nearly ending bandages, three cotton pads and rubbing alcohol. He wetted one of the pads, sighing as it hovered close to his nose. He cleaned up the blood around it gently, the material gliding against his skin to clean the blood that once dirtied his face.

Other than that, he didn't bother with his other injuries, figuring he'd save the bandages and rubbing alcohol as he put them back in their designed places. Instead, he focused on brushing his teeth and brushing his hair, bothering to style it was dumb, so he never truly did.

As he moved back inside his bedroom, his mind was already thinking what to do for the day. He needed to go eat something, probably buy a few things. He didn't really pay attention to his outfit this time, nobody really would pay attention to him, or at least he hoped so.

Even then, he still reached for that face mask, he didn't feel like getting eyed for having a split lip despite having a whole ass black eye. Thankfully, his muscles were in agreement with him and weren't as sore as yesterday.

He didn't have much money, but he didn't mind it, he often got more high than bothered eating, maybe that's why he didn't gain much weight. But that was another topic, slipping the house keys inside his pocket, leaving.

He was greeted by a bit more chillier wind, good. He seriously couldn't handle horrendously humid weathers and far too hot ones that made you sweat in big amounts. But couldn’t handle too cold, too. So he had a jacket on anyways.

The breeze kissed his face as he moved, he liked weathers like this, something about it just made it comfortable.

The convenience store was around a five minute walk, good thing for him it wasn't that expensive either. He wasn't that hungry, sometimes he didn't even have an appetite and yet would still eat because if he were to wait, he would go quite a few times without eating.

Today, he opted for something lighter. A cup of microwaved tteok-bokki, and a roll of gimbap. Grabbing some water to drink with it along the way. He assumed he only grabbed enough money for breakfast, so groceries would sadly have to stay for another time.

He paid for it, sitting down by the table they left against the windowsill. Already opening his gimbap and taking one of the rolls inside his mouth while his fingers worked to open the tteok-bokki.

He added whatever was there to add, microwaved it, grabbed his chopsticks and began eating. His eyes focused on the view outside as he chewed, so many people and yet all of them had different lives.

Some of them were on shit like him, some were rich bastards, some were making enough to have a good life. All of these people looked happy, he wondered how come he couldn't be like them? Not that he envied them, it'd be wrong. He was in debt because of his own reasons, envying them would be stupid. But he meant it in a sense of being happy, enjoying the fleeting joys. Having someone, hanging out with friends on some cheap place, but then like that guy said yesterday, maybe someone else would enjoy having his organs better than he did.

As good as it was, he only finished his tteok-bokki halfway, and three rolls of gimbap were left. He neatly closed the gimbap with the plastic he hadn't yet discarded, trying to somewhat seal the container the tteok-bokki was in. 

He'd probably stay home for the rest of the day, lay down, sleep, contemplate his life. Well, at least that was his original plan. The universe however seemed to have another one. 

He was greeted by that same breeze when he stepped out, but this time, the scenario was far from pleasing. His head snapped as a blood curling scream came from somewhere in front of him, to the left. Followed by gurgling and squelching sounds. Everything around became chaos in question of seconds, people ran and screamed, and soon enough, he got a view of whatever the fuck was happening.

His eyes locked with a figure on the ground, bleeding in excess. The skin on their neck was broken, maybe bitten off. His eyes widened, the person was dead on spot.

But maybe just for a little while.

Nam-gyu didn't keep track of how long he spent standing there, maybe minutes. Chaos erupted around him, and yet he wasn't quite sure how he wasn't caught up in it. His ears tuned out the screams and cries, his vision blocked everything. He was solely focused on that person, dead on the ground.

And then they began standing up, movements all jerky, eyes white and lifeless. Making groaning sounds, shit, Nam-gyu wasn't even sure if that thing could be called human anymore.

By the time he snapped out of it, someone was already rushing into him, sending him tumbling down on his butt. He woke up to reality, shit, what the fuck was going on? 

Nam-gyu normally would think this was one of his all to real nightmares, just another one to the collection. But then, the sirens used to alarm the city began ringing, telling everyone to hide. 

His legs had never worked quickly despite the shock, maybe it was the adrenaline pumping in his veins that kept spreading when he saw people killing off each other, he stood up in a flash and was back inside the convenience store. 

He looked around frantically, someone could get in. He reached for one of the shelves, ignoring how he was knocking some food out. Pushing it until it was sturdy and firm against the door, hell, he even unplugged the refrigerator where the cold drinks were normally kept and to secure a second layer, pushed it against the shelf.

Now that was done. Nam-gyu finally let whatever the fuck happened sink in, "What the actual fuck." He mumbled to himself, breath shaky. He moved away from the door, checking for any other ways of getting inside, he only found a back door nearby the bathrooms. He covered it with some furniture, never having been so thankful that these doors opened from the inside.

He pulled his phone out, since it was buzzing in his pocket as notifications of alerts rang through it. Some saying stay at home, others saying evacuate. No way in fucking hell Nam-gyu would go anywhere out of that door.

Instead, he grabbed the fire extinguisher to use as some sort of weapon and sat in the middle of the store, trying to tune out the screams and sometimes the banging in the windows. He didn't look outside, nor at the glass doors, not at the windows. Knowing they'd likely be drenched in blood.

He turned the TV on, the channel was flicked to the news. Some woman was talking about a virus, fucking great. Viruses were bad, some weren't. But what kind of fucking virus made people die and come back from the fucking dead to eat others alive?

"Stay calm, and stay safe for now." The woman said, hell, as if Nam-gyu could be any calm.

He didn't leave the place even when he heard gunshots and sounds of cop car sirens blaring, eventually they were all replaced by screams and more sounds of gurgling and squelching as blood seeped out of their bitten skins. It was the most sane choice, he wouldn't trust some cops or even a journalist that was just reading a fucking script.

How many hours had he stayed in there? Nam-gyu wasn't totally sure. He fell asleep after hour one, not sure how he did it. Maybe it was because his brain had the urge to shut down, to do anything but hear the pleading and screams outside.

Three hours after that, he woke up. He was lying under  counter where the cashier was. The air was dead silent. Normally, Nam-gyu would think that it was all a  dream, just his mind playing tricks on him after getting that beating. 

But he woke up sleeping under the damn cashier, and reality seeped back in. It wasn't just a dream, no. It wasn't his mind playing cruel jokes on him. It was real.

He was careful to even stand up, steps slow and measured as he hunched over to get a glimpse outside from the window. He nearly couldn't stomach the sight, his lips parted open and eyes wide in shock. There was blood everywhere, people.. things, actually. Were limping, crawling, or just dragging themselves around the streets. Some people were gutted out, dead on the floor. The sight was fucking horrifying, even for someone like Nam-gyu.

"I'm so fucked." Nam-gyu muttered, maybe he was. He got lucky to be inside a convenience store, getting in here as a safe okace without even thinking. He had water, food, bathrooms, everything necessary. But he knew it wouldn't really last forever, he just created that illusion to feel at ease on day one.

The people he thought that were dead just.. came back. What a sick irony, death didn't fully claim them. Maybe the heavens listened to the pleading of the living when they wanted their loved ones to be back from the dead in flesh.

All these people who died.. they were dead, but their bodies wandered alive. And the things that came back weren't people, Nam-gyu guessed it was safe to assume they weren't people. Their conscience and form were just gone for a little while.

[therealslimshakespeare]

the jack and lu asks have made me wonder… this is really dark so i’ve refrained from sending it so far but now i just have to and again tw that it is dark okay. but in one of my classes last semester we read a lot of papers about the varying psychological impacts and trauma responses associated with different kinds of sexual assault and how survivors unpack/ process all that and for someone like lu, who had very little context for sexual violence prior to experiencing it in such a horrific way, i’m curious about how all those pieces fell together in terms of what she experienced, as again, i think you’ve hinted that she was assaulted in more than one way. cause on one hand we did see that in sanchez she had no qualms about asking gale about his assault because she didn’t have knowledge of social stigmas that prevent that sort of thing. but then in gale’s response that sort of shut down that line of questioning to the point where she shook her head when he asked her about it and then everything else that is happening? i don’t know i’m just interested if any differentiation arose for her in processing/ understanding and how she feels about those two things. like the level of shame associated, etc. and then even in the moment, what was going on mentally for her…? i don’t know this is so dark i’m sorry 🫣

Oh yeah, I like to unravel this myself in both relation to her and the boys and then the boys in relation to her, on and on-

And don’t worry about being dark. Alas, I’m the one weaving the dark tale, you’re just asking about portions of it and I really enjoy that.

You’re spot on about her lack of social awareness for the stigma and how Gale is her first and a massive inference regarding putting some stigma on it. Although due to her naïveté, I think she would be unsure of whether he meant it in regards to the variety of assault or rather his being a man. He’s pretty explicit about her not asking men about such a thing. And so I think what she carries away from that is more of an inference that it’s not a thing men are allowed to admit to.

Which settles as deeply unfair in her mind. Rightfully so. The whole camp can know about her and the girls but it’s so hush hush to even ask after the welfare of an officer who has been (quite obviously) similarly violated.

Insult is added to injury in this case when such violations become a commonplace currency, as it were, between Jack and Gale and others with the Germans to protect the girls— and all of it so much more taboo than the girls cases. All of it so denied whereas there’s was almost assumed.

Again, it’s unfair. And I think in a way served to help her stave off the shame of her own assault. Many people she admires most in the world, man and woman, have endured the same and they’re no less in her eyes or honestly in the eyes of their comrades around them who count.

So there it is, in brief. Did that touch at all on what you’re trying to specify?

[sixtsposts]

The Gentleman from the Bar - Klaus Mikaelson

TW: female!reader, slight angst, little harrassment, violence typical of Klaus

I am a psychology student, in the same one as my friend Camille. Speaking of her, I'm just sitting at the counter of the restaurant where she works.

-Hey! Hi Y/N, she said, coming to give me a kiss. Sorry, I hadn't seen you before, I was serving a table, she apologized.

-Don’t worry, I reassured her.

- Do you want something? She asked, going behind the counter.

- Hum... A bourbon please, I replied, smiling.

