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collar-shocked · 9 hours

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Coming Home

Derek's latest vacation lands him in a position of life or death, in which life seemed ever-escaping. After returning home and recovering, the true weight of his ordeal lands not on him, but on his family.

Authors note: I finally get to include a smidgen of OC into this blog !! Rejoice!! But I also want to elaborate a little bit on Derek's homelife and living situation. Specifically, his siblings, which, technically also count as OC-territory? I don't know. Felt important enough to mention.

Things/Red flags to look out for: Attempted/Implied rape/sexual assault, violence and gore, bodily fluids, vague implied possession.

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The first day is young. There is no more commotion, no more scrambling of feet or heaving of lungs. It seems everyone who has a purpose out here is either hiding from it, or searching for it. Or, in this case, has found and been found by it.

A canteen slams against the sand, the sound of howling laughter following. "Enjoy that one! Gonna need all the nutrients you can get!" Derek zipped himself up, taking one more look at his choice of livestock. A shorter man on the skinnier side- but like, not in the attractive way, in the 'I eat one meal a day and it's a microwavable TV dinner' kind of way. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a weak, pathetic hanging jaw, tongue hung to display his work. The sacrificial lamb, that of which has a name- Bree's eyes found the canteen, resisting the urge to dive for it right now, not wanting to humiliate himself any more than he has already.

His hair was gripped, two almost playful, rough slaps being delivered to his cheek. "Let's see who finds you next." He was then tossed to the coarse ground, left a whiny, breathy mess as Derek hopped on his quad and left the scene. The Frenchman watched as his shape got smaller and smaller, until he finally felt safe enough to move.

Bree lifted his aching body, clothes wetly latching to his skin as the suns rays persisted. His eyes aimed down, looking at the sand directly below him- red and moist, accumulated from the fluids coming from his mouth. His spit. His blood.

And something more.

His stomach began to boil. Becoming dizzy, Bree whimpered and doubled over, retching loudly before a painful shoot released from his stomach and throat, joining the mess already on the ground. God-!! Even the smallest movement of his tongue felt like hell! He felt his eyes swell with tears- No. Do not cry, not now. His attention instead turned to his reward, oh how generous. Giving a small stumble and bend, instant relief filled his core. Oh, it's so cold.. He placed the canteen to the back of his neck, flinching beneath the feeling. He heard somewhere this can cool you down due to the area of circulation. Whether or not it's working, his brain certainly thought it was.

Not that he plans to share. The others in this landscape have made it abundantly clear it's 'me or you.' All that old bastard had to do was keep his mouth shut and Bree wouldn't have been hurt that way. He earned this. Not wanting to stick around for long, he began to move, eventually coming across a large hill to sit atop while enjoying something as simple as water. The sun may have beamed, but the desire to stay away from people outmatched the need to find some shade. Upon opening the bottle, he was.. Incredibly suspicious. Hell no it's not that easy, right? Not from... Scorpion?

..He smelled the water. Nothing. He poured a bit into his palm, examining the color. Seems normal. He brought his hand to his mouth, licking the moistu-

"AAAGH-!!" He jumped back, kicking his feet while slapping a hand over his mouth. How could he forget so soon?! Ice cold water, directly onto his open wound! "I'm such a fucking idiot!!" He shouted messily as blood pooled around his bottom teeth, trying not to use his tongue. Then, he flinched, looking around to make sure he didn't attract any unnecessary attention. Luckily, silence. ...Bree collected himself, eyes finding the cantee- "Shit!!" In his earlier scramble, it had.. Tipped. No, not all of it was gone, but a significant amount of water had been wasted.

It was so gutting. It wasn't just water to him, wasn't just some bottle. It was his sacrifice. His prize for dehumanizing himself at the snap of a finger because he was scared. His canteen now sits at about half full, and honestly?

He's pissed off about it.

Just the kick he needed while he was down. Just the final pluck on his heart-strings provided to make this whole thing feel helpless. Bree wants to go home. Before his cat was left waiting at the door for him. Before his job called over and over and over again. Before his comfort and virginity were threatened.

He wants to go home.

......

...The third day is young. There is no more commotion, no more scrambling of feet or heaving of lungs, for most have already gone out. No one has caught sight of the cavedwellers for quite some time, as Bree, with his trusty sacrificial blade, had made quick work of them. It was on reaction, an unintentional incident! He's not a murderer! He just didn't want to see whatever happen to that boy happen! ...Killing Dragon was.. It.. It was self-defense, it was..

And now, Bree wanders. Shoulders heavy, feet weak, skin burnt, mind gone. He lazily shuffles through the sand, letting his jaw and eyelids hang halfway while desperately clinging to his canteen, long-since-emptied. He's not sure why he kept it for so long. Some kind of trophy, perhaps. He wandered, and wandered, and wandered, anything but staying in the same place for too long. He didn't even know where he was going. In fact..

..He didn't even know.. Where he was.

