#past child abuse mention

[obsidiancreates]

Henry Spencer Is A Bastard (With A Broken Nose)

Shawn and Jules have been living together for two weeks when Jules storms into the precinct, grabs Lassiter by the arm, and drags him into the interrogation room.

“O’Hara, what the hell is-”

“You’ve spent time alone with Henry,” she says, sitting Lassiter in the suspect chair. “What was he like?”

“What?”

“This is important, Carlton.”

Lassiter sighs, looking around the room for a moment before answering. “Unpleasant and judgemental. He had every quality of a great cop but none of an actual person I’d spend time with.”

“Which for you is saying something,” Jules mumbles, looking to the side. “Would-would you say you think he’s capable of intentional child endangerment or neglect?”

Lassiter sits up more. “What? O’Hara, what is this about?”

Jules takes a deep breath, looking down at her hands. “I was helping Shawn get some stuff from his old room, and we found an old journal from when he was a kid.It was mostly just doodles and half-finished homework, and he said to just throw it away, but… I kept it. I thought it was cute, to be able to look at what went through his brain as a kid.”

“O’Hara. If you’re alleging what I think-”

“I read more later while he was out with Gus and one of the pages was a failed writing assignment. He was supposed to write about what he did over the weekend and he wrote that his dad locked him a trunk and made him pretend to be kidnapped.”

Lassiter lets out a breath. “Okay. But you and I both know Spencer’s imagination-”

“Carlton, remember the kicked-out tailight? When he got shot?”

“O’Hara, I was with Henry through that whole investigation, and I don’t think I can say that the man I investigated with would purposefully hurt or neglect his son. He was like a machine through the whole thing.”

“There was more, though, Carlton. One of the assignments was to write about how they spent Easter and Shawn’s said he got cut on some glass trying to dig up his eggs. He drew a picture, it-”

She pulls out her phone and hands it to her partner. Lassiter looks at a crude drawing of a small stick figure on it’s hands and knees, overly-large shards on the ground in front of it, and an egg a good few lines below it. There’s a taller stick figure behind the small one, with a wide-open mouth and the words ‘You can do better, Shawn,’ written beside it.

The teacher’s note on the side says that Shawn needs to stop making up stories for assignments about his real life.

Lassiter hands the phone back. “O’Hara…”

Jules sits back in her chair a bit, the tension giving way to a slumped tiredness. “I know they’ve never had an… easy relationship, but Henry has always been so present, ever since we’ve known Shawn. I thought that was a good thing and Shawn’s discomfort was just Shawn being… Shawn.” She looks down at her hand in guilt. “What if I completely missed that he has reason, Carlton?”

Lassiter grabs one of Jules’s hands. “O’Hara, Henry Spencer is a bitter, unlikeable, and overbearing old man- but I really don’t think he’s capable of child abuse.”

Jules holds his hand back and gives it a squeeze. “I just… don’t know how to ask Shawn if these are real. He’s not exactly forthcoming about messy emotions and memories.”

Lassiter nods, and then blinks. “So let’s ask Guster. They’ve been stuck together like flies on a flytrap forever.”

Jules shakes her head. “If Shawn isn’t going to say anything, I really don’t think Gus will.”

“Well, you can either ask Guster if these are real, or you can worry about it forever and never get any answers.” Lassiter knows his partner well enough to know that’s unacceptable to her.

She gives his hand one more squeeze. “I’m just worried. Henry works here. He’s in charge of Shawn.”

“And I’m sure that when we talk to Guster about all this, we’ll learn that Spencer was just exaggerating like he always does.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gus reads the page with wide eyes. “Wait, he was serious about that?”

Lassiter stifles the urge to shout ‘Come on!’ when he hears Jules suck in a breath.

“You mean you knew about this already?”

“I mean, Shawn told me once that he liked Easter at my house way more because there was no ‘manhunt training’, but I thought he just meant something like when his dad would have him stakeout their porch.”

“He what?”

“It, sounds worse than it is. … I think.” Gus looks down at the old notebook again. “I thought. … I mean, Henry was always a little intense. When Shawn and I were boyscouts he used to set up challenges that were impossible to win, and then make us feel bad for not winning.”

“What do you mean, impossible to win?” Lassiter is starting to get concerned now. Shawn’s incessant need to show everyone up has been a pain in his ass for years, and if Henry reinforced that grating attitude and now acts like he tried to quell it-

“Stuff like telling us to go find a rocket in the middle of the woods and then going and grabbing it himself. He used to promise us ice cream if we won, then say he’d eat it himself if we didn’t win next time.” Gus’s face pinches the more he talks about the memories. “Gosh, I haven’t thought about that in years. I guess I didn’t realize how messed up that is until I said it out loud.”

“It’s horrible,” Jules says.

“But not criminal,” Lassiter reminds her. “And as… weird and dangerous as the eggs thing is, that’s not criminal either. … I think.”

“What about the trunk, Carlton?”

“... Yeah, that part’s looking pretty bad.”

Gus shuts the notebook. “We need to talk to Shawn about this. I don’t know if I’m even remembering right, but I know he will.”

“He’d never open up about something like this,” Jules says, gesturing to the notebook and letting her arms drop back to her sides with a flop. “He barely tells me about his childhood at all.”

“Well I was there for most of it, and I need to make sure I didn’t miss some serious abuse going down for our entire lives. Do you know how many times I’ve defended his dad to him, Juliet? … Oh my god, on that same boyscout trip with the rocket, he told me his dad had never said he loved him!”

Lassiter doesn’t need to look at Jules to know she’s probably seething with the rage of the entire underworld- if he believed in such a thing. 

Henry better hope they find out it’s not as bad as it’s seeming.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Shawn gets home, Jules, Lassiter, and Gus are all sitting on the couch looking somber. Well, Jules and Gus look somber. Lassiter looks mildly offput.

“Guys! What’s all this, are we having some kinda surprise party?” Shawn looks around for decorations, but there’s nothing. He looks back with excitement. “Is it a case? A big one?”

“Shawn, sit down, we need to ask you about something.” Jules gestures for him to take a seat on a different chair.

“Uh-oh. That’s not your happy voice.” Shawn sits down and leans forward. “Hey, babe, what’s wrong?”

Jules takes a deep breath, and pulls out the notebook. Shawn looks at it. “Oh, that? Please don’t tell me that my drawing skills when I was eight are a dealbreaker.”

“Shawn, did Henry…” Jules falters. Shawn’s expression… 

It doesn’t harden, per say. It just… shifts. Becomes a little closed-off.

“Spencer, did Henry actually make you dig through broken glass to find ridiculous holiday candy?” Lassiter says, offering Jules his hand for support. She takes it.

Shawn’s mouth quirks up in the corner, a huff-laugh escaping him. His eyes aren’t as amused, a dark look in them. “What? How-how’d you know about that?”

“Oh my god.” Gus looks sick.

“Guys, seriously, what is this?” Shawn reaches out and snatches the notebook, flipping through it. Fast at first, and then slower. The slight smirk disappears completely, and Jules and Gus know that habit of sticking his tongue over his teeth means Shawn is not in a good emotional space whatsoever as he reads.

He closes the notebook and tosses it onto the coffee table, sitting back into the chair and sniffling. “It’s uh- it’s nothing.”

“Dude, that is not nothing. I thought you were making that stuff up when we were kids!”

“What? Why would I make that up?” That just seems to confuse Shawn.

“Because you were always making things up!”

“Not about my dad! You were like, the one person I could talk about him with! You thought I was lying about everything the whole time?” Now he looks hurt. 

“Not everything, but crazy stuff like him locking you in a trunk in the middle of a hot day and putting broken glass over your eggs, yeah! Oh my go- this makes me look back on everything I know in a completely different light, Shawn!”

“Okay, you can’t actually be this surprised, Gus. I mean, you were at my house all the time, you know how he was. We couldn’t even play hide-and-seek without me getting a lecture about hunting perps the right way.” The bitterness in his voice is familiar to his friends, the way he keeps from meeting their eyes, the arms crossed over his chest and tense body language. It’s not that they’ve never seen him like this. But they’ve never seen him like this and truly understood it. Even Gus.

Gus, who looks increasingly horrified as he thinks back on more and more memories. “When we were really little and you told me your dad would throw you out for reading comics, were you serious?”

Shawn scoffs a little. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Did he actually ban them?”

“... Yeah. That part he did. He said they made cops look bad.”