We spent the rest of the evening talking, there was almost no one in the restaurant, apart from a small group of teenagers laughing and a blond sitting alone at a table in the back.

Around 11PM I decide to go home, tired but smiling. Camille would soon close anyway. I waved goodbye and headed towards my little studio which is a few blocks from here.

After ten minutes of walking, I hear footsteps breaking the silence of the night. Without turning around I quicken my pace. I'm not the type to panic over nothing, but tonight I have a bad feeling. The steps accelerate at the same time as me and my breath catches. Fear takes possession of me as I now hear him running towards me. I stop short, waiting for anything. Suddenly someone grabbed my arm violently to force me to turn around. However, it let go of me and let out a low, muffled cry. Then no more movement. And, even stranger, there is no more noise.

I then gather my courage and turn around slowly. Behind me is the blond guy from the restaurant. And stunned at his feet stood the one I infer to be my attacker.

- How are you? He asks me hurriedly, quickly approaching me with a worried look on his face.

- Um yes. I think so, I replied, laughing. nervously.

Only a tear fell down my cheek and betrayed my fear. The young man smiled softly at me and looked at me kindly, placing his hand on my cheek. Instinctively, I let my face rest against his hand, his touch comforting.

- Shhh nothing will happen to you. Don't worry, I got you love. He whispered, stroking my cheek. I huffed and finally pulled away from him after at least five minutes.

-Klaus Mikaelson. Delighted.

I told him my name, shaking his hand with a smile. He leaned down and kissed the back of my hand. I blushed instantly. He is very elegant.

- I don't want to be rude but I think it would be better for you to sleep At home this evening, it would be... More careful, he said to me, looking around him.

- Oh no, I wouldn't want to disturb you! I replied hastily.

- If I offer it to you it’s because it doesn’t bother me, love. He uttered his last words with a much louder voice deep which makes me shiver.

- O- okay, I mumbled, my cheeks.

- Good.

[burningvelvet]

My analysis on Heathcliff and his relationships, and some interesting excerpts from Juliet McMaster's "The Courtship and Honeymoon of Mr. and Mrs. Linton Heathcliff: Emily Brontë's Sexual Imagery" via JSTOR (TW: abuse, sa/sexual violence, generally graphic and potentially triggering content)

*note: I've had half of this in my drafts for a while. My last reblog, which discusses Heathcliff's lack of attraction to Cathy II, inspired me to finally expand on & post it. That reblog is here: https://www.tumblr.com/burningvelvet/738896230943522816

Cathy II is one of my favorite characters and I think her dynamic with Heathcliff is fascinating. I would say that while he may not be attracted to her (indeed, he sometimes seems repulsed by her) his behavior toward her IS explicitly predatory as it includes lying to her, manipulating her, physically abusing her, kidnapping her, and forcing her into a marriage in which he helped to seduce her with love letters under his son's name.

Combine this with his behavior toward his wife Isabella, in which sexual violence may be easily inferred as he says Isabella hated him a day into their marriage (and sure, some people conceive on the first try, but what are the odds? and the concept of marital rape didn't legally exist back then) — not to mention Heathcliff calling her a slut (sexually violent epithet* *editing this post to say that "slut" was a mainly gendered term, but in Brontë's time it didn't have today's more sexualized meaning; for most of history it primarily meant "slovenly" aka messy/careless), and both of them vaguely referring to heinous abuses she undergoes in private (and what could be worse than what we already know about his treatment of his subordinates). With how determined he was to get a male heir, and that being the whole reason why he married her, it is not much of a stretch to assume that he bedded her multiple times until she showed signs of pregnancy. It is a very easy thing to infer actually.

He was probably as insulting and as violent (or at the very least, cold) with her in bed as he always was in every other aspect from the very start of their relationship. As they both confirm that she receives his abuse openly (until her escape), and as she wishes to be a "good wife," she likely did not struggle to avoid her "marital duties," but again, she clearly hates him for most of her marriage, and we learn that she despises him immediately after their marriage when the veil finally fully drops. And with how upfront with her he initially was about his intentions, and how his own verbal admissions + outright verbal abuse failed to quell her desire for him initially, what more than physical and especially sexual violence could have led Isabella to despise him so soon after their consummation? Their sexual experiences couldn't have gone splendidly for her, and for him it was likely a mechanical chore he likely resented and was therefore probably not delicate with (he hates delicacy anyway).

Yet, while Heathcliff is violent and predatory (in the colloquial as well as the primal, animalistic sense, as he is always related to nature even in his very name), he also contains hints of a long-buried goodness, as we all know, and this is what makes him a fascinating protagonist. He has a capacity for strong feeling, a deliberate if not faulty moral code, and he sometimes shows kindness accidentally.

This is why Heathcliff catching baby Hareton is such a pivotal moment in the story, because it is only after he saves his life that he actually realizes what he's done and then muses that he should've let the child die. This scene shows that his natural subconscious instinct is actually good, and that his external situations are what have shaped his darker impulses on the conscious level. In other words, he causes us to examine the nature vs nurture debate.

Despite later abusing him, Heathcliff sees Hareton as a son-like figure in his own twisted way, and in the end as he loses his life forces, he gives Hareton and Cathy II his blessings like a father would — he essentially is Hareton's father, and he is legally Cathy II's father-in-law, first through his son Linton and then we could say through his unofficial adoption of Hareton, who he says he would have preferred as a son. So Cathy II has Heathcliff as a sort of double father figure, though of course she would never accept this.

At one point, Heathcliff notes that he takes good care not to do anything that could be proven to be criminal or illegal. In his usual exactness, he was pretty much right. He is always tip-toeing the line of immorality: in the gothic literary tradition, his relationship with Cathy I has incestuous undertones, but they are not legally or biologically related, and so he skates by.

He declares that he has no regrets and that he's done nothing wrong by technical standards. Manipulating, lying, mental and physical abuse of one's financial dependents, and marital rape (hypothetical or not) were all within legal bounds for the most part, and even the forced marriage of Linton H./Cathy II was done through the process of emotional blackmail (and physical evidence in the form of her love letters) so that in his mind, he wasn't actually responsible.

However, Heathcliff may have reasoned that sexually abusing one's daughter-in-law in revenge may be in violation of the law; that he would gain severe detraction from his "slaves" Nelly, Hareton, even Joseph; and that if such a huge scandal broke out, he would have a harder time finding tenants, etc. — also, I don't think Heathcliff would have felt like he "needed" to sexually abuse Cathy II to get revenge against her/her family, because as he says, at that point he already has his revenge and his victory; he already has her lands, and degrades her every day by forcing her to be a servant and a slave, and by abusing her in every other way. Sexually abusing her would be an extra effort on his part.

And I don't think he would gain anything out of it aside from revenge. I don't really think Heathcliff has much sexual interest in anyone at all, probably not due to inborn asexuality but due to his depression, trauma, emotional repression, and general issues. Although he and Cathy I have an extremely passionate spiritual relationship, I can't say that I believe he ever experienced fully actualized/conscious sexual feelings even for her. Considering their youth and rocky position when he leaves her for his hiatus, and the very brief period of their reunion, their relationship was likely never "consummated" — or at least I see no hard textual evidence to suggest that it was, although I'm sure many people could probably argue against this. And regardless of whether or not he and Cathy I ever had a physically sexual relationship, I don't think he could ever really be seriously attracted to anyone but her.

But in order to get his revenge, he did bed Isabella likely multiple times until her pregnancy. And as McMaster demonstrates below, by encouraging Cathy II to marry his son — and quite literally seducing her himself by writing love letters to her under his son's name — Heathcliff essentially beds her by proxy, if not in actuality. He wants her property, and he wants her, and because his son is the same age as her and dying, he decides to use him as the perfect pawn to access her by

If Linton H. died before he could be married to Cathy II, would Heathcliff have attempted to marry Cathy II on his own? I think this is a fascinating topic to theorize about, and I can only assume the answer would be yes, because Hareton wouldn't have worked as a pawn, though perhaps Heathcliff would have simply manipulated Hareton to sign over Cathy II's inheritance to him instead (as the laws of marital coverture meant husbands were entitled to 100% of their wives money/property/inheritance). But at that point Heathcliff was still looking for revenge (and therefore may not have been adverse to getting it like he did in his first marriage with Isabella), and he may not have wanted to be financially responsible for the newly weds and their potential offspring, or to suffer legal repercussions if Cathy II or someone else convinced Hareton to hire a lawyer lol. But I digress.

And as the last quote in the following list demonstrates, I think it was not only a touch of the gothic incest theme that Emily was going for by having Lockwood assume Cathy II is Heathcliff's wife, but that it was intentionally symbolic of how weird and difficult-to-define their relationship is: they don't act like father and daughter in-laws, but he is legally her provider and in-house patriarch, and she is the lady of the house, and she is the closest thing to her mother he has. I could write whole essays about that last point & the similarities of both Catherines, such as their fearlessness, particularly toward Heathcliff (and I believe this makes him uncomfortable and even scares him at times).

---

Excerpts from Juliet McMaster's "The Courtship and Honeymoon of Mr. and Mrs. Linton Heathcliff: Emily Brontë's Sexual Imagery" via JSTOR:

"Linton is called at one point 'only a feeble tool to his father' (205). In the sexual context he becomes a sort of human dildo, which his father uses to rape and degrade the second Catherine, the child bride whose birth caused the death of the Catherine whom Heathcliff loved."

"'Making love in play, eh?' says Heathcliff of the young couple, with grim jocularity (188). And that is the way in which Bronte develops this courtship of juveniles."

"Heathcliff even writes half of Linton's love letters for him, so that they turn out 'singularly odd compounds of ardour and flatness,' 'copious love letters, foolish as the age of the writer rendered natural, yet with touches, here and there, which I thought were borrowed from a more experienced source' (182), records Nelly. Catherine is being wooed by son and father together. And when the time comes, the marriage is consummated by the same team."

"[Linton] takes his pleasure, when Catherine pushes him off, in summoning his father and in witnessing the physical domination of his bride [..]"