Bree turned around, seeing exactly what he saw before he turned. This repeated, beginning to spin, expecting any direction would be different at.. Some point. His ears had a very faint and quiet ring in them as this just kept going. Round and round, nothing new, all surroundings looking the same. Round and round, round and round, round and round, round and round, round.. Round. Round.

He's throwing up. By now, the wound upon his tongue was a distant memory. It's either not hurting anymore, or he's forgotten that it does. There was nothing left in his stomach to release, but his body kept trying anyway. Upon a strong retch, his eyes wettened, the last of his bodies moisture- and for some reason, that just.. Initiated a fit.

Bree is so tired. He's so tired, and burnt, and worn, and his brain is spent, and oh so sick, and he's sick of it. He began to cry. Not just cry, but wail. Like a small child getting lost in a store. His legs gave out, knees becoming sore against the rough sand. He's just so angry! He did everything right! He did all he was supposed to!! He got good grades, he got through college, got a decent paying job, eventually afforded his own house and car and bills, and bills and bills and bills! He missed out on so many opportunities in favor of sticking to his "future plans," just to end up where? Here? In some sick fucks sandbox?

He cried. He cried until his ears began to ring louder. He cried until his body was dry and his face ached. Upon taking in a tight inhale, he came to a terrifying realization-

His ears aren't ringing. That sound is very familiar. A roaring engine.. Wheels on sand..

Someone fucking help him.

Bree tried scrambling to his feet, feeling his exhausted muscles fail him. He got a few inches up before tumbling down, groaning deeply as he pushed his shaky elbows into the ground, listening to hyena-like laughter, and the ceasing of the vehicle.

Derek's shoes met the ground, kicking dirt with his steel toe as he trailed close, playfully spinning his pretty shiny bat. "Look who it is!" Chimed in sport, delivering a hard blow to the Frenchman's head, sending blood to the sand. Now his ears were ringing, a firework of pain spreading through his head like roots. He rolled over onto his back, looking up at both Derek and the sun. Or well, simply seeing them both, but not exactly looking. He's still processing the hit... "You look like shit, ha'gh ha ha! Did anyone else end up messing with you?"

Bree couldn't answer. He held his hands up in defense lazily, fearing the worst. Death is a hopeful wish at this point. He's got nothing left to give. ...Almost nothing.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" A warning shout, staring icy-blue daggers into the other. Bree tried to move upon spotting the fast motion, going too slow, being too weak, and instead taking the kick to his ribs, releasing a loud cry. "Baby's got healthy lungs, so why don't you talk?"

"Iii-I- I'm- It-"

"Aaahh-ah-ah-ah THINK about what to say before you say it, day-amn!" Using his bat as a cane, he pressed the thick end into the ground before bending his knees apart in a crouch, keeping his hands above on the handle. He observed the other, head to toe. His gaze felt predatory. Bree shudders. "..Naaahh! You're not THAT bad off. C'mon, shake it off, it's no fun when you're just layin' around."

Look, Bree is trying. Now that he's laying down, he feels so rested. Even his adrenaline can not carry him away. "H-How did you even-?.."

"Find you? I mean, I wouldn't have if you weren't throwing a tantrum. So thanks for that. What was that about, anyway? Finally losing it~?" Derek teased his purchase, tilting his head far to the right with a long, light hum. Bree swallowed dryly in apprehension. This apprehension was met as Derek suddenly moved in, bottom lip sliding beneath his upper teeth while parting his knees over the other mans stomach, releasing his bat to find his belt. Bree began to weakly cry out, using whatever strength he had left to push against his attackers stomach- "Trynna cop a feel? HAHA! Don't worry! You'll get more than enough~."

Bree begins to swell with fear and anger. He's right. This jackass is right.. He's not going to save himself if he focuses on Scorpion. He needs to put his focus elsewhere- on himself. The position they're in is tight, but not impossible. He has some wiggle room between the sand and the others pelvis- but not enough.

Bree is a smart man. That is what Derek has forgotten. The blond lifted himself to lower his pants- flinching as Bree took his opportunity. His victim rolled quick onto his stomach, officially unlocking himself from him- now attempting to crawl away, dragging his fingers and elbows through the sharp, oh so sharp sand. "Ah-ah-aaahh~! Fuck do you think YOU'RE goin'?!" Derek cheered, digging his fingernails into the other mans hips, forcibly pulling his boxers down while keeping him still, unintentionally causing so much more pain. Bree squealed in fright and agony before quickly turning around, and..

He's been blinded.

In a single moment, Bree, with a handful of sand, launched it back into Derek's face. Into his nose. His mouth. His eyes. He howled in pain and scoot back, both hands gripping his face as a late defense. Bree scrambled away to make distance, still being unable to lift his weak knees easily. His body shook. His brain stirred. His stomach boiled and eyes ran dry. He watched Scorpion writhe and panic, wiping his eyes clean as he spit and panted the earths natural weapon away. Another opportunity. Bree begins dragging himself close on his knees, removing the bloodied blade he kept hidden in his underwear.