“Good god, Spencer, you’re talking like everything in your house was about cops twenty-four-seven.”

“Gee, Lassie, I wonder why. You’ve met my dad, right?”

“But you’re talking like he expected you to be a perfect cop from the second you were born.”

Shawn goes silent. He still won’t look at any of them.

“Oh, my god.” Jules reaches out to put a hand on Shawn’s knee. “Shawn, did he expect that?”

“... Look, guys, it’s… it’s done, alright? It is what it is, and… I’ve accepted that, and I’m working on making things work with my dad. I don’t… I don’t need this. Okay? I don’t want to think about it and get all…” He huffs. “Last time I thought a little too hard about all this stuff I ended up on my motorcycle with nowhere to go, and-and I don’t want to do that again, alright?”

“Shawn, this is important. We’re all working with Henry constantly, watching how he treats you, and this changes how some of that looks.”

“How?” Shawn finally looks at Jules, right in the eyes. “How does this change anything? He’s the same person, Jules. He-he’s controlling, and-and expects way too much, and is disappointed in me. That’s not different now just because you know he went overboard with stuff when I was a kid.”

Lassiter lets out a deep breath. He’d really… really been hoping this wouldn’t be the case. “How overboard, Spencer?”

Shawn looks at Lassie, and then clicks his tongue and looks away again. “Not in that way, man. He never hit me or anything.”

“So what did he do?”

“Why is this an interrogation?” Shawn stands up, pulling away from Jules’s outstretched hand. “This is stuff for me, and my dad to hash out, okay? Just me and him.”

“Did your mom know about this stuff?” Gus asks. 

The mention of his mom seems to make Shawn shut down even more. “Now this is really over.” He walks away, and pauses for just one second to turn around and say, “Don’t- don’t go my dad about all this. I don’t want…”

“... Don’t want what, Shawn?” Jules’s voice is soft and careful.

Shawn doesn’t seem to be able to find the end of the thought. He just shakes his head and walks back out the door.

The three sit in silence for a minute. Jules has tears in her eyes. Gus looks almost shellshocked.

Lassiter stands up. “Alright, I’m officially taking lead on this case.” He looks down at his partner. “O’Hara, find out who in the precinct knew Henry well and still works there. We’ll interview anyone who he might’ve talked to his son about, see if we can dig up any leads there.”

“Whoa, Shawn just said he didn’t want his dad finding out we’re asking about all this, and we just learned he’s way worse than we thought,” Gus says, standing up too. “We can’t start poking around the precinct, because in case you forgot Lassie, he works there!”

“Part-time.”

“He’ll know something is up.”

“Please. I think I know how to run a discreet investigation, Guster.”

“Could you hide something like that from Shawn?”

“... Of course.”

“No, you couldn’t, and if you can’t hide it from Shawn it’s a safe bet that you can’t hide it from his dad.”

Jules stands up. “No, Carlton is right. None of us realized how these pieces fit together until we all talked about it with each other, right? If Shawn won’t… can’t, open up to us about it, the next best thing is getting as many witness statements as possible.”

“Why? It just feels like digging things up to dig them up at this point.”

“Because Henry is currently in charge of Spencer’s livelihood, Guster.”

“I know! He’s in charge of part of mine too!”

“Right.” Jules looks up at Lassiter. “And if we can prove to The Chief that Henry has a negative, unreliable bias against Shawn, we can lessen some of that control!”

“As much as I’d hate to see Spencer off the leash again, I’d hate to be helping enable an abuser even more,” Lassiter agrees. 

“Abuser is a strong word.” Gus doesn’t look like he feels that sentence is 100% true. “He wasn’t all bad a lot of the time. I mean, he loosened up on the comic thing when we were older.”

“We know he cares, Gus,” Jules assures. “But, caring doesn’t mean he didn’t do something wrong. Really, really wrong.”

Gus swallows, and then nods. “I know.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They collect a good few statements over the next week.

One statement claims that Shawn would play poker with some of the officers when Henry brought him to the station- why Henry was bringing a seven year old to an active police station and then not keeping an eye on him was something that went unanswered- and that Henry was obviously upset when he discovered this. Another statement corroborated the story, and added that he caught sight of Henry taking all the money Shawn made from the games and shoving it into the police donation box.

One statement was from an elderly file sorter, who claimed that Shawn was sometimes sent down to grab files for his dad and used to complain to her that henry would only buy Shawn cop car toys, and no others. When she’d asked Shawn if he wanted to be a cop when he grew up, Shawn had reportedly said quote, “Something about not getting a choice.” Other statements claimed, when this was brought up, that Shawn seemed very excited by the idea of being a cop when he grew up- until his arrest.

One statement, given by someone Lassiter vaguely remembers being rookies with back in the day, lends more credibility to the recollections of the elderly woman. The statement claimed that when the rookie would go on ride-alongs with Henry or work under him, Henry would almost always complain about Shawn. Everything from Shawn having an interest that didn’t relate to being a cop, to Shawn ‘acting like a child’ when he would have been under twelve according to the timeline, to Shawn ‘not even trying’ during a specific incident where Henry claimed Shawn forged his signature to go on a field trip and quote “hesitated for a second with his pen or something- I remember it was something really minor, and Henry couldn’t stand it. I thought it was weird that he was teaching his son how to forge signatures and then expecting the kid to never use the skill, but it wasn’t really my place to say.”

By the end of the week, Jules is steaming and Shawn hasn’t come around the precinct at all. Gus keeps dropping by, digging up old journals of his own to use as cross-references when possible. Shawn is quiet with Jules at home, like he’s waiting for something big to happen and he’s worried he could trigger it early.

It makes Jules more upset at Henry, because now her boyfriend’s emotional immaturity seems a lot less like a natural childish nature and a lot more like having genuinely never been taught how to handle anything.

No, according to the information she and Lassiter have gathered, it looks like all Henry taught Shawn was that winning is everything, being the best is non-negotiable, and Shawn was born to be a cop and anything that didn’t align with that idea just… shouldn’t be there.

“Wow.” Lassiter tosses the latest statement onto his desk. “And I thought Henry didn’t discipline Spencer enough as a kid. Some of this stuff makes it sound like Spencer grew up in a boot camp.”

“He basically did,” Jules says bitterly, reading over one of Gus’s old notebooks. “Gus wasn’t even looking for evidence of it, and these journals are full of casual, offhand observations that look worse and worse the more we know. Listen to this one. ‘Today Shawn was in a bad mood, and when I asked him why he said his dad stole his mood ring after showing him to turn the box upside-down. I said that’s cheating, and Shawn said it can’t be if his dad said to do it.’ Who the hell steals a mood ring from a kid?”

“You’re getting caught on the small stuff again, O’Hara.”

“I know, I know. I just- now that we know some of the major things, even the small stuff is making me just unbelievably angry.”

“Yeah, it’s rough to read. At least you and I wanted to be cops.”

“Right? No wonder Shawn ended up a psychic detective, how do you just do something else after being raised so specifically like that? And no wonder he-he buys EasyBake Ovens and goofs off all the time, he had it so strict as a kid…”

“Mmmmm… let’s not excuse every antic, O’Hara. A lot fo it is still just him being a jackass.”

“I won’t get into this with you again, Carlton.”

“Good, I don’t want to get into it again either. … Heads up.”

Jules closes the notebook and tucks it into a desk drawer as swiftly and inconspicuously as possible, Lassie doing the same for his file. Henry walks past them, barley sparing a glance as he makes his way somewhere else.

Jules stares daggers at him so intensely that if dropped to the ground covered with enough puncture wounds to imitate Julias Caesar, Lassiter would think it was a mild scene all things considered.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s three weeks since Jules found the notebook when Shawn rolls over in bed, puts his arm around, and mumbles “I have an eidetic memory.”

Jules puts her book down and looks at Shawn with furrowed brows. “What?”

Shawn sighs and sits up properly. “I have an eidetic memory,” he says again, “And… I don’t like looking back, because I remember everything perfectly. Which means I usually remember what I felt perfectly too, and it usually wasn’t great feelings.” He can’t look her in the eyes this time, either, but instead of the tense, protective body language of before, he’s holding a pillow close to his chest and slightly burying his face into it, almost sagging around it.

Jules starts to rub his back. She knows how hard this kind of… difficult emotional discussion, is for him. Now she even knows why- suspects why, really, because not all of it is proven in full, but still she thinks she can cout is as knowing. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“About the memory?”