"After Heathcliff abducts and incarcerates young Catherine and her attendant, he keeps our narrator, Nelly, imprisoned for 'five nights and four days' (220). Meanwhile the marriage ceremony is performed, but we have no one to describe it for us."

"'She's not to go; we won't let her' [..] Now more than ever Linton's life and opinions are ruled by his father: he can do little more than parrot what 'he says.' If Linton's satisfied mein suggests the happy bridegroom, his role as husband, lord and master is shared with his father."

"Heathcliff testifies, 'I heard him draw a pleasant picture to Zillah of what he would do [to Catherine], if he were as strong as I. The inclination is there' (228). Linton evidently has a conception of himself and his father as complementary in this sexual context, part of a team."

"Heathcliff's appropriation of the property and physical abuse of the bride leaves her in effect deflowered. His brutal blow that makes the blood flow recalls his symbolic defloration of Isabella, Linton's mother, when he hurls the knife."

"[Heathcliff] won't listen to Nelly's pleas that since he hates the young couple he may as well let them stay at the Grange. 'I want my children about me, to be sure,' he answers with chilling irony; '—besides, that lass owes me her services for her bread' (227). One wonders what sort of 'services' he has in mind. He apparently intends to prolong the honeymoon at which he has assisted. And as he takes her away, there is some doubt, as in Lockwood's mind at the beginning of the novel, whether Catherine is Heathcliff's daughter-in-law or his bride [..]"

Source: McMaster, Juliet. “The Courtship and Honeymoon of Mr. and Mrs. Linton Heathcliff: Emily Brontë's Sexual Imagery.” Victorian Review, vol. 18, no. 1, 1992, pp. 1–12. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/27794707.

[melancholypilled]

I’ve been replaying bloodborne and the dlc is so beautiful, and i’ve been having thoughts

TW for sexual violence

Kos is obviously a symbol of womanhood and motherhood, her name is “mother kos” and she is designed to almost resemble a human woman laying on her stomach, as present in the official art. This contrasts ebrietes, blood starved beast and moon presence, who are all female but appear scary for the horror effect. She also resides in the only ocean like area in the game, the fishing hamlet. Water of course being a literary symbol for birth and fertility, and the boss is literally her child wielding his placenta.

This concept is not only in her appearance but is made present within the lore, and reflects a much larger issue. Kos was once revered, but was later grossly violated by the hunters, as they used the parasites inside her body as well as her blood, and it can be inferred that more was done to her as her corpse is drastically more deformed compared to her normal appearance. The violations of mother kos can possibly be an allegory for rape and other sexual violence, as the term “violated” is frequently associated with rape, and her possibly unwanted pregnancy may have been a result of this, metaphorically speaking.

It is confirmed that Lady Maria committed suicide over the tragedies at the research hall, and the fishing hamlet. She obviously did this because of the trauma that she endured for witnessing Kos being mutilated and watching over human experimentation. However, Maria is the only hunter shown to have been psychologically impacted by Yharnam’s violence. This is a stretch, but perhaps Maria felt extra sympathy from Kos, as they are both female. The universal suffering of women affected her more than Gehrman or Ludwig, because she could relate to Kos

it’s a graphic allegory for the sexual violence that women face, bloodborne is full of this idea, but Kos’s tragic story highlights the universal suffering of women

[j--ackdaw]

dog-eat-dog: part 1

can’t breathe.

tlou fanfic ao3 summary: You swore you would avenge her. Karma. What goes around, comes around. Before the story starts, you already cut through the hunters that had actually killed your sister and almost killed you. But now, you were on the hunt for a pair of brothers who needed to pay. word count: 1.7k warnings/tags: fem!reader, reader is nearly an OFC, but I’ll try to keep it as vague as possible (reader is in her late 20s/early 30s), dog imagery/inferences (shocking I know), based in a slightly altered game timeline, (TW) lots of blood imagery, violence, death, good ol’ revenge, allusions to abuse/torture, manipulation, trauma, physical scars, panic attacks, NO USE OF Y/N

a/n: Might write more for this?? Dunno yet. This isn’t necessarily going to be a Joel x fem!reader fanfic since well, your endgame is killing him (or close to it). Let me know if any of you would actually like me to continue this. This is kind-of a proof of concept, I guess. I thought the og plan for Abby was super gut-wrenching. So basically this is playing off that concept except earlier in the story, maybe a couple months after Ellie and Joel arrive in Jackson.

Apologies if this isn’t super well written. I’m not really a writer, but I’m trying to get better at it lol.

———

Outside Boston, Massachusetts | 2019

The woman in front of you begged for a scrap of mercy. Spit flew out of her mouth as her screams scrawled into your eardrums. A bandana hung from her neck, soggy and wet seemingly from once being used as a gag.

“Please, I’ll do anything! I won’t tell anyone, we won’t tell anyone! Just let us go! Please, I will–”

A devastating crack rang in the still, stuffy air for a few moments.

You choked on your breath, caught off guard by the sudden noise. Her cries ceased, only to leave a dead silence hanging on every breath of air you took. It was suffocating. Heavy and thick, almost as if you forced yourself to swallow each gasp of air to keep it from escaping out of your throat.

Her hair was matted. Brown, once shimmering, coils of hair knotted and tangled into an undistinguishable disarray concealing her face.

A moment prior, she had mirrored yourself. Kneeled and hunched on the spotted tile floor. Bound by a makeshift rope, her hands were covered in splatters of blood and sweat. Her attention frantically searched the bleak room before locking onto your eyes. Even in the darkened lighting, her eyes were distinct. Filled to the brim with complete, unadulterated terror.

The glint in a person's eye just before their internal clock is shattered flickered into view as she stared.

Her motionless body now laid on its side on the floor. A constant shake that enveloped her entire body was absent.

Eyes devoid of any notion of life.

Just as you peered down, a mixture of blood and brain matter inched its way beneath where you knelt and soaked the knees of your jeans. Every thread held onto what was once the woman’s lifeline, her experiences, her emotions, her triumphs, her resounding failures. All to be left to the heap on the floor and the pooling blood soaking the knees of your jeans.

It was uncomfortable. Everything in the room felt hollow. You couldn’t help but focus on the unbearable, warm wetness of your pants. Your skin crawled. You needed the sensation to stop.

It didn’t matter anymore what was being said. It didn’t matter that you could barely see through the blockade of tears obscuring your vision. It didn’t matter that all parts of you were being tugged at. It didn't matter how it was demanded for you to look into the eyes of your captures. Everything glazed over. All of the things you looked at carried a translucent, dark wash overtop. Your intense focus barred you from making out the fuzzy details in the gloomily lit room. Knives that had once made you sear with pain felt like a nail being dragged against your skin. None of it mattered.

You could only pay attention to your jeans.

The woman, your sister, was gone, and you were up for slaughter.

———

Wyoming | May 2034

Surviving by the skin of your teeth had taken a toll on you. 

Day in – day out, each passing minute felt like white, hot, sweltering pain. An ever-present rumble persisted in your mind. Across your back, each movement, tight and stiff, felt like a fucked-up mnemonic omen to your past. Reminders were strung across the pavement, painted along cracked walls, hidden in the bleak corners of your sight. Closing your eyes never helped. The black void moved. It writhed into crude shapes resembling her. Shadows resembled the lifeless bodies that seemed to cling to you, no matter where you went.

Living left you battered and bruised. At the turn of your adolescence, being used as bait was what kept you fed. Supplied a cot to sleep on. Hunters dangled rations above your head on the condition you performed your 'trick' accordingly. You’d set off, hooked onto a leash of watchful eyes, feigning injury to lure unsuspecting do-gooders into a trap. A trap that left their corpses sizzling in a horrific bonfire and their belongings stacked on tables for auction. Cry for help as a ploy for the attack, get rewarded. If you escaped, you'd be stripped of essentials. You were a kid. Surviving on your own never posed as a viable option. It was hard to admit to yourself, but you’d be dead the moment you were let out of your cage. Other members drilled that fact into you. You knew even without their teeth snapping in your ears. The “Huntsman” provided an alternative far from feeling comfortable, but you could grin your teeth and bear it. Scars that sizzled along your back would be returned in due time. You laid in wait.

Into your adulthood and new-found 'freedom', surviving on your own was far more manageable. You were capable. Knowing how to defend yourself and manipulate those around you made being alone an easier plate to consume.

Long gone were the days of innocence and naivety. The cracks of bone and the tear of flesh had become your normal. You reeked of it.

The stench lingered off of you. A bloodthirsty curtain hung heavy over your eyes, dowsing all of the light they once harbored. Your experiences shaped you entirely, and not in a good way.

You were angry. Enraged. Frenzied. 

A thick, heavy sheen of viscera seeped into every single waking moment and each minuscule second of your unconscious mind. You couldn’t escape it, even if you tried.

You took it in stride; no other choice was thrown to you.

Every ounce of fury ached in your bones. You used it in all facets of your existence. 

You were living in a premonition. A desire. A need.

And you —

You would stop at nothing until that obligation became your reality.

-

Infected were commonplace. Nothing but a measly obstacle in your cyclic routines.

At first, you had been so hesitant to kill them. What if they could feel? What if they were still human? Sometimes, you thought you heard runners retching, fighting out the word 'stop', while devouring their kills. Avoiding them at all costs was a priority. You couldn’t bear the weight of the guilt if those thoughts were the truth.

Now, you had no choice.

Killing was made practical. Methodical. You had a way of going about it.

Thinking about the act too strenuously made you feel sick. Torture and the drawn-out ‘satisfaction’ of draining something of life wasn’t a pastime you enjoyed. Blood building around the eyes, it dripping from the mouth, made it too real. Death was delivered as swiftly as you could within the circumstances you were in. You’d only go the mile if it was something you deemed necessary. Or deserved, rather.

It boiled down to a quick draw of your revolver or a sweeping heave of a machete, and foes were left as nothing but flesh that oozed. They were puppets pulled on fungal strings for an organism that barely kept them alive. An infection pawning creatures as a means for motion and viability. Or, they were empty husks of people, lost too deep in the compensation for being ruthless and lusting for blood.

If anything, you were putting them out of their misery, right?

You convinced yourself to believe that.