Derek peeked at the other through a squinted eye, not being able to react before the knife was pushed into his abdomen. As the blade tore through his skin, he froze completely, feeling disgust, pressure, and burning pain wash over him entirely. Bree, still weak and sweaty and clinging to the handle, was not yet satisfied. He twisted the weapon before roughly pulling it out, sending Derek backwards as fresh, warm blood coated his hands- becoming disturbed at the results of his attack. Derek's legs awkwardly folded underneath the rest of his body while a near inhuman sound came from his throat. Bree, knowing he has time, attempted to carry himself away- until he paused.

...Why continue to run?

Bree struggled to his feet, an effort that took over two minutes. Within that time, Derek came to his senses. He's still a lot stronger. He's still a lot better. With a hand to his wound and the other picking grains from his face, he roared in exhausted anger, eventually finding the effort to sit up. Clothes sticking to him, headband halfway off, eyes sore and body butchered- none of this, none of this compared to the panic he felt upon seeing Bree, already so far away, trying to lift a leg over his bike seat. "Hhh-!! Hey!! HEY YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER!!" Bree glanced over with a strange look of calm and continued his efforts. Derek tried scrambling to his feet- being stopped and brought back to his knees by the shocking pain in his stomach. The quads engine began to rumble. "N-NO!!" He cried out to no answer. Within just a few seconds, Bree gave himself whiplash by launching forward, stopping to giggle to himself. "GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT!!"

"You.. You know what?.." Bree chirped, a voice Derek is silently, admittedly soothed by. "I.. I'm bigger than you.." Never mind. The fibbing tease did not come without threat- the bike now shooting forward, full speed. Derek was not fast enough.

The tires met his body within a blink. Dragging him in a brief roll before leaving him in the sand, pooling crimson from his damaged form. There was a crack somewhere. A crack, and a pop, and a scrape. Cheek pressed tightly against the ground, mouth wide open as he breathes in more of this sharp, irritating sand- his eyes watched the vehicle carefully. For a moment, their eyes met from their distance. ..Bree's gaze softened, and he went on his way.

Mercy.

Derek was too mangled to even process the concept of mercy. He laid in the sand, gasping, pulling at parts of his body- too terrified to look. He flung an arm up, a bloodied hand digging into the sand in an attempt to pull himself. He goes nowhere. Panic sets in. Hyperventilation. Forgetting about the humiliation of being beaten and the insecurity of being stolen from, Derek feels all else but panic begin to fade- desperate writhing stiffly for any movement at all.

His teeth grit as the vehicles shape disappears into the distance. He screams out in a shaky, cracked cry, sounding like a distressed wild animal, fingers dragging across the sand in search of something. Anything. A sensation besides heat, and pain, and wet. There is nothing to feel.

Derek's thoughts lulled him into a much needed blank, barren state. What will become of his family after this? Matthew will ultimately become heir, and while that fucking sucks, can he handle it? Will he be able to carry the weight, the title of eldest Goffard kin? What of his even younger brothers and sisters? Who will guide them through? Will his father finally appreciate him for what he was? Is it Derek's passing that will finally unlock the affection that old brute refuses to give? Where will he end up after this? Is Hell really that bad? Is this really it? Alone, mangled, and discarded?

He spent the next few hours hopelessly tossing and turning in damp, clumpy, dark sand. Dragging his own corpse was nothing short of torturous. He didn't get far, but he didn't stay still, keeping him attached to the idea of survival despite the chances. A few times, in his desperate battle to keep awake, he could have sworn he spotted some kind of.. Will-o-the-wisp. Sweet, sick nothings whispered to him- though he could not understand.

He reached for it and collapsed in the sand, losing himself to the blood loss and exhaust.

......

...There is no third night. Blue eyes meet the world in a white, cool room, with buzzing lights and multiple sources of beeping from a distance. A large portion of his body is kept tightly by bandaging and metals beneath the skin, held lock and key by healing stitches. Being hugged by gauze and wrapping, he found his form was also encapsuled by multiple gazes as well, though he could hardly process this at all. Derek guided his sleepy eyes around the room, capturing the wonky figures he recognized as his father, and a stranger. An unfamiliar nurse. His heart thumped against his chest- they are not at home.

Derek shifted his weight in bed, letting out a load, pained groan as muscle strains him from somewhere. He's too high on painkillers to tell. A touch to his arm sent uncomfortable blossoms all through his body, glancing over to see his father pressing his index and middle finger on his arm, using only these to lower him back into a rest on the hard mattress. "How many times is this going to happen?" The older man questioned, receiving some long-winded, nervous ramble from the poor soul in the room with them. Derek couldn't process any of it. He felt sick. He began to try and remember anything, really. The desert came to mind. He's pretty sure Jack found him, he can remember his mask. Or was it? What was it?