“Yeah. That sounds… really difficult to deal with, Shawn. Does Gus know?”

“Yeah, he knows. I think other than my dad, and… and you, he’s the only person who knows.”

“Shawn…”

“I just, I just want you to know… that I’m not asking you to drop it for no reason,” Shawn says, “Or-or because I don’t feel like it’s important. I know it is, I do. I just…”

“Don’t want to relive a lot of it,” Jules says softly. “... Shawn, does this mean you remember everything perfectly? All the time?”

“Eh… fifty-fifty. The ADHD gets in the way sometimes.”

“... But when it doesn’t?”

“I just try not to think about a lot of it.” Shawn moves again, to look her in the eyes, He takes a deep breath, and he looks a little pained. This kind of thing is painful for him, he’s so unsure how to navigate it. “I have to keep moving forward, Jules. It’d be so… so easy to just get stuck, forever, in all the stuff stored in my head. And I’m really, really trying to, I mean that. It’s difficult, and I’m not… always great at it, but I’m trying.”

“And you’re worried we’ll set you back?”

“No! No, I… I don’t know.” Shawn lets Jules pull him close to her chest and begin running her hand through his hair. “My dad and I don’t solve stuff, Jules. We just… argue over it. I’m getting tired of it.”

“... I understand.” She kisses the top of his head. “But I don’t like him being in charge of you when you’re a grown man anymore.”

“You think I do? … But it’s making him a lot happier than he’s been in a long time.”

“You should be happy too, Shawn.”

“Hey. Hey, I am happy.” He looks up into her eyes. “Look at me right now. I’m being cradled like a sweet little baby seal by the most beautiful, badass woman in the entire world. Of course I’m happy.”

Jules laughs a little and contorts a bit to kiss him on the mouth. “I’m glad you told me that, Shawn. And I promise, I won’t ask you to relive anything else for me.”

“... But you’re not going to stop investigating my dad, are you?”

“Did you stop with mine?”

“... Fair enough.” Shawn lays his head back down, and soon enough Jules hears soft snoring from him and mumbled phrases in his sleep.

…

An eidetic memory. Perfect recall.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Jules goes over everything they have so far knowing Shawn has a perfect memory, it makes her angry to such a degree that she thinks it might kill her. Not literally, but it feels strong enough.

She has some of Shawn’s old report cards, some statements she got from former teachers via social media contact, and some copies of pages of one of Gus’s old journals laid out in front of her, and she sees a pattern.

Shawn didn’t do good in school. His report cards are less than average, and are packed with notes about how he doesn’t pay attention, doesn’t seem to absorb any information, and doesn’t remember anything he’s taught. The statements from the teachers describe Shawn as hyperactive, passionate about everything but his schoolwork, and having difficulty with staying observant in class.

Gus’s old journals are full of the same, but also the opposite. Shawn didn’t pay attention in school, but sometimes he could pull something the teacher said from his memory word for word without even trying, and then a few entries later Gus would mention Shawn failed a test on that exact subject. Shawn got beat up because he told a bully he memorized the pattern of answers used in the math tests, but his dad told the teacher and let Shawn know he was doing it. And most of all, Gus writes about how freaky his friend’s ability to look at people and figure them out is. How Shawn notices almost everything almost all the time, and usually makes some dramatic conclusion that isn’t right, but he still notices things and Gus can’t figure out how Shawn fingers things out.

Detective training, and an eidetic memory, and psychic visions. Jules is now pretty sure that Shawn covers up some of his deductions using his visions- he’s known enough impossible information that they can’t possibly all be deductions in disguise, but when she thinks back there’s a few times where it’s obvious in hindsight he used his abilities to cover up the fact that he’s an incredible, highly-trained detective.

Maybe she’s jumping to a conclusion, but she finds herself thinking ‘Because Henry made him hate that he can do it so well,’ as she pieces it all together.

Gus’s journals lend a lot of credit to that theory. Shawn is smart, and Gus knows it, but Shawn acts dumb sometimes and Gus doesn’t understand why, and then Gus mentions that it’s weird that Henry kept Shawn up all night before to stakeout their porch and now Shawn is tired during Little League and Henry tells him to get his head in the game because Henry is the coach.

Henry is the coach, Henry is the chaperone on the field trip, Henry is their Scout Master- he’s in charge of every part of Shawn’s life except for school. And Maddie is rarely brought up, even when Gus writes about spending all day or night or even weekend at the Spencer house. Jules hasn’t seen Shawn’s Mom since Yang almost blew her up, and she just figured that Maddie wanted to stay out of Santa Barbara after that, understandably. She’s getting a different feeling about Maddie staying away now. It seems a lack of presence was her main impression in Shawn’s life, or at least, Shawn’s life through the lens of Child Gus.

So it was basically just Henry. And her heart aches for the thought of someone being stuck in a bad marriage, basically raising a kid alone, and that kid being as hyper and curious and chaotic as Shawn. But the ache is smothered in the sense of righteous rage when she reads other entries about things like a girl throwing a ball at Shawn and missing, and an ostrich choking on the ball, and Henry dragging Shawn away. The entry goes on to say that Shawn told Gus that Henry didn’t believe him when he said he didn’t do it, even after then-superior officer Captain Connors came in and tried to vouch for Shawn.

Henry always assumed the worst. Assumes, the worst, still.

Shawn tries so hard, sometimes, with his dad, and Jules is starting to realize that Henry doesn’t put the same effort in. He tries some, she knows it, she’s seen it, but she also sees him constantly berate, put down, and insult Shawn, publicly and privately. 

Suddenly she remembers something from when Shawn went undercover on the dating show, something she’d been too upset over about Shawn being there at all to really take in in the moment.

“I’m sorry, this woman is way too good for my son. If it was me, I’d vote no.”

She doesn’t have Shawn’s memory, so without rewatching the clip she can’t be totally sure those are Henry’s exact words, but she’s certain that it’s the exact sentiment.

First of all, she takes a little offense to that for herself. But secondly and more strongly, she takes offense for Shawn. As she thinks about it she can remember the way Shawn tried to cover up the awkwardness in the clip, the way the girl on the show whispered “Is this a joke?” and the way it absolutely was not. The way Henry said that on TV, to Shawn’s face, with no hint of shame.

“O’Hara.” She looks up to see Lassiter holding a cup of coffee and a bagel for her. She takes them and Lassiter says, “There’s more steam coming out of your ears than there is that cup.”

“Sorry,” she sighs. “I just… I don’t know if I can control myself tomorrow when Henry comes back in. The more I dig into this, the more I want to just- go back in time and pick little Shawn up and take him somewhere better.”

“Well as much as we don’t like it, O’Hara, Spencer is who he is because he was raised the way he was raised.”

“I know. And I like, who Shawn is!”

“Inexplicably.”

“Carlton.”

“Mmm.”

“Anyway… I love Shawn, and who he is, all of him, but I still wish he could’ve been who he is without going through all of this. It’s not okay.”

“No. No, it’s not.” Lassiter sighs. “Look, O’Hara, put the case down for a while. At this point we’ve got enough to at least make The Chief doubt some of Henry’s intentions and judgements when it comes to Spencer and, well, that was the goal.”

“... Yeah. Yes, okay, I will… I will put this down for a few days.” Jules closes up the file and puts it back into her drawer. “Shawn is still less than happy I’m working on this, anyway. He understands why, but I know he wishes he didn’t.” He probably understands a lot of things he wishes he didn’t. Jules has had to grapple with the realization that she actually doesn’t know as much about how Shawn’s mind works as she thought she knew, and that it’s possible she’ll never know a lot of it. There’s more than just psychic visions to the mystery of his mind, and some of those mysteries are locked up with a key cast out of self-resentments and resentments of his dad.

God, she hopes she can keep up a poker face when Henry comes in.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her file is missing from her desk the next day, and so is Lassiter’s. They both know why.

They march over to Henry’s desk just as Gus comes in to collect a check, and all three end up standing over Henry as he openly and unashamedly reads through the Spencer Upbringing Case File. Gus takes a step back when he realizes that’s what’s happening, as does Lassiter.

But not because of Henry.

Jules looks murderous.

Henry purses his mouth in a frown and nods, raising up the file and then closing it and tossing it onto his desk in one smooth movement. “It’s comprehensive,” he says, like he’s grading a paper. “But it’s a bunch of biased bull.”

“Give them back.” Jule’s voice is ice-cold. 