Walking along barren, cracked roads had become a dull environment quickly. Dilapidated storefronts, battered farmhouses, and run-down neighborhoods muddled into a blur of lush greenery and rotted wood. It was calming, in a twisted way. Civilization plummeting into a remnant of what it once was felt fitting, warranted, from what little you remembered. Bricks that had been chipped away by the elements littered the ground. Structures were left as ruined time-capsules of an easier way of life. A life you didn't know long enough to stow away attachments to. A bygone era. Much of their worn, cement bones were picked clean, unlucky for you.

A few stragglers inside an abandoned home you were rummaging through became a welcome change of pace. Heart racing in your ears, the adrenaline gave you a high. You’d press yourself against a wall, letting your hearing acclimate to the subtlety of a pin drop. You’d ambush. Quick on your feet, you’d rush behind a clicker, driving your pocket knife deep into its throat. It would choke out. Gurgling and hissing for a few moments, it would give a sad attempt at clawing its way out of your grip. Promptly, it would fall limp, and you’d allow it to crumple to the floor. 

Rinse and repeat. 

In a jam, you’d slide over tables and counters to create distance, trusty revolver in hand. A shotgun holstered on the side of your backpack was useful if you were cornered. You’d had countless close calls, but you’d always managed to slip past. Injuries such as a broken arm or snapped ankle wouldn’t stop you regardless.

Beams providing support to a nearly collapsed roof sometimes fell from their deteriorating posts; the crash stealing your breath away. You felt rickety floorboards beneath you, then suddenly they were gone. It's dark.

She’s screaming.

She’s crying out your name. She can’t stop saying it. You can’t breathe. You’re taking in breaths; why can’t you breathe? What happened? She won’t stop shouting your name. You can’t feel your hands anymore. What’s happening? Your arms are numb. You keep blinking, but you can’t stop seeing her. You weren't here a second ago, right? Why won’t you answer her? She’s gagging on her tears. On the floor now. She’s relentlessly calling for you. Say something. Ears are buzzing. She’s coughing up blood. Can’t breathe. She’s crumbled on the floor. Legs are cold. 

She isn’t yelling for you anymore. 

You’re screaming.

You couldn't take it anymore. You were so close.

Nothing could stop you now. There is only so much an ability to fight could do you good for. You’d have to be smart and play your cards right.

Because you knew damn well that waltzing in with a loaded gun and a seemingly empty threat would get you nowhere. 

It didn’t matter how long it’d take. You were more than ready to play the long game.

Fuck, you'd been playing the long game. This resolution had been brewing in your mind for nearly fifteen years.

This was personal. You would make it personal. 

After all was said and done, you couldn’t give a shit. But until then, you needed to act the part and end this perpetual nightmare.

And kill Tommy and Joel Miller.

Or, die trying.

[theshiningcrusader]

Small notes abt the trios terrible childhoods. Tw//very very very light mentions of child abuse (and other bad things) but nothing too terribly in depth

Estella- adopted into an unloving and unsafe household, manipulated into believing that she does not deserve love and that males are inherently evil (which, she is also taught that she can hurt people if it's a game. And she does not hesitate to kill animals, that could be a learned behavior)

Pip- taken in by his sister, under constant control and cruelty from her, with a father figure who does not step in. Is conditioned into thinking that this treatment is normal, and that he should be yelled at. This makes him unable to stand up for himself, almost all of the time (represses a lot of anger, and is only able to use that in physical activities.)

Herbert- thinks violence is a good way to make friends. ignored by both mother and father, raised by maids/people paid to care for him, t's unknown if he even has a good relationship both forms of parental figures. Is shipped away from home and adapts very quickly to being alone, though it's not clear if he misses his home or not (and of course, the 'eating box' and hepatitis b. I only like to infer whatever occurred happened to herbert, unfortunately, because he did get a disease from it. Or maybe in a just world he pricked his finger on something. We can hope.)

therapy for all of them. yes most of this is headcannon-y but yoooo😭HOW IS ESTELLA ALIVE SHE LIVED IN A RESIDENT EVIL ASS HOUUUUSEEE BLACK MOLD EVERYWHERE!! All of these kids deserve to live in a warm and loving home but that is not going to happen unfortunately . I do think Pip gets adopted by a lovely British family, and Estella ends up living with Herbert (which is far better because she's fed, clean, and provided a good living space) so there is that. Timeline maybe someday ?

[zimwy]

rules page. 

GENERAL

this is a blog for marvel’s james buchanan "bucky" barnes, 616 based with some mcu influence. i have been writing bucky for years and my takes are personally developed and my own. do not lift from me, i will notice. (no, i do not think sharing in common fanon hcs is stealing). i am disinterested in writing in mcu-exclusive verses and will not be doing it; my bucky is, as stated, primarily 616 based with some mcu influence. my first iteration of bucky was est in 2018.

i am not mcu based, nor rivals based, or any other material based. i may take influence from these things from time to time, but the 616 is my comfortable home-verse.

MY HEADER AND PROMO ARE PLACEHOLDERS FOR NOW UNTIL I MAKE SOMETHING BETTER. they're old edits, i just cba rn. i like to make gifs, i just dont want to download footage at the moment for faceless tws scenes.

i do not use sebastian stan as a fc. however, i will be using and relogging gifs/icons/etc of his appearance in the winter soldier (2014), especially where faceless. my primary fc is carter jenkins.

my bucky is jewish. i am also jewish.

unfortunately, as i had to completely wipe my laptop that had them, i have no icons at the moment. i have to remake all of them and kind of dont have the energy, so i'll most likely be writing iconless for now.

nsfw will appear, especially violence, death, brainwashing, gore, ptsd, and autonomy violations.  i’ll tag almost anything. nsfw of a sexual variety will probably appear occasionally as well; i am 27.

please tag a/b/o, mothers day, pet death, and pedophilia for me.  i will unfollow if you don’t. 

the usual goes. don’t godmod but inferences to move a thread along, be respectful and polite, no bigotry, etc.

block me if you don’t like me. block me if you don’t want to see me. i promise i am too old to care. 

my bucky is largely based on his classic appearances & 2000s-2010s runs (esp brubaker runs and winter soldier comics). i'm catching up on modern stuff, the last modern thing i read was falcon & winter soldier.

i will not interact with kilgrave blogs or “hydra” blogs. as a jew and a survivor i am simply not interested in retraumatizing myself through rp.

i don’t engage in call out culture. period.

SHIPPING

i’m completely open to shipping, this is just a forewarning that it is somewhat difficult to genuinely establish romantic connections with bucky due to his nature and trauma.

i am not comfortable with 616 exclusive stucky, but i am okay with mcu or mcu-influenced stucky. i do not see bucky and steve's 616 relationship as familial, but regardless, i recognize that bucky is considerably younger and uses language that clearly puts steve on a certain pedestal. i am only okay with stucky in the modern day, absolutely no invaders era stucky, and highly talked about/plotted so i know we're on the same page, otherwise leave that at the door. i will always go into their relationship assuming it's purely platonic.

i do not ship winterwidow. nothing really againt it, i just don't like it. (besides, i personally see nat as a lesbian, but either way, i'm just not interested). i am fine with portraying bucky and nat as having had a past relationship during the program, but i don't want to actively write anything relating to this ship.

no weird ships please. nothing with characters substantially younger than him or characters he does not and would never view in that light. i’m just not interested in shipping him with characters he’d look at and think ‘baby’. 

OTHER

i portray bucky as jewish (as mentioned) and nonbinary agender. he still mostly uses he/him pronouns.

bucky is mentally ill and suffers from ptsd as well as an unspecified dissociative identity disorder. please keep in mind the winter soldier is not just a title, it is an identity and selfhood. extreme trauma paired with years of brainwashing has caused a notable split.

do not come at me with this 'mcu bucky is based off gay man arnie roth so--' i don't care. i know. i am never talking about him. i'm talking about 616 bucky. please.

there are a number of people i dont want to see on my dash and will probably unfollow, possibly block even, if i’m forced to.

NO GENDERBENDS. i will follow back trans genderbends (e.g. natasha stark as a trans woman instead of a cis fem tony) on a case by case basis.

NO WHITE MAXIMOFFS. please fuck off.

please try to avoid approaching me with “hi” “hey” etc. just say whats on your mind. i have an extremely hard time responding to one word greeters and the conversation will go nowhere. 

if i follow, i want to write. if i’m at all irritated by something you post, i’m just going to unfollow for my sanity. i am both sensitive and shy, so i wont follow you long if i dont think we'll get along; i usually wait three days (once you're actively posting) for you to follow back, and if you dont, i unfollow. its not personal, it just tells me you arent interested, which is perfectly fine.

AS OF AUGUST 2024, i typically do not follow first if i do not know you from other blogs. this isn't meant to discourage you from following if you're interested in interacting--please go ahead--i just don't follow first anymore. if i do follow you first, i either know you, or i'm VERY interested in writing with you and overcame my anxiety about it. you also probably write with a mutual of mine.

i will not interact with you if you write with dean (mageister / archonoclasm / recitedemise).

if you dont have any mun info anywhere on your blog, i probably am not going to follow you.

27. jewish. trans. he/it.

[skruffie]

generic abuse tw

--

weird 1 am thoughts, and this is probably going to be a sad sounding post but I'm more trying to rotate something around in my head. I think part of why I've historically had a hard time talking about the abuse that happened in college is because, when it comes to trauma, one of my (kinda bad) coping skills is being analytical with it rather than getting into the feelings. But with what she did, there was nothing about it that made sense to me at all with the knowledge I have about why/how people abuse others. Alice suggested the reason why I can't fathom why is because I don't treat people like that, but like

looking at the 2011 trauma I can easily infer that a little boy growing up in an unstable household treats those traumas with alcoholism when there is little else available to him, thrives on a successful career to hide what happens behind closed doors, and does not know any other way to raise children except with violence. it's a classic pattern of behavior that we can see over and over again. we can draw the lines around the power dynamics that led to this structure and power dynamics + imbalances are big factors in abusive situations

My abuser largely... didn't. Socially, we were on the same level. If we really have to split hairs on power dynamics I can see there's an axis of maybe with her being straight versus my queerness or how I would not have worked at [redacted] without her putting in a word for me but she wasn't a supervisor. At work we were in exactly the same role. The way she grew up involved divorced parents but she had otherwise a rather normal, non-traumatic upbringing. I know a hell of a lot about trauma psychology, abuse dynamics, all of that, and there is nothing at all from our "friendship" that fits any pattern I've ever seen for why she did the things she did. I'm not even writing this out of any particular emotion like sadness or using it to vent, I'm just BAFFLED

I had a therapist pre-covid that labelled what happened as like the beginnings of a domestic violence situation but like. arguably with the fact that there were moments of actual physical and sexual abuse the only reason I think it can't be called For Real DV is because we weren't in an intimate partnership. I had a weird sense of denial for years about it because... again, nothing about what she did to me fits any pattern. We talk a lot about imperfect victims but I don't think I've ever heard anything about abusers that are very atypical from what we expect an abuser to "look" like.