...Blue eyes meet the world to a canvas of grey, and a bouncy resting place. Derek is in the backseat of a car now. He released a loud grumble and raised a fake feeling arm and hand to hold his forehead, catching the drivers, and his fathers, who sits in the passenger seat, attention. Sharp, icy, dagger-like hues met his tired frame. "There you are!" He started, "What have you done to yourself?! I let you out for one day, and you come back a slab of meat!"

"I'm.. Sick."

"Yes you are! Very! At least you're smart enough to agree on that!" The old man continued to scold. In Derek's intense eyeroll, the noise and the words began to fuse and mix, as if twisting together. Derek's boiling stomach kept him busy, focusing on not losing whatever his lunch may be in the back of this car.

...Blue eyes meet the world in a warm toned, comfortable room, with a spinning fan above his bed. He dozed off again... This time, he is at home, safe in his bedroom. The sun is young, and Derek's mind is much more coherent- though the grogginess has not left him. His body hurts. His stomach feels empty and sickly. He feels weak. The humming of the fan and loneliness of the room is enough to cast the spell of sleep on him once again, even if he truly tried to fight it this time.

...A click.

The moon is now beaming against the dark sky. Derek, previously fast asleep, is listening to the chilling sound of his door opening carefully, followed by a creaky floorboard. His brow tilted in frustration, holding in his grumble for the sake of the hunt- catching them in the act. It's not uncommon for his siblings, or servants, to creep into his quarters to see what consumables or valuables he's left laying around. He just.. Can't believe they'd try it while he's down and vulnerable this way. It's disgusting... Especially now that he ponders- how long has he been asleep? How many times has this happened in his rest? With a grit of his teeth, he's decided it wont happen a single time more.

"Nice try, asshole." It came out groggy and lazy, not nearly as cool as he wanted it to sound. All movement ceased as he painfully rolled over to face them, spotting the shape of his youngest brother, standing at only the age of 14. Really? Him? He's a bit gutted. "I moved my stash like, last month."

The room was silent with pride as Derek, metaphorically, pat his own back. Caught him. His smirk hidden by the rooms darkness was interrupted, however, as something.. Unexpected happened.

A sniffle.

Derek groaned, beginning to push against the bed to sit up. It was a struggle, but one given time by his company. Squinting through the shadows, he could see the light through the window brush against his brothers cheek- reflecting off the wetness of his face. Pride and offense turned to quiet worry. "...It's not a big deal, okay? Everyone tries it."

"A-Ah-" The child, Val, short for Valentine, tried to speak, disregarding the others attempt at comfort. His hands pulled and picked nervously at his shirt, and his eyes were anywhere but on Derek. "I-I know we fight a lot," A sharp, loud, shaking inhale. "but I don't wan-nt you to die-" Both sleeves are brought up to wipe at his face, a hushed cry being uncontrollable.

Derek watched in utter emotional distress. What a sad little guy. He ran a hand through his hair and grumbled uncomfortably, trying to collect the right words- but first, one thing must be handled. "Hey." For once, softness. "Hey, hey, c'mon.. Don't do that. You know how dad feels about that." He reached a hand out, tugging at the others sleeve, making him remove his arms from his tearing eyes. The poor thing was in shambles.

His brother continued to sniff in. Just when they thought he was okay, his throat began to whistle once more, rocking himself from his toes to his heels while trying to cease his crying. Derek gave him time. "I tried not to but-" A wet cough. "-I couldn't hold it."

"Just try not to again, alright?" He speaks from experience. Men don't cry. Things go wrong if they do. Derek puffed a long-breath out of his teeth, rolling his eyes before patting his bed- an invitation his sibling very quickly took. He scooted himself up, pulling his knees to his chest to bury his face into. Derek delivered a few weak pats to his back. "Look.. Were you that freaked out?"

"Yeah-!" Their gazes suddenly met. "They ha-ad wires everywhere, and everyone was loud, and they wou-ouldn't let us take you home-" More and more waterworks. The pats on the boys back had eventually turned to firm rubbing- affection he leaned into.

"Hey, come on, dude. Do you really think I would die out there? Me?" He offered a shit-eating-grin, one filled with false confidence. "Had a bad run. Win some, lose some, but c'mon.. I'm not gonna die. Too good for that.." Despite his snicker, he could tell he was unconvincing. With an anxious, shaky breath inward, Derek decided to drop the act. Can't cool-guy you're way through every situation. He let out an annoyed sigh and quickly traced his tongue along his lips, leaning back with a flinch before repositioning his seating- getting comfortable. "Look... It was a close call. I know. But I wouldn't let myself go knowing you're not ready for that, okay? Okay?"

That was a little more convincing. Val began to nod slowly, sniffing and shuddering in his seat. They're not the most affectionate family, but this really reminded him how much he wants to be. The boy carefully scooted and leaned over, taking his eldest brother in for a hug- something uncommon in this household. He was unaware of how much agony Derek was in because of this, and the man never intended to make it known. He likes hugs, too. "Okay.."