Henry shrugs, moving his head side to side for a second, still frowning, and then says, “Nah.” He takes the files, and drops them in the trash. “I think you owe me an explanation for why the head detective and his partner are investigating the way I raised my son. Why’d Shawn put you up to this?”

“He didn’t.”

Henry scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

Jules slams one hand onto Henry’s desk. The whole bullpen goes quiet.

“I was helping Shawn get something from your house, and I found a notebook,” she says. 

“Oh, so, you found one of Shawn’s little projects where he exaggerated things to make himself look like a victim of the world?”

“I found the writings of a little kid who didn’t seem to realize at the time of writing that being locked in a hot car trunk and digging through broken glass for Easter Eggs wasn’t normal.”

Henry laughs, crossing his arms. “That’s what you have a problem with? It’s called training, detective. You went through it yourself.”

“When I was an adult, by my choice, and I sure as hell never had to dig through glass.”

“You’re really hung up on that.”

“Because it’s genuinely evil!”

Henry’s smug look melts into a scowl. “How dare you.”

“How dare I?! Do you understand how much all of this is still affecting Shawn, even right now?! He can barely talk about all of this!” “Oh, well, he sure seem capable of reminding me of it.”

“Because you did it! You’re the only other person in the entire world who understood what was done to him in the name of training because you did it!”

“Done to h- you’re overreacting, detective!”

“I, agree, what is going on out here?” Chief Vick hurries over to Henry’s desk from her own. “Detectives, there had better be a damn good reason-”

“There is, Chief.” Lassiter reaches into the trashcan and pulls out the files.

“Karen, Detective O’Hara has allowed her romantic entanglement with my son to-”

“Henry was borderline abusive during Shawn’s childhood,” Jules interrupts, facing her Chief. Chief Vick’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open, a disbelieving laugh escaping her even as she accepts the files and flips them open. “You understand what it is you’re alleging, O’Hara, and against who?”

“I do, Chief, and I think our case file speaks for itself.” All eyes are on them now. Jules doesn’t back down. “I’m well aware of my emotional ties to this case, but I assure you I’m not allowing it to cloud my judgment. If I was, I wouldn’t have used the word borderline to describe the conclusions I’ve come to.”

“Karen, this is ridiculous.”

But Chief Vick is focused on the files in her hands. Her eyes flick up to Henry. “Is it?” She looks over to Gus, who’s been watching with the quiet tension of a prey animal waiting to make a run for it. “Mister Guster, can you genuinely testify to the validity and accuracy of the claims in these files?”

“Oh, um, well, most of those are from my own journals.” Gus’s eyes flick between Henry and Jules. “I’d say that’s even more reliable than just plain memory.”

“It certainly is.” Chief Vick turns her eyes back to the file. “Henry, I think after I’m done going through these we’re going to have a chat about some of your current responsibilities and extent of authority over consultants.”

“Oh, come on, Karen!” Henry looks around at the entire precinct staring, and judging. “This is completely unfounded, and-and blown way out of propor-!”

Henry doesn’t finish the sentence because Juliet O’Hara punches him in the nose.

There’s gasps from everyone in the room. Jules’s fist is bloodied. Henry’s nose went CRUNCH! when her fist made contact.For a long moment it’s like the whole room has collectively stopped breathing. 

“I don’t make unfounded accusations, Henry,” Jules breathes. “Especially not when I have been building a case for over a month, and have watched Shawn completely close off whenever I asked him about this.”

Henry holds his nose, looking at Jules with fear that Lassiter and Gus don’t think is nearly intense enough. “Juliet,” Henry pants, blood streaming out from between his fingers. “This is insane.”

“Quiet, Spencer.” Lassiter moves Jules a little farther away. Her fist is still raised. “I won’t tolerate you disrespecting my partner, especially not in the same way you do your son.”

“What?! You can’t believe all this too, Lassiter.”

“You know I’m not Shawn’s biggest fan, but if you think what O’Hara has done over the last month is anything less than the best damn investigation possible then I have to seriously reconsider some of our shared opinions of your son’s work.”

Gus glances at a box of tissues on Henry’s desk- and then subtly moves to knock them on the floor and kicks them away.

“Herny, I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the precinct for a few days while this gets handled. O’Hara, I’m going to need to speak with you in my office.”

Jules lowers her fist, and nods. She knows she can’t just punch Henry and get away with it scot-free, and she accepts that.

No-one moves to help Henry. Not a single soul. He grumbles as he makes his way past Gus to grab a different box of tissues.

“It’s like he just sucks the respect out of people,” Henry grumbles. 

CRACK!

No-one is more surprised than Gus when his fist slams into Henry’s jaw. Gus reels away immediately, shrinking and cradling his hand, as Henry goes down.

“Mister Guster!” Chief Vick moves forward to try and catch Henry.

“Uuuuh!” Guss whines, shaking his hand. “I-I mean, you don’t get to say that about Shawn! He asked us not to keep doing this! You gotta stop assuming the worst of him all the time!”

“When he earns it!” Henry barks out, then groans and spits. It’s mostly blood.

“You won’t let him earn it!” Jules is furious again. “How many killers does he have to catch for you to see that your son is an amazing man?!”

“It’s not about catching killers,” Henry says, spitting again. “It’s about growing up.”

“Says the grown man who can’t even tell his son ‘I love you’.”

“He doesn’t say it either.”

“That’s not helping your case, Spencer.” Lassiter has his eyes on Jules and Gus. “And considering I’m the only one on said case who hasn’t taken a shot at you yet, I’d say keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh, what do you know.” Henry spits a third time. The Chief looks about ready to punch him herself. “Father-son relationships are complicated, especially when the father wants what’s best for the son and the son just wants to throw everything away and get himself killed!”

“You wanted him to be a cop, Spencer, you didn’t exactly put him on a path to a peaceful and easy life.”

“I put him on the right path, and he never appreciated it, and that is what your case file should say!”

“You know what, Spencer?” Lassiter takes a step closer to the bleeding man. “I’ve put up with a lot of crap from both you and your son over the years, and you two are a lot more similar than you think. But one thing I can say that Shawn has over you is that he doesn’t mean it when he says stupid crap like that.”

“He looks up to you, you ass,” Jules adds. “And he is willing to put aside all of the things you say and do to him to have a good relationship with you. Do you understand how incredible that is? That you don’t even have to work to have him in your life? That he comes to you no matter how many times you tear into him for it?”

“He comes to me because he never listens when he needs to.” Henry’s face is starting to become very purple as the bruises set in. “I don’t know what he’s been telling you, but he needs, my help.”

“Exactly! And he feels like you’re reliable enough to give it to him, and you do! So why do you treat that as though it’s a fault? Do you have any idea what I would have given as a kid, and even now, to be able to just-just go up to my dad and say ‘I need help,’ and have him be there to help me? That means the world!”

“Not to Shawn.” Henry looks pained beyond just the broken nose and possible broken jaw. “The kid is too focused on himself.”

“You don’t know your son at all, then.” Jules turns and walks with The Chief to her office.

Gus shakes his head, grabs the check out of Henry’s paperwork pile, checks that it’s signed, and leaves. 

“Oh, really? It’s up to me to take him to the hospital?” Lassiter looks around and then huffs. “Alright, Spencer. Don’t bleed on my seats, or my dashboard, or anything but yourself.”

“I’m not a bad father,” Henry says, still holding his nose. “I care about my son.”

“Yeah, and somehow Shawn knows that even though you act the way you do.” Lassie buckles Henry in for him so that the nose remains pinched. “But here’s the thing, Spencer. Your son is an arrogant, attention-hogging, impulsive, completely absurd person, and he didn’t just become like that out of a vacuum.”

“Yes he did. I did everything I could. I did everything right as much as possible.”

Lassiter sighs as he gets into the driver’s seat. “You seriously think that? You’d be okay with your grandkid being raised that way?”

“If they had Shawn’s potential, yes.”

“... Dammit.” Lassiter turns to Henry, and punches him in the gut. Henry coughs, and then chokes on his own blood, and then coughs again.

“What the hell?!” Henry gets out between hacks.

“O’Hara would’ve done it. I feel like I owed it to her. … And honestly, Spencer, after compiling that damn case, I’ve been wanting to do it for myself anyway. I already knew you were an overbearing perfectionist with a control issue, but you wishing your son was more like that than he is is even worse.”

“Shawn’s no perfectionist,” Henry wheezes. 