[yxjieuns]

hi hello issa me, ur resident hag who can’t get over 2nd gen girl groups rina!! i’m not so great at getting my pages up in a timely manner but i am pretty good at blabbering on and on about muse hcs for days without anyone asking lol. you can find me doing so under the cute and my wanted connections blog HERE. otherwise, smash that heart button and i’ll come running to your ims (or discord??) to plot !!!

(  yoo jieun  /  twenty-four  /  cisfemale  /  she/her  )

welcome to the seoul institute for mutant education and outreach, jieun ! or should i call you stepford cuckoos ? just double checking, you’re a beta-level mutant, right ? i heard you can communicate telepathically — that’s so cool ! but … that means you lack in physical combat, huh ? has anyone told you you’re a dead ringer for yura/kim ahyoung ? honestly, you seem pretty responsible to me, but i’ve heard you can also be quite inhibited, is that true ? anyway, here’s your student handbook and a map of the school. says here you’ll be staying in room dorm –, and you’ll be taking leadership 101, close-quarters combat, psychic self-defense, danger room and home economics this sem. see you in class !

( tw: blood, inferred violence )

so she’s the eldest of the stepford cuckoos and feels the need to be the mother figure that they never really had growing up

still v scarred from project x due to an incident in which they provoked the diamond form out of her. ( tw: blood , inferred violence ; start ) she is unaware of the details, but still remembers how horrifying it was to wake up covered in blood that was not her own. her mind and her fists ached. and unfortunately, she’d happened to overhear the lab workers in charge of monitoring her discussing (2) injured parties who were barely hanging on ( tw: blood , inferred violence ; end )

very much giving elsa ala frozen 1: conceal don’t feel, don’t let them know. she’s so afraid of hurting others that she holds back and refrains from using her powers to their full extent. thus, she maintains a beta rank, lower than her sisters

she’s pretty ashamed of herself bc of it lowkey, bc she feels like she’s supposed to be stronger and set an example for them but she isn’t, so she overcompensates through learning other skills (i.e. close combat, psychic self-defense....home ec lol) and strengthening her leadership abilities

i think she has an inferiority complex when it comes to her sisters because they seem so much more in control of themselves and their abilities and she’s jealous. also lowkey wishes she were just human and didn’t even have to worry about any of this

 no matter how much of a mess she is inside, she will always maintain a strong front for her sisters 

doesn’t really speak to others unless spoken to. personally, i’d like to believe that she has a regal/refined reputation. when she does decide to speak, i promise that she’s super sweet!!! a v hard worker. so if you’re ever in a group project/mission with her, i guarantee she will not slack off

her abilities make her pass out a lot kinda.....tbh......so if you see her napping in the hallway.......idk no u didnt??

i dont have as much to say as i initially thought but she just wants to vibe and take care of her sisters and not hurt anyone tbh

pls be her friend thx <3

[saltymongoose]

Could you write yandere hcs for Jeb?

Sure thing, it’s about time we got some of these for Jeb. Here ya go! <3

General Yan!Jebus Headcanons

(TW: Yandere, Obsessive Behavior, Stalking, Mentions of Violence, Manipulation.)

Jebus honestly never expected to fall in love, especially not with a coworker. You were a lower-level scientist who managed a smaller team, verifying data and reporting any errors you came across. And that’s how he came to know you, from you coming up to him and pulling his attention away from his work time and time again. Ordinarily he’d hate such distractions, but with you he found himself liking it. (Perhaps a little too much, according to some.)

Instead of sending you away like he does for everyone else or going silent to end a conversation of small talk, he’ll invite you to stay instead and have another long conversation with him, sometimes even getting coffee for you both. It’s uncharacteristically friendly, but you didn’t know him well enough to tell that it wasn’t normal.

(Something he was rather grateful for, to be honest. He wouldn’t want you to find it weird that he’s only outwardly sociable around you, of course. It might make you suspicious.)

He finds you to be sweet, pure, someone with not a bad word to say about anyone else in the shady organization (despite all their flaws and unethical actions). While Jeb isn’t a fan of how close the other scientists and agents are with you, your kindness and generosity made you stand out from them. Out of everyone he’d come across, only you managed to capture his attention through your little gestures, like when you brought him coffee or when he witnessed you offer to take a haggard-looking coworker’s shift.

Your intelligence is also a breath of fresh air and he thinks you’re unbelievably interesting. He wants to hear your thoughts on everything, from your work to the Nexus Core’s business, to even simple things like your daily life. He wants to know about your history too, about what led you to Nexus City and how you became the unique person you are. He wants to know what makes you tick. 

(Though not at all because it would make it all the more easy for him to exploit those details, of course not. Christoff is above that. Or at least that’s what he tries to convince himself.)

Jebus isn’t the type of yandere to "openly" fawn over you, it could cause you to get in trouble, and he'd hate for that to happen. Instead, he’ll get you little gifts and leave them on your desk, all things that you’ve mentioned or that he inferred you’d like from your conversations. Well, most of the time at least.

(You didn’t need to know how often he’s eavesdropped on your “private” talks with others and tasked people with following you to know more. That information couldn’t benefit you, so there was no point in notifying you anyway.)

(You appreciate the little presents you find, even if you can’t tell who they’re from or how they know you wanted whatever was given to you. Although some of the gifts were really specific, to the point you found them suspicious. You can’t recall ever mentioning your birthday to anyone at any point in time (Nexus personnel didn’t celebrate that sort of thing in the office anyway due to regulations) so how did they know what flowers and jewelry corresponded with it?)

Sometimes he even writes you long love letters too, carefully sliding them into your assigned locker where you keep your spare lab coats. They’re all multiple pages in length, filled with poetic musings and longwinded words of affection. It’s incredibly well written, to you it seems like whoever wrote it must’ve spent hours getting everything right. 

(And in all truthfulness, it was true. They were all things he’d spent hours thinking of before, and trying to translate just how much he adores you into mere words was honestly quite difficult for him. But he’d spend weeks coming up with the perfect combination of sentences for you to read, his dearest deserved nothing less.)

While you won’t ever be able to tell who exactly is giving them to you, your coworkers have their suspicions. Only someone of a high level would be able to spoil you with so much stuff, but you happened to be on good terms with most of the upper personnel, bar the Director whom you’ve never openly spoken to. They had kind of a bet going on trying to find who it actually was, but in reality, they’d never know. Christoff kept his tracks too well hidden for that, and besides, what he did you win your love wasn’t any of their business to begin with.

(Although he may’ve had to take some more drastic actions to ensure that his plans were hidden. It’s kind of a shame that he had to volunteer that one Agent up for Crackpot’s Zed program, they were a good worker but this is what they got for snooping through his desk and finding the letters. They were for your eyes only. But at least this way he wouldn’t have to clean the unexplained blood off of one of his lab coats again. At least Crackpot's foolish endeavors were good for something in the end.)

But there was one grunt who managed to figure it out; Dr. Hofnarr. As Jeb’s best friend, he’d be really stupid if he missed the way his friend’s gaze lingered on you far too long to be a coincidence (or appropriate) and the way he seemed weirdly nice to you. 

(“Hey, Dr. Christoff, I got a report here on Project Z. I’d give it to Dr. Crackpot but it covers the Sleepwalker program in the first few pages so I figure I’d run it by you first,” you said as you gently placed the stack of papers in front of him. He immediately looked up from his work, red irises meeting yours as he adjusted his glasses. Hofnarr winced to himself, expecting some form of scolding to come from him for interrupting his experiment, but no.

Instead, he was shocked to see the small smile on his friend's face and the oddly-soft look he had as he regarded you. He watched in bewilderment as Jebus welcomed you to sit down with him, even moving a chair so you could be closer. What?)

Although any questioning leads to a stern look from Christoff and the order to drop it and talk about something else, which he concedes to. If he didn’t want to talk about it, it was fine. Besides, Jeb had always been rational, it’s not like it was anything bad to have a little crush on an employee. If anything he was happy for him!

(He’d have a different opinion if he knew of the true extent of his friend's love obsession for you, but that’s just another reason why Jeb would cut off any curiosity he had. He thought it was just a "crush", which Jeb thought was funny, but it was a useful thing for him to believe. He’d hate for Hofnarr to get involved in something so far out of his depth.)

Given how secretive he is about his affections, physical touch is something he keeps at the minimum for now. Not because he wants to, but because you might be removed from his side if anyone finds out that you're a lot closer than you let on (at least to him). The most you'll get is the intentional brush of his hand against yours as you hand him something, or him resting a hand on your shoulder or waist as he passes by you.

(And he thinks about these moments obsessively afterwards, replaying the memories of your warmth and the feeling of your body. Perhaps, once his business was concluded with the Nexus and you accepted his confession, you'd let him touch more of you. You were so receptive to his little gestures so far, it only made sense.)

When it comes to violence, Jebus isn’t above inflicting some harm to keep your budding relationship out of harms way. You getting together was inevitable in his eyes, but he wouldn’t allow anyone to interfere with it regardless. It would be doing a disservice to you, to let anyone get between you and make it possible for someone else less competent to compete for your attention.

While Jeb didn't have a big ego, he was sure that you would appreciate someone who would actually protect you, and more importantly someone with strict morals (unlike the rest of the Nexus' workforce) as your partner.