Almost a full minute had gone by before they moved away. Val's hair was ruffled in a slap-like motion. "There we go! Have a lil' faith in me, yeah? I wouldn't do that to you guys." Small chuckles now hogged the air. Now.. He really shouldn't. But the kid's upset. "..'Ey, you want a brownie?"

"What?"

"You want a brownie? Can only have one, but I'm feeling generous tonight. Not sure why." Snickers and giggles from both followed. Val shyly nodded, keeping his head down, as if they could get in trouble any moment. "Sweet. Closet, bottom left corner, gotta move my shit."

Val went seeking. Upon finding the discreet brownie-box, he trailed back to his older sibling with a gasp. "You actually have these? Dad lets you keep food in your room?"

Laughter was quick to strike, something Derek immediately regretted, pressing a hand firm into his side. Still such an innocent little thing.. "No.. That's why you can't tell, 'kay?"

"Okay..." He retook his seat before opening the box. They smelled different, but were presented beautifully. "..Only one?"

"Only one."

"Why?"

"You'll start seein' shit if you have any more."

"Oh.. Why?"

"God damn dude! Just eat the brownie!"

In goes the brownie. The two share their incredibly rare, special moment before Derek forces himself out of bed, using slow and careful steps to walk Val back to his own room in their large estate. He doesn't trust the staff. The boy couldn't help but to reach for his hand- not that he succeeded in full. Instead, Val grabbed onto Derek's index and middle finger, something that came as a surprise, but not a bother. Entering his siblings rooms is always a treat- rooms he never occupies. He gets to see what kind of people they are when inside, and this room screams youth and innocence. It was fun! Toys left out, walls decorated with video game memorabilia, drawings taped to the wall, dirty clothes pile in the corner- a true kids room. It was nice to see Val is still allowed to enjoy it.

He stayed in that room. He stayed until he was sure the little guy was back in bed and sleeping. It's the first time Val was able to fall asleep under a protective guardians supervision- something he needed. Derek soon moves on, making sure to shut the door with a hushed click before limping himself to the patio. He's been inside for.. However long. He's been trapped in sleep for days, possibly even longer- some fresh air would be nice... His body feels stiff and sore, and each step carries weight and ache, but the moon and stars and wind will be so worth it. This is something he never thought to appreciate before. Something so simple like air.

Derek leaned his hands against a chair and let his shoulders ease, exhaling slowly and deeply. His eyes scanned the distance. The moving vehicles, the busy town, the lights still blooming in every business- a strange green flickering from a pin-prick sized window sending chills across his skin. He took his sweet time to himself. Just... Thinking.

...Whatever happened to Bree, anyway?

Whatever happened to his quad?

#//i feel like i rushed this rly bad at the end but #//OH WELL.#//BEEN PICKING AT THIS FOR SOME TIME. JUST WANTED IT DONE FDNJFGIGFD #Big Fic Energy #//new fic tag please enjoy it #Muse:#D E R E K #//THX TO MY FRIEND FOR HELPING NAME THE SIB <3

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collar-shocked · 12 hours

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It’s me again, uhh what would strade do if one of his captives/victims/etc was actually a huge masochist who loves everything he does to them and doesn’t try to hide that they enjoy being in pain

(Im not projecting I’m not projecting I’m not projecting I’m not-)

I think that would be one of the most interesting results for the big guy.

Actually find him surprised once his victim gives in and nods and agrees to things he threatens. At first he’s a bit disappointed, really wanted to see someone kick and scream- however, Strade is quick to recognize the potential. And it’s.. Strangely healing. He often likes to pretend he and his “partners” are having a good time together just to see them react to such a claim- but to actually be having a good time? To find somebody who gets it? Agrees wholeheartedly when he calls them a piece of meat or punching bag? It’s nice. And really, really exciting.

Catch him breathing hot before any serious damage is done. Their eyes keep meeting, as if asking for validation from each other, and every time he gets it his cheeks get a little warmer. Their smiles and tears and cries of delight are quick to make them the next movie star, but not entirely for the purpose of filming- but to find what makes them tick outside of pain, since that’s on the board. They get to sit there and play with pins for the lenses while he satisfies himself at a distance they can not reach. Loves the distress upon their face when realizing he’s finishing up, and they will get none. This is a pattern that continues until the inevitable day he can not control himself and forcibly takes them- though I’m sure this is not an issue.

And if not fear for themselves, I’m positive he’d keep them long enough to see an extra join them. They’ve no problem hurting themselves, but what about others? An event that, had the pain-enjoyer gone through with it, becomes his fucking favorite porno.

But aside from him being a fucking weirdo, I feel like this would make him become attached on an emotional level. They’re special. He has never come across someone like this before. Someone who thanks him for the blade. Their treatment gets SO much better after the first session of violence- being kicked awake, he loves doing that, but receiving lots of hair-ruffles, extra food and water, light hearted conversation, and things he would not allow for previous captives. “Too tight? I thought you liked that~? Naaahh, c’mere..” Not exactly anything romantic, but he does think they’re cute, and very very precious. Might even be able to spend a day in the house above after a few sessions before he comes to a decision on that pretty shiny collar.