“But he is overbearing with a control issue more often than not. Like I said inside, you two are a lot more similar than you think, and frankly I blame you for the parts of Shawn that go past mild annoyance and into infuriating obstacle.”

“I’d never just hand a collar over to save someone’s ego,” Henry coughs out.

“See, that’s where I wish Shawn wasn’t like you.”

“He’s handed you a collar twice.”

“What? He has not.”

And Henry must be a little delirious from the repeated blows, because Lassiter is pretty sure his next words of “See, this is why Shawn should’ve been head detective,” wouldn’t come out of him otherwise.

Lassiter grips the steering wheel tighter and makes a sharp turn into the hospital parking lot. “Well he’s not, and from the sound of things he never would’ve been anyway.”

“He could’ve been a perfect cop.”

“He’d have been miserable and you know it.”

“He’d be doing things right.”

“You’re hopeless.” Lassiter isn’t any gentler helping Henry out of the car than he was helping him in. “I’m not picking you back up when they’re done with you.”

“I’ll call Shawn.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you will.” And Shawn will come, and probably be mad on his dad’s behalf, and will definitely be mad at all three of the punchers, because he loves his dad enough to overlook years and years of mistreatment that most people would probably consider ground for cutting contact. “And Spencer? If you ever insult O’Hara’s work again, or say anything that gets her that angry, I will help her cover up your disappearance.”

“You don’t mean that,” Henry scoffs.

“Try me.” Lassiter gets back in his car. “And if I hear from her that you’re still badmouthing your son to his face, I’ll make you disappear myself.”

And then he drives away. 

And Henry walks into the hospital alone.

[thebad-lydrawn-sanses]

Okay wait so dream had a vision of the future kinda like what shattered dream had and tried to change the future is that what happened?

Dream: my eyelights Nightmare: the villagers are giving us a lot of stuff. it's nice. Dream: my eyelights. Nightmare: i like your new eyelights. Dream: please keep yours. Nightmare: …I'll try?

Villager: Dream, I need to talk to you. Dream: oh! is this about your dislike of my brother or your house burning down? i heard about it. that must've really sucked :) busy lately? Villager: uh- yeah. My sister was terribly injured in the fire, so we need apples for her recovery.

Villager: my mommy told me to give you this Dream: thank you, Charlie. tell your mom i said hi. Villager: it's a pie. Dream: thank you. Villager: she says your brother is a bad person and should be executed. i think i agree, 'cuz he's really scary. Dream: he's really nice. you should be nice to him. Villager: oh. okay! he's still really scary though.

Prophecy Nightmare: HEY. Dream: AAAAAA-

Villagers: "Are you okay?" "Dream, can I get an apple?" "Are you okay?" "Are you okay?" "Are you okay?" "Can I have an apple?" "Are you okay?" "Are you okay?"

Nightmare: are you gonna sleep tonight? Dream: no Nightmare: did i- do something wrong-? Dream: no Nightmare: are you okay? Dream: no Dream: yes

Prophecy Nightmare: LYING TO YOUR BRO? COLD. Dream: god damn it

[queermentaldisaster]

“There's a Revolution Coming”, part three of “The Devil Made Me Do It; But I Also Kinda Wanted To”.

First thing's first. If you read this on AO3, please, please, please pay attention to the tags. I will add sufficient warnings for each chapter here as well, but this is very much a Dead Dove fic. What you see is what you get. So please, proceed with caution when you see the tws/tags.

Tags: @forestshadow-wolf @axelaxolotl09 @im-here-and-im-confused @bringinsexybackk69 @rainerestored @8-rae-rae-8 (if you want to be added or removed from the taglist please inform me)

(Possible) tw: Children in captivity, mental breakdown, mentions of torture and mind control, discrimination towards demons, and implied child abuse. Proceed with caution.

Chapter 1 under the cut.

The helo landed, and Mirror grabbed Soap's bound wrists and began dragging him towards the military base. Soap's eyes trailed upwards, and his eyes narrowed. With the amount of security around this place, it reminded him of a castle. He looked back down, taking a deep breath. ‘Och, poor Si…he's probably terrified right now and masking it with anger…’ he thought. His thoughts were on Ghost, even as Mirror dragged him through the base. Then, he looked up, and saw just how many demons were here. More than a thousand. The rest must've come from all over the world, then. ‘How many demons did Meister break?’ Soap thought, as his mind drifted back to a conversation Ghost and him had while he was still recovering.

“You know, Meister tortured us to make us weak to mind control.” Ghost murmured. Soap's head snapped up from his sketchbook. “Mind control?” He asked. Ghost nodded. “Affirmative.” He brought his hand up to his neck. “He’d collar us, then attack us. He saw us as nothing more than tools.” Ghost's wings tightened around himself. Soap's eyes softened and he touched Ghost's hand. “Yer so much more than a tool to me, Simon. Yer as alive as the rest of us.” he murmured. Ghost looked back at Soap and his eyes spoke volumes. “Thanks, Johnny.”

A tear rolled down Soap's cheek. God, he hoped Ghost was looking for him. He was scared.

Mirror dragged him into a room, shoving him in and locking the door behind him. Soap fell to the floor, and knelt there, his hands clenched into fists. He let the tears begin rolling down his cheeks, as he tried not to sob. He was in the lion's den and all alone. Too weak to fight against demons and vampires and…whatever Shepard was. God, he'd never wished for anything, not even to be a monster…but now, he was cursing his human heritage. ‘Ah’m useless. Cannae even save maself, much less love Simon how he wants.’ He bit his tongue. ‘Ah’m pathetic. Fought tooth ‘n nail ta get where ah was, and now ah'm here. In an empty room, captured, unable to save maself.’ A sob escaped from the gag, and the dam broke. He curled up, sobbing.

•✧-----------------------------------✧•

He didn't know how long had passed, and he didn't care. He'd managed to get the gag out at some point, and he was now staring at the ceiling, counting the tiles. “Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six-” He was interrupted by the door flying open. Graves was standing there, his eyes narrowed. “Do you ever shut up!?” He snapped. Soap sat up, placing his bound wrists on his knees. “Ya ken, Graves, ye have a really bad track record with kidnapping. Twice in two months. Ghost isnae goin’ tae be happy with this.”

Graves's eyes narrowed. “I do not care what that beast thinks. He's nothing more than an animal, a tool to use as we see fit. He doesn't have feelings, he can't.” Soap's eyes narrowed. “...” He lunged at Graves, only to be tackled by one of the other demon guards. Graves's eyes narrowed. “Take him to the little room.” The demon nodded and dragged Soap off as Soap screamed his head off at Graves, in pure rage.

The demon threw Soap in another room, this one with three beds, and paper strewn around the room. He hit the ground roughly, and he let out a groan. He felt hands grab his binds and he almost struck the person…until he looked ahead…and saw a child with pale tannish skin, her right eye being a purple color, her left eye being a pink color, blonde hair, and tiny red horns. “Evelyn! He could be a threat!” came a voice. He turned his head and saw a girl, no older than fourteen, shielding a smaller boy. The girl had light grayish pinkish-purple hair, her right eye being orange and her left eye being a dark grayish magenta color. She had a burn scar by her right eye, and she had horns of a dull gold color that curved like a ram's. Soap looked around, spotting two other kids. His heart sank.

[navysealt4t]

first official day of napowrimo!!! april 1st prompt is: poem that recounts the plot of a novel you haven't read in a while. (warning for themes of war, bombing, & past abuse)

overnight in a bomb shelter

if the world ends this week  please brush my hair  i won’t ask you to be gentle  let me walk barefoot  farther away than the eye can see  in weather cold or warm  i may bite you  sting and curse you  don’t come too close  feed me and bathe me  that’s all i ask   but bombs scream overhead  planes shriek with their engines  sirens blare from the streets  in a murky shelter  buried beneath the mud  of your childhood home  your calloused hands are soft  dropping a blanket ‘round my shoulders  reading a book in the dark  my ears ring and my hands shake  you shield me with your palms  you promise to teach me to sew  to read and write  to run and climb  in moments in the dark  where the world might end  where all i smell is mold  you treat me like a child  who has never known love  i treat you like a woman  who has never known love  and for a moment  the world feels right  as the bombs scream overhead  ‘cause the world might end tonight

[hargrove-mayfields]

Hold Me Closer, Tiny Dancer

for Day 7 of MungroveWeek @mungroveweek

rating: teen

prompts: Big Spoon/Little Spoon, Touched after being touch-starved, Bruised skin, First kiss, Dungeons and Dragons.

content warnings: Referenced child abuse and abandonment, past relationship abuse, and mental health struggles.