(He ignores the morality of his own actions with his long observations stalking sessions regarding you, or how ethical it might be for him to go through your things and take little things he's seen you use often like a favorite pen or a "misplaced" tube of chapstick. Morality was relative too, after all.)

Besides, you seemed to love the little gifts and letters he got you; he's positive that you're starting to feel something for the mysterious admirer, judging by how he's seen you blush when looking at the items and reading his writing. He feels like he's bursting with excitement for the first time in ages - it was only a short matter of time before you were truly together!

Although, with the way things are looking with Phobos and the Nexus Core, it seems he might have to up the ante on his hostility towards the other personnel. He’s sure you’d appreciate it, since it was to keep you safe. The others would have to be a lot more careful, but he couldn't care less of what they go through at his hand. As long as you were okay.

As tensions brewed outside your knowledge, he was coming up with a plan. Given the fact that he was your superior, he could technically terminate your employment at any time, and while some others would have questions, it’s nothing a little bribery (or threatening) couldn’t fix. You might cry and beg him for an explanation, but as much as it pains him, it is what's best for you.

He's sure you'd be grateful in the end, when he arrives at your doorstep after slaughtering that Dictator you both worked for and tells you what he's really been up to. With how kind he's been in secret, you'll know that he's never thought ill of you, and perhaps he'll even decide to confess to you right then and there.

(A little manipulative considering the distress you'd be going through with the fall of the city? Maybe, but Christoff isn't exactly one to squander opportunities. Even if you like anyone else, he's sure they'd perish with the rest of the workers anyway. It was convenient, especially with the effects of Crackpot's projects - it's not like you could marry a brain-dead Zed.)

Your relationship with him was a certainty and he's sure that you'd be the happiest with him, end of. After all, who other than Nevada's Savior could someone as kind as you possibly turn to for protection in a decrepit, violent, and impure wasteland of a city?

(Though if anyone dares to try, he'll destroy them like all the rest. It's best not to try leaving him, it'll be easier for you this way. If he has to really hammer in the reality that he'll never let you go, he will. But from the way you get flustered at his few affectionate gestures, he doesn't think he needs to worry all that much.)

[cyncerity]

Dream is a shifter (at least from what I'm inferring based off your most recent chart update and some previous posts). Dream and Tommy are cousins, so Dream is one of two children on the bottom left of the new labeled family tree. In an earlier post you mentioned that Dream moved with his mom and brother, which confirms he has a sibling. Later in that post you mention Dream telling George about his little! brother having his first day of kindergarten. Which makes Dream the first born and therefore the shifter! (I think lol)

:)

tw: gun violence, non-sexual nudity, description of graphic violence

Glass shattering. That’s how it had started. A completely average day turned on it’s head by the sound of the front door being broken and a man screaming orders. A gun in his hand. Others started screaming, customers ran for their lives as the rest of the employees tried to help them escape. They tried to remain composed, tried to remember their training on how to deal with this safely, but the man was still there. Still shouting orders, still pointing his gun at anyone in his range of vision, now stalking the store looking for anyone he could get something from.

If you’d have asked Dream that morning if he thought he would die that day, well, he’d probably have been very, very concerned about what the question implied, but obviously he would have said no. But here he was, an armed robber in his store, some customers running and hoping to avoid the gunman, some ducking to the ground for cover, his friends all trying to help any innocent patrons while also keeping themselves alive. He couldn’t watch this. He couldn’t just stand by.

All of his training went out the window as he ran past anyone still in the store and directed them to the nearest exits, just praying he wouldn’t run straight into the robber, dumb luck being his only survival strategy. His employees refuted as silently as possible as to not attract the gunman’s attention, tried to convince him to let them stay to help. His little brother especially. Foolish had always been too kind for his own good. Nonetheless, he begged him to leave, along with the rest of his employees. He refused to let them die. They were his closest friends, practically his family, the people who had come to help when he took over this little store and the people who had stuck by him through thick and thin. If he had to be a martyr for them, so be it.

He had tried to get them all out. He thought he did. All his employees were accounted for, right…?

…shit, Nick. He was still in the store. Dream hadn’t seen him leave.

As quickly as he could run quietly, he tried to find Nick, only to no avail. Now, they weren’t exactly close friends, per say, but Dream would be damned if Nick had to die today. Just because he was a newer, more shy and soft spoken employee didn’t mean he deserved to be left behind with an armed robber. He turned to a different aisle, running through into an open area, just searching for any sign of his friend.

Cold metal touched his neck.

He didn’t have to move his head to know that the gun was on him. The barrel was pressing uncomfortably hard into his skin, sending shivers down his spine. He heard a gruff voice behind him tell him to lift his hands. He slowly obliged. After all, what more could he do? The man roughly patted him down, taking his wallet and phone out of his back pockets. Dream tried to think through anything he had on him. A pen in his front pocket, a pocket knife, a little notepad with his to-do list in his apron…wait a second.

He was stupid, wasn’t he?

The green switchblade was in his front right pocket. And, ok, maybe those were illegal to own, but they were damn good in a quick life-or-death situation like this one. If he timed it right, could he hit the gunman and run? Did he have time, or would he pull the trigger before then? Did he have time to think it through any further?

The hand reaching for his front pocket said no. So, he acted.

In a blur as his life flashed before his eyes, Dream’s hand came down quickly, grabbing the knife and quickly flipping the sturdy black tinted metal blade out. He thrusted his hand back as hard as he could and felt it hit something, his hand and knife quickly becoming covered in a warm, sticky liquid; but not before he heard a click from right behind his head.

***

Sapnap ran through the store. He had heard the shattering of the glass, had seen the man come in. He hadn’t understood immediately, but he knew crowd panic when he saw it. People running, screaming, crying, it all sent him back into some…unfortunate memories.

He eventually, thankfully, found someone he knew helping a small family out the employee only door in the back of the store. “Punz!” he called as loudly as he dared, trying to keep his voice low since that’s what everyone else seemed to be doing. Punz looked around for a bit before spotting him. His eyes raised and he quickly helped the family the rest of the way out before running to Sapnap. “Nick!” Punz said, voice wavering and hands shaking as they brought Sapnap into a hug. “Thank god you’re ok, you’re one of the few people i wasn’t with when this all went down.” Sapnap held onto his friend for a moment before gently pulling away and noticing that Punz looked terrified, more terrified than he’d ever seen a human look. He didn’t like seeing them like that. “Yeah, and speaking of ‘this,’ what’s going on?” “You didn’t see? Or hear?” “I saw the door break, and there was a guy. He was holding something and screaming and everyone started running, what’s going on?” Punz quickly shushed Sapnap before grabbing his wrist and guiding him to hide in a corner hidden by some shipment bins. “That guy was a robber and that thing was a gun. He’s here to fuckin mug us and kill anyone who gets in the way.”

Now, Sapnap didn’t know what the fuck a “gun” was, but he knew what kill meant. It meant he and everyone in this store were in terrible danger, he had to help people get out, what if someone was stuck in the aisles alone with a killer, what if…

his fiancés. Oh god, his fiancés. They were planning to borrow from the craft section, since Quackity had gotten some of his clothes torn and dirtied and wanted to make some new ones anyway. Were they out there? Alone? Oh god, if the thought of a relatively normal human finding and taking them was bad, the idea of a murderer finding them was so, so much worse. It made him feel sick.

He barely heard Punz’s scared whisper of his human name as he sprinted out of the corner. Punz could hide if he wanted. It was probably better for them anyway so they didn’t get hurt. But Sapnap couldn’t wait around for some killer to find his fiancés first.

***

Dream didn’t know what had happened. One second, he heard a gunshot, painfully close to his ears. He felt the heat behind his head and heard the trigger be pulled on him. He shouldn’t be alive right now. Was he even alive? Where…was he?

He felt like a little kid in a giant tent, like those parachutes that he played with in gym class. But this was bigger. Much, much bigger. It was a thicker stitching and fabric, and it was bright green, like his store uniform. Actually speaking of that, Dream realized he wasn’t actually wearing anything. He felt his face start to heat up. Well, that was…definitely pretty fuckin embarrassing, wasn’t it? Thank god he was alone wherever he was. Maybe he was dead. After all, you probably can’t take what you were wearing when you died to the afterlife. But the still warm blood on his hand from stabbing the gunman told him otherwise.

He was snapped out of his thoughts as he heard something above him, something loud and seemingly confused. Was he crazy or did that sound like the gunman? All of a sudden, the world around him was tossed around, leaving him to helplessly flail around before he found some semblance of a way out.

There seemed to be a hole in the fabric, so without much of an idea of what else to do, he climbed for it. He made his way out into the open and saw what looked like miles of giant craft supplies. Glues, markers, scissors, fabrics, and little charms and knickknacks that seemed to go on forever. This…this was the craft aisle. He’d restocked it himself only a few days ago, but…why was it giant? He felt himself start to sweat and his hands started shaking as he fully took in the scene around him. In a panic Dream turned around, if only to not have to look at the giant supplies anymore only to see what he had crawled out of. And oh god, did he wish he had just kept looking at the craft supplies.

His work uniform. His shirt, now hundreds of times bigger than him, was unceremoniously crumpled beneath the aisle border after…whatever this was had happened to him, and he’d been stuck in it as it had been shoved around. What had happened to him? What if the gunman had done this to him? How could he have though?? Dream looked a bit farther down the floor and saw everything else he had had on him. His pants, his belt, his apron, and the necklace he had gotten from George. He carefully took the thick handmade blue and green braid that his boyfriend had made and tied it around his waist in a quick form of some cover. George had always insisted that he wear the mushroom pendant he got for Dream on the braid, it was tradition to his culture or something, and so they could match, given that George had made one for himself to hold the sword pendant Dream had sent to him. He didn’t have much from George, he’d never even met him in person, their necklaces had always been something they wore to remind themselves of the other until they could finally be together in person. Both of them rarely took it off. If there was anything he wanted to make sure he didn’t lose, it was the necklace.