#//I HOPE THIS WAS SATISFACTORY #NSFW Warning #Muse #Muse Notes #HCs #Headcanons

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collar-shocked · 20 hours

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could you perhaps do headcanons for how lawrence would react if he walked past someone that somehow peaked his interest on a late night walk?

BUCKLE UP.

It really depends on the kind of person he is passing. If his interest is simply peaked, he'll do his best to get a whiff upon passing them, as well as see how many details on their being he can spot before they part ways. As they head their way, he will peer at them from over his shoulder and brood, feeling regretful for not stopping them. He walks home the rest of the way angry.

But, what if he does muster up the courage to stop them? They're passing by fast, so it's never clean. It's always a grab of their arm. It's always a weird sound replacing a "Hey" or a "Can we talk?". It's always intense staring as they pass by. Sometimes he'll step in front of them, bearing his most charming smile- one revealing gums and pulled lip-corners. Sometimes he'll simply wave, and feel content, if not unspeakably happy upon a wave back.

But, what if he finds them really interesting? He becomes both the greatest liar, and the most honest he's ever been. A smaller, cute person coming his way? He will stop their tracks just to tell them so. That they are cute. Nearly expressionless, but very sincere in his language. This is the bait. From this point, he does all he can to keep them talking. Coax them into a handshake, one that is very sweaty and long-winded, as he wants to soak up each and every wrinkle upon their hand. Wants, needs to obtain them, passively. But is more than willing to get forceful if he must.

If they are bigger, and intimidating? Well, then he is "losing his footing" just as their scents meet. Practically throwing himself against the poor fool, just to touch and feel and be felt by them- an awkward, embarrassing, delicious opener to what may be a lovely conversation. Oh, to have someone care about him like that. To ask if he's okay, to check on him, to make him feel special like that.. Surely this was a meeting meant to happen. They're just so considerate 💙

Other times, if they're too pretty or too charming, he will withdraw and shy away. Cross the street so he doesn't have to pass them, but he does watch them from his new distance. And sometimes, he will feel attached to them just because he finds them interesting. The vibe he picks up can be just centered enough for him to feel comfortable- like, had someone present themselves in a way he can enjoy. He'd stop them just to show off the silly trinkets in his pockets, if they let him. The validation is nice once they give him the thumbs up he's looking for.

And sometimes he can't help but to turn around as they pass him by. He can't help but follow their shadow, keep on their scent- discover where they nest from afar. Check back regularly. Take routes and paths that would guarantee their continuous meetings, until all that's left in their place is a splat upon the concrete, and a very dizzy man questioning why he got so angry so fast after such a delicate, soft rejection. They didn't deserve that. But neither did he.

#Muse #Muse HCs #HCs #Headcanons #//I LOVE LAWLAW HES SUCH A FREAK

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collar-shocked · 20 hours

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REN HEAD CANINS PLEASS PLEASS PLEASS PLEASS

//ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE MY LOVE

Ren had very little after leaving home, Including language. It was very difficult to learn after being thrust into a whole new environment, but he eventually did with the help of some quiet friends he met in niche spaces. These friends had also allowed him to crash at their homes during his low-points, and even introduced him to anime, an interest that would never leave him from that point on.

Ren decided to stay in Canada because it was one of the very few places he was able to see in his movies at home, and thought it looked very beautiful and comfortable, though he did not intentionally arrive. He simply went wherever the wind (free rides abord private/cargo transportation) would take him. His movie portrayed it a lot differently than it was, but that's stereotyping/little research done for you.

He was incredibly sheltered as a child- and for good reason. He was the only "successful" offspring his mother managed to have. Because of this, he is very ignorant to a lot of the world and how things work. This has, however, given him the trait of silly-little-learner. He LOVES learning new things and expanding his horizons. He keeps a little note-stash of things his "roommate" says as a result. Not just in his native tongue, in which Ren does his best to write down accurately and fails, but sayings, words, and phrases he's never heard before. It's like a little puzzle to decipher what they mean! "No skin off my bones"- is that a literal statement? "Charcuterie board"- a word he mistakes for German, absolutely spelled Sharcootery. This is a hobby he carries with him even into his 40's! It's one of the reasons he was attracted to Lawrence at all, with how new and different he seemed. Used words he never heard before. Did things he never saw before.

Speaking of Lawrence.. He did hold affection for him, even at the time of the slaughter shared between himself and MC. He convinced himself that he was harder and colder than he is, and that Law was a tool, or a potential pet, and that's all he was meant to be- but Ren's heart is far too big for that. Lawrence was his friend. His first genuine, real friend after he was freed. He misses watching his phone light up at 4 AM. He misses having someone to keep him company online. He misses sending and receiving the weirdest ass memes that nobody else would get. He misses their silly inside jokes that nobody else would get. He misses him a lot.

Ren gets DOWN to Foo Fighters and Radiohead. (As well as The Hush Sound, but not so much after Lawrence's "unfortunate passing." They remind him of what he's lost.)