————

Billy is the kind of guy that sees sex as the endgame in a relationship.

All the flirting and the posturing and the touchy-ness, it’s all just the build up until whoever is on the other end can get him in their bed, and then it’s over.

Not that he’s scared of commitment, that’s all that he could really want is some damn stability for once in his life, but he’s scared of what comes next. After they get that first time under the covers with him, they only want more and more from there. They just want to keep taking and taking and taking from him, until they’re demanding those three little words he hasn’t been able to utter in forever, and he can’t bear it.

Love just isn’t something Billy Hargrove is good at. That’s what he’s decided anyhow. It scares him and makes him think too much. But when he holds hands with a girl and feels that swell of pride in his chest, he wonders how much more intense that feeling would be like if there was a ring on her finger. When he kisses a boy and feels warmth all over, he wants that vulnerability to be a feeling he wakes up to every morning. So, maybe he’s just too messy to settle.

But the future isn’t something he has the luxury of looking forward to when he’s always stuck in the past.

So when Eddie Munson comes along in the harshest winter of his life, Billy gets attached real quick.

They don’t even have to touch for the butterflies to start twisting him up on the inside. Just that snarky laugh is enough to have him blushing like some goofy cartoon character. Eddie’s sort of like that, all animated and full of life.

Mostly in that Billy can’t believe he’s real.

That somehow he’s fallen in love all over again with some dork who brings him pretty leaves he found in the woods and who steals Billy’s pencils and returns them with ink all over them and who knows prose and lyrical shit from his musical endeavors but can’t pronounce Hargrove without a tiny bit of his uncle’s southern drawl slipping into his accent.

Everything about him is endearing, except maybe how he leaves crumbs in Billy’s car and doesn’t brush his hair more than once every three months, but that’s just part of his charm, as Eddie easily convinces him.

Especially since the first time he’s in Eddie’s bed, it isn’t for sex.

Before he could even get his hopes or his fears reared up, he’d been beaten back down, literally, and the only place he had to go was Eddie’s.

Eddie, who didn’t care that Neil Hargrove called him a fag and a bad influence as he hit his child just for knowing him. Eddie, who wrapped his lanky arms around Billy’s bruised up body and told him a story about a raccoon he saw from the window they’re both looking out of. Though Billy’s vision is blurred with tears, he’s just happy to be settled back to chest with his crush, held and cared for for the first time in hell, probably his eighteen years.

There’s no sex appeal to showing up snotty and bloody on Eddie’s stoop, just like there’s no ulterior motive to helping him.

It’s more like…

“Oh hey, the shaking stopped! That’s a sign, that’s a sign.” Eddie trying to break the silence is what it’s like. But Billy isn’t ready. His thoughts are racing too fast for his own good.

Nervousness clamps his stomach like a vice and makes him feel sick. So it’s back to Eddie to keep it from becoming too real, “Want me to give you some space?”

Somehow, that seems worse. Right now, Billy’s comfortable, safe. Take Eddie away, and he loses that glimpse at security. He hopes he doesn’t sound as distraught as he feels when he gives his brief answer to the air, “No.”

Audible panic or not, Eddie stays, well, Eddie. All nonchalant, like he’s done this a thousand and one times before. Billy hopes, despite himself, that that isn’t the case. Selfish maybe, but he’d really like this sort of care all to himself.

“Cool. I might fall asleep back here though. I can’t wiggle.”

Oh. Maybe he’d gotten his hopes up.

Billy acts to apologize, not only saying, “Sorry,” but also peeling away from Eddie's big spoon, about to slip out of the bed when those skinny arms flex and are able to use whatever they can muster to get Billy to stay. Call it desperation, judging from the speed and the airiness in Eddie’s voice once he pleads with him.

“No, it’s good. Wiggling is bad. It keeps me up all night and then I pass out in the middle of English class. Again. And when I conk off in English class I fail, and then I’ll stay up all night for the rest of my life thinking about being a loser. A never ending cycle.”

At least Billy isn’t the only one that feels like he isn’t enough. Not that it would’ve taken that to convince him, but he decides to breathe out his tension, and let Eddie bring their position back to the center of the mattress. The way he talks, so honestly and smoothly, it’s no wonder Billy’s chest feels like it could explode from how his heart pounds against his ribs.

To distract from the obvious, he decides to leave the moping and join in on the higher energy, to tease Eddie, pull his puffy pigtails a bit, “Now you’re gonna put me to sleep.”

“That’s a first. I'm usually annoying everyone clear into like, outer space levels of awake.” Eddie retorts, but there’s way too much emotion in it to just be a reciprocal joke.

Billy tries, in an overly casual way, to help, since Eddie is doing so much for him right now. The least he can do is let him vent back, and maybe offer a little comfort, “Nah. More like white noise to me.”

It lands. He can almost hear Eddies smile turn back on like the flick of a light switch, though he can’t see his face with the way Eddie is cuddling him like a child with his favorite teddy bear.

“That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever told me they’re ignoring me. And I mean that.” The actual words there are just light hearted and jokey, but his tone sells something a lot sweeter. Something that restarts Billy’s heart all over again, especially when the context catches up in Eddie’s next soft response, “You’re different, Billy.”

His instinct is to reject that comment, obviously said with warm intent, “Yeah. What other queer would show up and ask for fucking cuddles from a dude?”

But Eddie doesn’t flinch for even a second. Actually, he stuns Billy yet again with an even sappier comeback, “I dunno, I would probably. Especially from you. ‘Cause I like you so much.”

“You don’t gotta lie to me.” Billy’s voice quivers slightly. He can’t tell if he’s shaking in Eddie’s arms, but he feels like he should be.

Eddie Munson said he fucking likes him. While he’s in his bed. Honestly Billy should be used to that, but maybe it’s the outcome he knows is coming that makes him feel so anxious. He can’t stand to have to let go already.

That or it’s the never ending ease with which Eddie talks to him, like he’s this suave prince charming even though he’s seen the guy eat off of the cafeteria floor. That gentleness sends ripples of warmth down his spine from where Eddie’s breath puffs by his ear, “Who’s lying? Are you lying?”

Somehow that inspires Billy to be honest. As if that will change the outcome he has yet to avoid. He hopes, and he says, “Kind of. To myself.”

“So what’s the truth?” Eddie asks, even though, deep down, Billy was hoping he wouldn’t.

Because then he has to admit.. “That I like you back.”

A beat. Then Eddie squeezes him a tiny bit tighter, and says, like it’s the most casual thing, “Cool.”

Billy’s reaction of disbelief is visceral, a snorted, breathless laugh accompanied by a brief questioning, “That’s it? Just.. cool?”

Eddie’s arms move in what feels like a shrugging motion. Billy should have known he just said that and hadn’t meant it, should have the routine memorized enough by now to realize that he wouldn’t like him in that way.

Besides, Eddie has ICD. He doesn’t have control over his impulses the way most people do. It was stupid to assign meaning to the words that tumbled out of his friend's mouth just because he was being selfish. Or he was just hopeful that this time, the other person would care about him too.

Behind him, Eddie makes a sound like he’s thinking long and hard about it, before announcing, one hundred percent genuine, “Actually, no. I also meant to say- Yay!”

That’s all Billy can take. He just doesn’t get it. He wants to believe that Eddie isn’t just fucking with him, but his heart has been used too many times before. Seeking answers, and comfort, and a real love connection, Billy wiggles out of Eddie’s cuddles just to turn around and face him with questions in his eyes.

The happy little grin on Eddie’s face drops off when he sees that look in Billy’s.

Suddenly he’s so serious, and that almost hurts worse than any kind of rejection or loss, “Oh. Did I mess something up?”

Billy shakes his head to tell him that, no, Eddie hasn’t done a damn thing wrong. It’s his own stupid self that did this. But he does consider, for a moment, that the confession was authentic. He runs with it, can’t let go of that hope.

Still, he doesn’t understand why Eddie didn’t seem to want to take things a few bases ahead like everyone before him had, if he wasn’t lying about having feelings for Billy. “

You.. don’t want anything else?”

“Honestly, I’m just happy you didn’t climb out the window when I said I liked you.” As he speaks, Eddie smiles again, like he can’t keep the happiness away. He's always so lighthearted and genuine about everything.

Billy envies him. And loves him with so much of his heart, he can’t bring himself to speak for a moment.