The blue shiny mushroom pendant hit against his leg as he carefully walked from under the craft aisle border to the aisle he had just been in with the gunman only for his heart to practically stop. Hundreds of feet (well, feet to him) above him was the gunman, gun and bloodied knife left forgotten on the floor, as he ripped part of his shirt off and pressed it against his stab wound. A giant. Dream paled as hundreds of thoughts of what this man could do to him if he was found flashed through his mind, panic almost overtaking his mind almost enough to block out the sudden all too loud shouting…

wait, what?

***

Sapnap sprinted back to the craft aisle where he’d been trying to get for far too long. God dammit, why did he have to be such a nice person sometimes? He’d been helping people get out safely for a while, after he thought all the other employees had cleared out. But every time he thought there was no one left, someone else showed up and he couldn’t find it in him to leave someone else behind. But he still didn’t know if Karl and Quackity were ok. They had to be. He couldn’t live with himself if something had happened to them.

He was only a few aisles away when a loud bang rang out. It was somewhat familiar, he used to hear it occasionally when he lived in the forest colony he was born in. His dad had said the sounds were from hunters, humans with strange death machines that could kill an animal from far away. He explained them like over powered one handed bow and arrows. And now Sapnap had heard one in the store where his fiancés and possibly other humans were hiding.

Sapnap sprinted over full speed and froze where he stood. The robber stood right in front of him, back turned to him gun held out at open air. Sapnap could see the wall he was facing had been shot, if the minor crumbling was anything to go by. The gun in his hand was still smoking. But, why had he shot it at nothing?

Sapnap watched the man look around, mumbling incoherently and seemingly just really, really confused and then look around at the floor. Sapnap followed his eyes and it felt like his breathing stopped. Clothes. Not just any clothes, a work uniform, identical to the one he currently had on. What was that doing there? He watched the robber kick it around a bit before he saw it.

The white smiley pin on the apron and the little extra name tag that read manager. That was Dream’s. That was Dream’s uniform. Dream, who he realized he hadn’t seen leave, who he hadn’t heard anything about since the robber entered the store. He watched the man kick the uniform partially under an aisle and just shrug. He dropped the gun and physically pulled something from his side with a grunt and a wince, dropping that, too. He proceeded to take his jacket off and rip a part of the sleeve away and press it against his side, the dark fabric quickly becoming soaked and dripping with blood, Sapnap could smell it from where he stood several feet behind the man. He took that time to venture his eyes to the floor again.

A knife. That’s what the man had pulled from his side. A bright, almost neon green knife with a smiley face carved into the handle. That had to be Dream’s. Dream had stabbed the man, stabbed him good enough to cause a substantial amount of bleeding. Sapnap could guess who the man shot at.

So, where was Dream? If his knife was there, and his clothes where there for some reason, where was he? What had the robber done with him?

Sapnap ignored his anger and confusion for now. He could find Dream and make sense of all this later once the stranger with the gun was dealt with. But what could he use? There wasn’t much useful artillery in a craft aisle and the aisle next to it was where they blew up balloons for birthday parties and stuff…

wait a minute.

***

“HEY FUCKER!!”

Dream knew that voice, as loud as it was and as much as it hurt his ears at the moment, he knew that voice. Nick had always been so quiet, never really wanting to talk to people, and Dream couldn’t have even imagined him being loud moments prior, but damn if he wasn’t really loud right now. He also couldn’t have imagined how angry Nick could be.

Dream snapped his head in the direction of the scream at about the same time the gunman did, but only really Dream got to see what went down, since the second the robber turned his head, he was forcefully knocked backward with the full brute force of a helium tank to the face. He looked up farther to see Nick, face contorted in rage, face red and chest heaving, probably from having thrown a helium tank full force a moment earlier. Jesus, how strong was Nick? Dream backed up further at the thought. After all, if he had the strength to chuck a 30+ pound helium tank, what could he do to him right now?

He wanted to smack himself for thinking about that right now. Nick wouldn’t hurt him, he knew that. Sure, they didn’t know each other great, but he knew Nick was a nice guy. More than a nice guy, he was one of the sweetest people he’d ever met. Nick stayed with him after hours constantly, always helped anyone with what they needed, never complained and always did his best to work well with others. Why would he hurt Dream now? Why would he want to? But yet, the thought of drawing Nick’s attention to himself make his knees weak. He was just…so big right now. He was an absolute giant, sue him for being scared of someone who could kill him so effortlessly.

He watched Nick walk over to the robber and make sure he was unconscious, as if anyone could stay awake after getting decked that hard. He watched Nick lift the man’s head a bit and if Dream wasn’t scared enough earlier, he certainly was now. Dream could hardly breathe as he watched literal teeth fall out of the man’s mouth as Nick sat him in an upright position against the wall he had apparently shot when he hadn’t hit Dream. Along with that, he nose was broken to an absolute pulp, and his entire face was an ugly blend of purples, reds, and blacks. He watched Nick take in the damages himself and he at least looked somewhat concerned, as if he hadn’t meant to do that much damage. Dream kind of wished that was true. Nick had never seemed all that violent.

After a moment of kneeling and surveying what he’d done to the robber, he stood and walked back the way he’d come down the aisle, freezing to stare down at Dream’s knife. After a few moments of hesitation and an expression that Dream couldn’t quite read, he knelt down to take it and, after a few seconds of looking it over, flipped the switch to slide the blade back in.

“…Dream? Are you here? Are you ok?” Nick asked, sounding concerned. He kept looking around as if Dream would just appear out of nowhere at his call, never thinking to look down. Of course not, why should he? No rational person would assume the person they were looking for was all of a sudden mere inches tall for no reason. And as Dream heard Nick call out his name over and over, sounding more frantic every time, he hesitated. He knew he should want to go out there, he knew his friend would help him through whatever had happened. But something kept him where he was, hiding under the aisle.

Fear. He knew it was fear, plain and simple. Thousands of worst case scenarios came to the forefront of his mind as he watched Nick pace up and down the aisle, and he couldn’t bring himself to step out where he could be seen.

How could he know what Nick would do? How could he guess how Nick would react to…this? How could he be sure he wouldn’t regret it? He liked Nick a lot, he really did, but he’d be putting his life and his well-being in the hands of another person, and there wasn’t a single person he thought he could trust enough to do that with, not right now, now while he felt so…vulnerable. So, he stayed put, and watched Nick sigh and give up, pulling out his phone. It took him a few seconds of muttering to himself before he seemingly remembered something and tapped at his phone a few times. He put it up to his ear and Dream could only watch helplessly as Nick reported everything that had happened to who he could only assume was the 911 operator. He seemed to move past the initial break in pretty quickly, so someone else had already probably called about that, but he listened in on how Nick reportedly “captured” the gunman and how his friend was missing.

It took a lot not to break down then and there as Dream listened to Nick recite everything he knew into the phone. Gunshot in the wall, clothes on the floor, his knife in the side of the assailant, and no sign of him beyond that. He heard tears start to threaten Nick’s voice as he continued and repeated the confusing details, probably at the request of the operator. Dream was sure he’d be on the news by the next morning at the very latest, once the relatively small town learned that the owner of one of the most popular stores in the area was missing. God, when his mom found out he was alive and ok, she’d kill him. He didn’t want to make her worry this much.

…Well, that is, if she ever found out he was alive and ok. He didn’t know if this was temporary, or if it could ever even be reversed, or if he’d just keep shrinking until he disappeared or something horrifying like that. Maybe someone he knew would accidentally step on him or squish him if they didn’t notice him at his new size. Then maybe it would be a good idea for his friends and family to think he mysteriously disappeared, so they couldn’t blame themselves. He tried not to let his thoughts on that particular matter go any farther. Instead he put his focus back on Nick, and saw him make his way into the craft aisle as the operator seemed to take over talking, Nick only responding every once in a while with a nod or a hum. He seemed to be searching the aisles for something, which seemed…odd, given the circumstances.

It was only when Dream heard quiet, almost inaudible voices that Nick turned slightly away from him and towards the noise, apparently having heard it himself. Or maybe he was hearing the operator’s voice and Nick was looking random places and he was losing his mind. He wouldn’t be too surprised after what had just happened. He was already tiny, why not add a little bit of hysteria and insanity on top? Dream watched as Nick started to move some boxes on a higher shelf, and he seemed to find what he was looking for. His eyes went wide as he quickly stuck his phone between his shoulder and head and turned fully to the shelf, lifting both hands high and seemingly taking something.

Dream saw the tears from before start to pour from his eyes as he pulled whatever it was down from the shelf and held it up to his face, and Dream thought he could hear Nick whispering quiet reassurances to it before moving it to one hand and pressing it against his chest and picking the phone back up. He quickly turned his back to Dream as he continued down the aisle, and Dream could only catch a glimpse of…a tail? Did he really see a tail sticking out from Nick’s fingers? Whatever, if Nick had a pet mouse of something in the store, that was none of his business. Not right now, anyway.

As soon as he was sure Nick was far enough away, he walked into the craft aisle, looking around the various strings and fabrics. He sighed and made his way over to their scrap pile, finding himself a long green sheet. Foolish had always made fun of him for wearing predominately bright green, but what could he say, he had a brand. Besides, for the time being, he was stuck like this, and he’d rather not be completely indecent. And after all, this was his store, he knew where the necessities were, all he had to do was survive until this wore off. It was gonna wear off. It had to wear off eventually, he couldn’t spend the rest of his life like this. He didn’t know what he’d do if he could never return to his old life. But that was a thought for a far later, more desperate Dream, because this was only the beginning. He’d start to be concerned at the permanent nature of this if he wasn’t normal again in a few days. He’ll have an existential crisis about how all this happened later. For the time being, he had to stay positive, he couldn’t afford to panic when everything and everyone could so easily kill him. He needed gear, things to hold supplies, someplace to call a base for the time being, he had so much to do. But…not before clothes, those should probably come first.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 5

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Pairing: Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader (Gender neutral) Rating: T for language and mentions/references to an (emotionally) abusive relationship. Mild, brief violence. Warnings: TW for referenced emotional abuse, mild TW for possible physical abuse (sorry, angry Dani is not 100% gentle with people she doesn't love-love) Notes: Music for this chapter here. If you're following this story and really want to continue reading, but worry about the TWs for this chapter, just send me an anonymous message and I'll write up an alternative version of this post. It's not something I would do without it being requested, but it's also not a big deal so don't feel like you're bothering me if you want that. Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Tocatta

Chapter 5: Poco a Poco (Italian: Little by little)

Finding a schedule for lessons to follow proved to be an insurmountable task. Consistency was something that Daniela struggled with greatly, even when it came to things that she genuinely cared about. Things like ensuring you lived long enough to entertain her. Instead of working with you to find a balance that worked for both of you, the youngest Dimitrescu daughter seemed intent on doing things in her own time. Little by little. Which would have been fine, if the two of you weren’t restricted by time.