Ren can draw really well! Though he mainly doodles for fun. He gets a good sense of normalcy from social media accounts he runs dedicated to these doodles, but even so, even that audience can tell he's a bit.. Interesting, by the way he speaks and words he says.

Ren has tried multiple times to give up his blood-soaked lifestyle. In fact, he never really stops trying. It's not often, but he always rounds back to the desire to disconnect from what he knows for the sake of self-perseverance. Sometimes he goes weeks, maybe even months without indulging in some kind of gore or snuff- but it always comes back around. The need for violence has been written in his veins since his birth. Strade was simply too blind and egotistical to see he wasn't the one to put it there. Such potential, lost to the wind.

Had Ren ever been paired with a beast-kin who clashes with his own animalistic biology, a predator animal with a prey, to say, he would have a very hard time keeping to himself. Their scent is enough to draw him in, and all he can do is stare at their warm, blood-plump neck.

He is obsessive in his company. He doesn't know what normal, healthy relationships look like, so he doesn't bother to keep them. If you're someone to enjoy, he kind of treats you like a fave. Draws fanart of you. Will write HC's and ask if he's accurate. Asks if he can be accurate. This doesn't mean he can't learn to be healthy, though.

Despite retaining almost none of his original tongue after fleeing from home, something he has always kept, unintentionally, were some lullabies. "Nene Cororiyo" specifically is a real ear-worm when he's bored.

Ren is the greatest ride-or-die you will ever encounter. The greatest yes-man you can have. The greatest ass-kisser you will ever come across. If you jump off a bridge, he's not just following you, but he's doing a flip.

Ren in his 40's is who Ren in his 20's thought he was. It was also around his 30's that he came to the realization that, that is who Strade was not, and never was. After that point, realizing the scariest thing in his life was actually a little bitch, he evolved into who we see as Fox. He would not only never be hurt that way again, but he will be worse.

He is highly emotional and proud of it. He cries often, and barks his laughter loudly, and is very generous with his hand-gestures when telling stories. He is unapologetically emotional and believes many men should let go of the embarrassment and do a better job to normalize this for themselves.

Ren hates what he looks like when hiding his ears and tail. Not because he's dysphoric or because his reflection looks different, but because he doesn't have human ears to compensate and looks stupid as a result. He is forever bound to a bob until he can get it figured out. (He never figures it out. He just waits 'til beast-kins are more "public friendly.")

Ren's favorite kind of toy to play with is a yo-yo, and he's damn good at it. He just keeps on yo'ing.

Ren's other kind of favorite toy is a basic fleshlight. One with a grip. He may be small in stature, but he's got strong hips- resulting in him needing a replacement every so often.

#//SOME OF THESE ARE RANDOM BUT IM TIRED AND JUST WANTED TO WRITE AND WRITE AND WRITE #//HOPE U ENJOY #Muse #Muse Notes #HCs #Headcanons

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collar-shocked · 1 day

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What would happen if Strade became interested with a neighbor? He clearly can’t just go for them, Would he control himself for once?

To become infatuated with someone he lives near is to fall into a muted obsession. It starts healthy, if that's not silly to say. He loves their figure. Their smile is nice. Their laugh is a real chirp. Loves getting talks in with them if he can, loves to learn more- get closer. He's smart enough to keep his distance, to keep his hands to himself, but with his inability to hold himself back... It's hard to say if it would stay that way forever.

It's almost like a silly little crush! They're always a gem to run into. Always a doll to chat up. Always a doe to spot but not interact with. To watch. To analyze. He almost likes the pining more than he does the end result, as it makes his every day life away from home much more entertaining! That pinch in his tummy and those butterflies in his joints coming to play even without a weapon in his hand, or intent on the mind. Someone he sees as already his possession. They already live so close, they're already polite and give him at least a nod when passing by, he already has them in his life, so...

I believe if he ever decided to scoop them up, it would be opportunistic. Each factor depending on his mood, the amount of people around, how quiet he could do it, where they are, etc. One night he could be in a good mood, and they could need a ride- and so, miraculously, they end up safe at home. Another they could be preferring the walk, but he's had a hard week, so it's at knife-point they're forced into the passenger seat.

All depends on the day, I guess.

#//but my man LOVES the pining let me make that clear <<33 #//his silliest game. loves getting all giddy cause he sees them at the same store and just NEEDS to say hi #HC's #Headcanons #Muse #Muse Notes

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collar-shocked · 2 days

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I wanna hear about those strade hc’s (if you haven’t done a post already)

//STRADE TIME?!?! YIPPEEEEEE!!! (obviously, some warnings for this one. gets kinda nasty at the end, kinda fine-line near the midway, etc. normal strade stuff.)