Since he stays silent, letting his feelings play out through his expressions instead, Eddie offers a suggestion, emphasizing it with a gently placed hand to Billy’s cheek, “Let’s just take this at your pace. No expectations.”

“Kiss me?” Billy wills himself to ask, sacrificing his comfort in the silence to prepare for disappointment.

But Eddie provides something much more fulfilling, “Sounds easy enough.”

And he stays true to his word too.

Adjusting to once again close the tiny bit of space Billy had made between them when he turned to face this way, Eddie kisses him. It’s just a calm thing, the press of warm, slightly chapped lips together. The hand on Billy’s face cupping his jaw now instead, to make the gesture as strong and sturdy as the feelings behind it.

It doesn’t last long enough before Eddie dips away, so Billy decides to initiate another one. He misses the mark slightly in his overeagerness to reconnect, but Eddie either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, not even when that corner of his mouth ticks up into a smile beneath his kiss.

Billy decides then and there that he’s going to take more chances, if this was going to be the reward.

~~~~~

“Are you positive you want to stay?”

Billy has all but moved into the trailer at this point, spending long nights and weekends on Eddie's couch or in his bed, wherever he falls asleep. Right now, it was the couch, with the hand crocheted blanket from Eddie’s late aunt Roxie around his shoulders, and his hair all tousled about from sleeping on it. He passed out hard last night, coming here straight after another argument with Neil that hadn’t ended well.

Eddie eventually had to wake him up, only to inform him that a group of his friends would be over this weekend to play some campaign they’d agreed on weeks ago and Eddie had forgotten until the Henderson kid called him that morning to say that Maddie would be filling for Gareth, since he couldn’t make it and apparently decided to tell Henderson first.

All of that was over Billy’s head, half of the names Eddie is rambling off to him barely recognizable when all is said and done, maybe more from his memory getting fucky again than anything else. There’s lots of reasons for why his head gets foggy, but his doctor wasn’t sure if they could blame it on being knocked around too many times or a little something called constant chronic pain.

Either way he was being dragged to Hawkins before any such diagnosis was official.

And here he is now, comfortable as fuck on Eddie’s old worn-in couch, wearing his flannel because it’s he only thing his boyfriend owns that isn’t several sizes too small for his shoulders, and using his family heirloom blankets.

He’s here to stay.

“I’m not goin’ home, so.. why not?”

Eddie still looks skeptical, and voices as much in a doubtful tone, “Okay, but, this is your final warning. It can get really intense. Like, really really.”

Somehow Billy gets the feeling this wouldn’t be the first time someone told Eddie his interests were too much. Not that he doesn’t appreciate the way he’s looking out for him, but Billy doesn’t want to be the one to crush his boyfriend's spirit.

So he makes a light joke of it, “It’s a board game, Eds. And I’m sorry, but you thought Jaws 3-D was a masterpiece. I’m not sure your definition of intense and mine are the same”

Special interest mode, activated.

“It is! It perfectly parallels how humans think poetic justice is only valid if they personally can identify with the hero! That’s all it takes to be defined as a hero or a villain!! That kicks ass!” Eddie rants passionately for the hundredth time, though the pointed laugh before he starts speaking is Billy’s sign that it’s all in fun.

So he keeps it going, “Eddie. As your boyfriend I feel obligated to tell you this, but whatever commentary a movie about a revenge driven, computer generator shark has to offer, it probably wasn’t intentional.”

“It’s not meant to be realistic. Metaphors, baby!” Eddie defends, the actual depth of this conversation many times gone over already. This is just a summary of it for a little joke, though they could be here for hours if they wanted to.

Which means it’s Billy’s turn to infodump, all those years spent researching the ocean in the library and local California museums not gone to waste yet.

“But sharks don’t even raise their young! Real world or not! Revenge doesn’t matter to the creatures that don’t even stay a day after their shark babies are born to abandon them. I mean, they could at least wait ten years like my ma-”

Stop. Oops.

That wasn’t exactly what he was supposed to say. Or even what he meant to.

He’s always defended his mommas decisions to leave him behind. Something about Neil constantly reminding him how difficult he was as a kid probably did some numbers on his ability to process the whole thing. But sometimes, his heart reveals some sadder truths in this process of healing it.

Eddie's love wraps around his bones like an extra layer of support, seeping out all the bad. Sometimes he’s got to expel those thoughts whether or not he realizes it until they come pouring out of his mouth.

And then he feels sad.

Because he’s thinking about his momma.

Eddie moves quickly into caring mode, holding his arms out to invite Billy for a cuddle. The whole boundaries thing is still a pretty big deal, even though it’s been weeks, proving Eddie meant it when he said they didn’t have to rush this. Hell, Billy thinks Eddie might never stop asking for his consent for even just cheek kisses, in the silent language the two of them are slowly developing.

There’s trust there that Billy isn’t used to. Throwing himself blindly into love and hoping to be caught hadn’t worked, and neither had acting cold. Then Eddie had shown him other options, and there was no going back.

Billy leans into his hug, pushing just a little so Eddie lays back against the armrest with his arms still around Billy, pulling them together into the perfectly nested out, cozy spot where Billy slept last night.

Even though they slept only feet away from each other, he had missed Eddie. He missed waking up from a nightmare and kissing him, the warmth and the pressure of his limbs scattered all over the bed and over Billy, and even the sound of his not so gentle snoring. He’s become the routine, the only constant in Billy’s life that he’s desperate never to let go of.

Still, Eddie is the one to change the conversation, so the effort, and the intention of their love, must be equal, “Agree to disagree?”

“Sure.” Billy gives him that, too comfortable to argue about stupid things or bring up more trauma. He hadn’t meant to and now he feels a little drained. Nothing a little early morning spoon session can’t fix.

That’s why he has the confidence to push the boundary again, just enough comfort flowing through their connected energies now that he isn’t afraid of making Eddie upset, “Still coming to dnd tonight though.”

~~~~~

“What bet did you lose?”

There’s six people, all wearing matching shirts, all accessorized in various articles of plaid and leather and whatever else they think makes them look like Eddie. Serious respect to the one who actually asked the question, he’s guessing Maddie from the previous conversation, who wears her shirt like a cutoff and actually has her own taste.

That proves Eddie right though. Billy had walked out of the bedroom for all of two seconds before he’s being glared at and asked stupid questions.

He just hadn’t realized the implications of Eddie’s friends being the overwhelming part, rather than the game. The confusing, twisting, hell of a game he’s too afraid to even attempt.

“Excuse me?”

Even being used to fighting and drama, Billy just isn’t really sure how to respond to that. He knows what Eddie’s friend means, but at the same time, he doesn’t. As far as he knew, everyone in town had heard about Billy Hargrove’s fall from grace after a few nights ago when Neil went on a bender looking for his runaway son and telling anyone who asked exactly what he thought of his kid. And for punching said kid in the face again, which is why Billy had come here to begin with.

But maybe the lowest of the Hawkins High hierarchy doesn’t fill up on the products of the rumor mill as quickly as he’s used to from his spot near the top.

One of the other nameless ones chimes in next, even more sarcastic and cold than the girl, “What ungodly punishment are you subjecting yourself to by being here?”

Billy just doesn’t understand what he did. His most notorious moments in school were still mostly aimed at whichever groupies tried to get too close to him. The best he can come up with is that these nerds were all jealous of him living with Eddie now, but, no offense to the love of his life, that doesn’t seem very likely.

Thankfully, Eddie takes the heat and changes the subject before Billy is forced to figure out what kind of response is needed from that level of passive-aggressiveness.

He steps right in the center of the room and claps his hands a few times, both to get everyone’s attention and to put accentuation on his demands, “Hey. Shoes off in my house, dorkuses. Or need I remind you of the last time?”

That sounds like there’s a story there just waiting to be told, and considering Billy would rather hear that than keep being questioned, he takes the obvious bait, “What happened last time?”

“Why, dear Jeffrey over there tracked in some dog shit surprise. Had to cut a square out of the carpet because it-“ Eddie starts to explain, but before he gets too graphic with it, Billy interrupts.

“I got it, Eds. Don’t need all the details.”

The obvious disgust on his face is probably what makes Eddie giggle like a self-satisfied little kid, before he says, “Suit yourself. Just be lucky you met me after. Took months to get the stink out.”