Fate wasn’t entirely unkind, however. There were still a few things that Daniella recalled from her “youth”, bits and pieces of musical theory, the bare basics of reading sheet music. Not having to teach her proper posture or the structure of a piano would save you a little bit of time. On top of that, you had been informed that, somewhere in the castle, there were a few books of sheet music you could borrow. Assuming you were eventually able to find them, that is. So far they had eluded you, but you hadn’t even had much time to search, as you were still expected to perform your usual Maiden-related tasks.

In the end, it was Daniela herself that proved to be the biggest obstacle in your way.

“Look,” Daniela said one day, barely ten minutes into a lesson, “I think we should take a break… maybe have some fun?” One of her hands is resting on top of yours, the other tucking your hair behind your ear. There’s a smirk on her lips, unsurprisingly, and she’s mere inches away from kissing you. If not for the heavy threat hanging over your head, you would have already thrown yourself into her arms. Instead, all you can do is sigh, turning away from her as you do. “Don’t be like that, sweet thing. C’mon, no one can hear us right now. Might as well enjoy ourselves.”

“Babe. Darling. Buttercup, honey, cute little button on a bear, you are not the brightest bulb in the lighting department,” you replied, holding the bridge of your nose between two fingers. Instantly Daniela is upset, giving you a (thankfully) playful smack on the arm. Before she can protest more you continue speaking. “Your family would not hear us making out, true, but they would definitely hear us not playing the piano. I’m pretty sure your mother already thinks I’m doomed to fail as a teacher, and the last thing I need is to give her a reason to drop the curtains this early into our performance.”

“First of all, I am not an idiot,” Daniela said, a bit of a growl to her voice. “Secondly, what harm can a few minutes really do? Don’t you think I’ve been working hard enough to earn a little reward?” Now she’s holding a finger under your chin, lifting it up, making sure you’re looking right at her. There’s no dissuading her, it seems, as she leans in for a soft kiss. This was one of the more frustrating aspects of dealing with (courting?) her; communication felt like a one-man play, except the audience was as likely to throw knives as rotten tomatoes. Whenever Daniela acted like this, pushing away your concerns in favor of her pleasure, it felt helpless to try and resist her.

So you kissed back, wrapped your arms around her, and hoped that she’d be more open to compromise afterwards. At least kissing her was nice. Even though it had only been a week since you first kissed her, she was already getting better, evidently learning through experience. The passion behind her movements had grown as well, leaving you a tad breathless. Regardless of her odd perception of romance, and her insistence that she knew best, you found yourself charmed by her. It was scary. Terrifying, really, how you felt yourself falling under her spell. Wait. Hadn’t you been in this sort of situation before?... Staying with someone who wasn’t good for you? Why were you kissing her? Why were you starting to tremble, tears in your eyes, mind falling down a slippery slope of memories?

By the time you snap out of it, you’re sitting on the floor, Daniela awkwardly kneeling by your side. What the fuck? You think, sniffling a little. Head spinning, mind reeling, you struggle to form coherent thoughts. Next to you Daniela is unsure of how to help. But she’s trying, sort of, one hand holding your own, the other gently rubbing your back. She’s saying something, the words going right over your head. Understanding her takes times, focus, like tuning an instrument until the pitch is just right.

“I don’t understand, we were only kissing, what happened? Can you even hear me? Is this your way of tricking me into not making out with you? Because that’s a total dick move and-” she rambles, only stopping when you give her hand a soft squeeze. Then she’s meeting your gaze, looking uncomfortable, shoulders tense. “You’ve been weird for a while. Distant. Like you don’t want to touch me anymore. Don’t you still love me?”

There’s real, honest pain in her eyes when she speaks. If the timing had been different… you’d have thrown your arms around her and covered her face in kisses, promising to hold her onto she felt better, promising that yes you cared. You cared so fucking much. But she’s making you exhausted; every second has to be focused on her, not you. Every moment of concern is flipped around until she’s the victim, or at least the one that needs comforting. You didn’t think that she even realized what she was doing. Well, you hoped that she didn’t, wanted to believe that if she understood she’d change.

“Remember the first day we kissed?... how you pulled me close, and I kissed you harder, and we started…. Remember how I made a move and you pushed me away? I’ll never forget the look on your face. I felt like shit afterwards. I should have asked before I tried anything,” you explain, letting go of Daniela’s hand so you could pull your knees to your chest. Somehow you can’t bring yourself to maintain eye contact with her- not right now, not when you could still remember what it felt like to be on her side of this story. “I don’t want to push your boundaries, or make you feel pressured to do something you don’t want to do. The last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you like that.”

“Oh bullshit,” Daniela snarled, shocking you, before getting to her feet. Confusion doesn’t begin to describe how you feel in the moment as you watch her pace back and forth. Both her hands are clenched into fists, and she’s refusing to look at you. There’s a buzzing sound in the room, faint but growing louder, like she’s a split second away from entering swarm mode. “We’re a couple, aren’t we? Shouldn’t you be able to tell what I want? Shouldn’t it be obvious what I desire, when I’m pinning you to the wall and shoving my tongue down your throat? What more do you require?”

“Holy shit, Dani, I know communication isn’t your forte, but have you really not even considered talking to me? That’s simple, easy, literally the first thing that should come to mind!” You snapped, too in disbelief to keep your voice down. For a moment Daniela stops her pacing, turning to stare at you with narrowed eyes. If you weren’t so mad, you’d be convinced she was ready to kill you. But she doesn’t move to grab her sickle, or otherwise advance on you, instead groaning and tugging on her own hair in frustration.

“Because that’s not romantic, genius!” She replied. Some dots start to connect in your mind, but you lack the full context, as if looking at sheet music with no clefs or time signature. It’s not until Daniela continues that you really understand; and, by extension, realize just how ridiculous this whole mess is. “None of the books I’ve read involve conversations like this. People just… they just love each other! And figure it out as they go along, reading each other’s body language and facial expressions, inferring what they need to know through touches and reactions. Why can’t we do that?”

“This isn’t a fucking book, dumbass! I don’t have powers like you, I can’t just read your mind and figure out what you want. That’s not how relationships work! Communication is key. And you can’t just talk, you have to listen, hard, and understand,” you continued, still on the floor, heart pounding so furiously you thought it might leap from your chest at any moment. As angry as you are, you wonder if you’re being too loud, too angry, wonder if there was a better way to get through to Daniela. Before you can think of a solution the air is ripped from your lungs. Your “partner”/student is grabbing you by the front of your shirt, yanking you to your feet. Instinct makes you struggle against her, as useless as it is.

“I. Told. You. I’m not an idiot!” Her free hand comes up to your face, cupping your cheek for a moment, then pulling away just as fast. When it moves back up she’s gripping onto her sickle. The sharp edge ends up resting against your neck, the slightest movement threatening to cut you open. This is the most Daniela has ever openly threatened you, and in that moment all your anger melts back into fear, tears spilling down your cheeks. A flicker of something shows in her eyes, making you think that even she doesn’t like where this is going. “Give me one reason not to end this right now.”

“... I don’t… I can’t think. I… Why would you?” The words leave you in a rush, even with the pauses, and each syllable makes the sickle press into your skin a little more. There’s sure to be a cut there, though you can’t even begin to estimate how bad it is. The blade is sharp, clearly, and it hardly even hurts as it slices you. Thankfully the sensation doesn’t last long. Once you’re done speaking, Daniela’s grip loosens considerably, hand slowly letting your shirt go. Her other hand takes a few seconds to move, but eventually pulls away without any fuss. For a few seconds she just watches you, eyes filled to the brim with a rich sorrow, mouth open but unmoving.

“No lesson tomorrow. I need a break,” Daniela whispers, barely audible. Then she’s dusting herself off, no longer looking at you, and heading towards the exit. Just like the first time you met, she pauses in the doorway. “How’s that for communication, hmm?” When she laughs, it’s empty, forced. Part of you wants to stop her and ask if she’s okay.

Instead, you watch her leave, unspoken words tangling with your tongue until you almost can’t swallow.

Then your feet move, automatically, leading you to the piano. You sit down without thinking. You touch the keys without thinking. When you play, you play without thinking. It’s just a song, the world tells you, and you have no choice but to play. It’s not just a song, you know this, but you can’t think. Can’t argue against the personification of your isolation, or the embodiment of your trauma. All you can do is let yourself get lost in the music, softly, recalling lyrics from a forgotten time.

I’ve been running all my life, trying to find a place to hide ‘Thought that I had settled down, but I guess things are changing now Don’t make me go, don’t make me go Just don’t make me go, this feels like home

As soon as the last note fades out you stand, wordlessly, and leave. Your feet carry you down corridor after corridor, past maidens working, some of whom gasp when they see you. But you don’t stop, not even when you cross paths with Lady Bela, who eyes you with surprising concern. She doesn’t try to stop you, though, and you doubt you would have cared if she had tried. It’s not until you are within your shared room that you finally stop moving. It is there that you sit, shaking, finally pressing a cloth to your neck. Blood stains the fabric, first in just a few dots, then spreading out. There’s not enough to make you fear for your life, but there is enough to make you cry harder. Washing the wound will sting… so you don’t do that. Soon you will have to return to your work, and the thought puts pressure on your skull, summoning an all-too-familiar migraine.

When you close your eyes, you don’t mean to fall asleep, but that is exactly what you do. And when you dream, you do not wish for nightmares. You never do- and fate never denies you their company.