Strade is a monster hidden among the public. The keyword is hidden. He's a totally normal man outside of his home. While he's ending peoples lives, he's simultaneously saving peoples days, whether it be taking on a neighbors flickering porch light just for the challenge, or stopping on a grocery trip to get something off the top shelf for a shortie- he does what he wants. And sometimes, he wants to feel like a good person, too. It brings him a sense of power, knowing to some, he'll simply be a kind man who helped out once- and to others, he will be an unspeakable creature.

Strade is a very educated, calculated, smart man. But he isn't very intelligent. Keeping people in loose binds around mountains of sharp, dangerous tools isn't the smartest idea, but he's too proud to see anything wrong with it. His air alone usually keeps his victims in check, and therefor, he hasn't given himself an opportunity to see how this could be... Not very smart? It's worked so far, so he never changed his routine. Shouldn't have left the screwdriver down there, bud.

He never excuses his behavior. He knows exactly what he is and accepts it. Loves it, even. He never denies the animal he is. And though he never feels self-conscious about it, or carries regret and or remorse, or would ever, ever apologize- it still messes with his head sometimes, in other ways. Reminds him of his own mortality. Reinforces his ego. Oh, poor poor Strade, woe is he, why do these thoughts have to plague him?

Strade does what he wants, when he wants. This means he falls into the very rare phase of wanting to be better. Specifically, towards Ren. He's a good sport. Makes him happy. Sometimes Strade likes making him happy, too. There's no better praise to be had than from the one person who depends on you entirely. To hear he's good, to hear he's so generous, so kind, so beloved- the validation is always unmatched. Every good dog deserves a treat once in a while. His dog just so happens to enjoy those and'knee-may figurines. All the soft pets, warm cuddles, nice words, and vanilla sex only lasts for so long, however. He falls out of these phases quick- though, poor Ren has no idea when it'll happen. He is easily coaxed into traps because of this.

Strade would like to be a content creator someday. NO, not one wrapped up in his unusual hobby, he's already pretty popular in those spaces. But sometimes he wishes he could turn on that stream and just talk. Just have some normal company made up of people who get it to hangout with while getting some household chores done. He does sometimes feel used, the way his audience only wants him to get on with the gutting. Strade is just a man at the end of the day, and all men get lonely.

He doesn't see people any differently than they are. He's aware they're people. Not livestock, not an art project, not a soul to release, not something to dabble with- just people. He sees no spiritual potential in a specific person when he selects his next victim, it's just.. Whoever seems easiest. Whoever seems cute enough for an audience. Whoever looks most lost. With this veiled experience under his belt, he can easily spot a predator in public. And believe it or not- he does his best to come in between a potential danger and their victim of choice. He's protective of his work, but aside from that, he also likes being an asshole. He can read those intentions. He knows how delicious those kinds of evil games are. He loves being able to take that away. Loves being a beacon for a helpless little lamb, all because they're not his first choice.

Strade is considered a good, friendly neighbor! He gets along well with the people he lives next to, does a lot of favors, is nice to the kids running up and down the block- Offers to fix shit for free, offers rides if the distance is short enough, stops to chat when seeing a familiar face- the usual good-guy routine. But he never lets them close enough to know him. He's just a guy with a nice smile and good attitude. In a lot of his deeds, however, small hints and red flags are laced through his behavior, and venom can be found in his words. Putting your hand on a neighbors knee while they're in your car, at your mercy, is kind of a weird thing to do. He loves the way people are always slightly off-put, but since he's so nice, they'd rather be polite and take it.

Strade will often play up his accent in public as a minor safety net, had anyone ever call him out on something weird he said. Can always excuse it as just a slip of foreign tongue.

He makes up a different story for each time he's asked about the scar on his face.

His first few incidents occurred when he was still pretty young. He really did try desperately, at the time, to stray from these acts- but at some point he just accepted the fact that he's kind of weird, and he will keep hurting people. There's no point in beating himself up over it every single time. So now, his low moments are restricted to ending people he became particularly attached to. Note, he isn't sad their life was cut short, he's sad they're not around to play with anymore.

Only Ren could tell you how Strade sounds while singing. He has a lovely humming voice. A very silky, low tone with a bit of gruff as he occupies himself. Anything that's not humming is.. Well, he's having fun!

Strade has his morals in order, funnily enough. Again, he knows the monster he is- doesn't mean he can't be a decent person when being a person. He would absolutely punch a terf. He would also not hesitate to become one if he knew it bothered or distressed a victim, but that doesn't mean he means it. This rule applies for literally anything.

Strade's ego and pride is such a big part of him. However, despite it being rarer than rare, he can, and sometimes does feel shame. Shocker, I know. But had anyone, anyone, even his fox find out about his interest in Sounding, it would be over. He penetrates. He does not get penetrated. Makes him feel weak, and small. But he likes it, and lord knows he can't stop doing anything he likes. (Bonus: Ren knows. He's just afraid of what may happen if Strade knows he knows. He "cleans" the toy for him in his absence as a filter, instead of taking it up with him.)

//I THINK I GOT IT ALL OUT. THANK U, I HOPE U ENJOY.

#Headcanons'#HCs #Muse #Muse Notes

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