Dustin, the only one of the freshmen trio that still shows up to these things often enough to be considered an official member, is of course the one to interrupt the flow between Billy and Eddie, just because the smug little bastard would be, “Funny. I thought you still smelled like dog shit.”

Billy’s got to give it to the kid, if that wasn’t a snide comment about his boyfriend, he’d absolutely be laughing right now. And okay, maybe he can’t suppress just the tiniest chuckle, which of course gets noticed in an instant by Eddie.

Which is enough to make him spring into action against the insult, literal physical action because he puts Dustin in a headlock and ruffles the shit out of the kids hair after knocking his hat off.

Seeing that the tension has been successfully defused, Billy decides he’s no longer needed. That and, even though he’s grateful Eddie cooled the situation off, he’s not really looking to have to defend himself constantly.

Over the ruckus of the play-fighting teenagers and the crowd of their friends chanting for who they’re placing soda-pop bets on, Billy announces, “I’ll order a pizza and fuck off again.”

Instantly Eddie freezes, his hair half-way in his eyes and his shirt wrinkled like Billy hadn’t carefully hung it on the line this morning from all the commotion, “You know you don’t have to do that.”

Billy isn’t sure if he’s talking about the pizza or the leaving, but he’s down for both. He’ll make an appearance again when it’s time to eat. Slow integration with all this noise and personality will probably be the best for him anyways.

He challenges Eddie’s question so he doesn’t have to worry, “Who else is going to?”

Eddie doesn’t do phone calls. It’s one thing to be loud and energetic in person, but put a speaker up to him and it’s like he has no clue what to say. Maybe it’s his wired different brain, but something about not being able to stare people in the face makes it a hell of a lot harder to get his point across.

So yeah, Billy’s got him beat there. Whatever Eddie’s problem is though, times it by twenty for the amount of anxiety sitting around this place at this very moment. This is the best decision and Billy would’ve stood by it even if Eddie said anything else. But he doesn’t.

So Billy puts his hand in the shape of a phone and shakes it, wanting to go kiss Eddie before he leaves the room but restraining the urge in front of all these people that probably wouldn’t get it, “Just call for me when Aggy gets here with the pizzas.”

~~~~

Later when everything’s said and done, they’re back to where they started.

Eddie is flat on his back, lanky limbs spread out like a starfish, while Billy curls up into his side, more like a koala. There’s a quilt over their tangle of bodies, but the slightly awkward yet somehow very comfortable position means they’re barely covered by it, though that’s fine anyways because Billy runs hot.

In his own little self-sustained furnace at his boyfriend's side, Billy’s also about to fall asleep, even just listening to Eddie’s extroverted self socialize all day having made him tired. His eyes snap open when Eddie asks him a question.

“Was today okay?”

The startle the abrupt cut in the silence gave him also earns him an apology kiss on the forehead from Eddie.

He’s okay though, because it reminds him that he wanted to put his head on Eddie’s chest, readjusting to get closer and comfier. His response is a sleepy after thought, a soft little hum of agreement, “Mhm.”

Eddie takes the opportunity to put his fingers in Billy’s hair and gently play with it, as he talks up at the ceiling, “I'm glad. Because I didn’t want to have to cut all of those dudes out of my life.”

“Like you’d choose me over all of them.” Billy murmurs, though he’s actually flattered that Eddie has even chosen him at all, no matter the order of importance.

And it only gets better when Eddie says..“I would. A thousand times over, I would. I love you, man.”

Because he says it so easily, like it isn’t a big deal.

Like it’s just a normal thing. Which it is. Billy can’t lie and say he doesn’t feel the same, but they haven’t said it out loud yet. He didn’t think they ever would, a fact he’d been okay with since the first time he realized he liked dudes and girls.

“Love.. me..?”

Eddie flushes red in an instant, all the way down under the collar of his shirt to where Billy’s head is resting, and he quickly tries to correct it like the questioning means he did something wrong, “Sorry. I promised to pace myself. I’ll take it back and lock it back up in my heart until you’re ready.”

Now Billy is just glad he already loves Eddie back, because that sickly sweet proclamation would have done him in otherwise. To ease the worry in his lover's pounding heart, he makes sure to let him know.

“No. S’okay. I love you too.”

So maybe Billy isn’t as bad at being in love as he thought.

He was once someone who thought all he mattered for was sex, a few moments of distraction for somebody who would forget him anyways. Over time, he’s been proven wrong

Billy Hargrove can be loved. It just took the right person- his match in love, the other half to his soul he found in Eddie- to show him that.

[krikeymate]

Oooh for the foster au adding onto the scars theme: Sam crying the first time she sees Tara’s scars and Tara being unsure why she’s so upset and Sam having to work through her emotions to try and explain that she’s sad that Tara has been hurt the way she has and Tara is just confused because why would anyone care if she’s hurt? No one ever did before. The way Sam comforts her depends on what stage they’re on for physical affection when she sees them for the first time. Love this AU BTW

I've been trying to answer this all week but I just cannot do it justice. I do not have the words to describe how much I love, adore, this thought. Thank you so much for sending it in, and I'm so happy you're enjoying the AU!

Sam doesn't really begin to learn about the extent of the scars that map Tara's skin, until months and months into their new lives together.

Sam knows about the scar on her neck, knows all too well how it happened. She's spent hours re-reading the incident report, wondering where her mother went wrong, when she became the kind of person who would hold a knife to a child's throat - her child's throat - with the intention to use it. There's a large scar on her shoulder that Sam's seen only in medical photographs, and in the way Tara rubs at it sometimes, in the way she's so careful not to lean on that side.

She's spied the thin burn scar on the side of Tara's left wrist and across the back of her hand, and the splattering of thin white lines across her hands, usually hidden behind the drooping sleeves of the oversized hoodies that Tara insists on wearing.

It takes her two weeks before she notices the notch at the top of her right ear, a thick white line curling around behind it, when Tara gets frustrated with her hair falling in her face as she tries to tie her shoelaces and pulls it back, a hairtye already around her wrist. Sam's hairtye, she notices, the striped pink, purple, and blue band uncommon enough she feels confident in saying was stolen. (She should be irritated, Sam thinks, in seeing her privacy so brazenly violated, her possessions reappropriated. The old Sam would, the Sam from two weeks ago, the Sam who didn't know she had a little sister out there. New Sam doesn't care, new Sam thinks it's cute, she likes the way Tara has wiggled her way into her life so irreversibly).

One day Tara wakes up to the sound of Sam crying. She yawns and flops over to face her, stretching out across the bed and pulling at the bottom of her t-shirt where it had ridden up in her sleep. Sam's teary-eyed and watching her, curled up with her hand over her mouth in an attempt to silence the sobs that want to escape.

Tara's never seen Sam cry before. It upsets her.

"What's wrong?" she asks urgently, crawling forward to sit opposite Sam. Sam shakes her head and closes her eyes for a moment. Tara rests a hand on Sam's knee as she takes a deep breathe, trying to stop crying.

"Nothing, sweet girl," Sam eventually responds, sending her a tight smile. It makes Tara frown at her. Sam's lying. "You said you wouldn't lie," Tara says pointedly, fingers digging into Sam's knee sharply.

"I-" Sam sighs, reaching out to cover Tara's hand with her own. "I saw your back," she says, like that's supposed to mean anything to her. Tara tilts her head at her and waits.

Sam looks uncomfortable as she realises Tara expects more. "Your... scars. I saw your scars." Sam speaks in a hushed voice, and there's something in her tone that makes Tara think she's supposed to find some hidden meaning in it, but in truth she's just confused.

"Ok, but why are you crying," she asks uncertainly. Her hands begin to fiddle with Sam's pyjama bottoms, the urge to move her hands suddenly overwhelming.

"They make me sad, sweet girl," Sam replies softly. "They shouldn't be there, you should never have been hurt."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Tara feels her own eyes begin to sting at the knowledge that she's the one making Sam cry.

Seeing Tara begin to get upset, Sam pulls her into her lap and wraps her arms around her. "You don't have anything to be sorry for Tara. You haven't done anything. You didn't deserve to be hurt." Sam kisses the tip of Tara's scarred ear. "I'm sorry that people have hurt you. I'll never let it happen again. I promise."

[wayward-sherlock]

alexa play thumbs by lucy dacus (wip from one of my @bylerween2023 fics!)

@willelmikes >:)

[langernameohnebedeutung]

Honestly, for me, one of the more ... uninspired and a little bit grating takes on problématique characters with sad backstories is: "well this other character experienced this and worse and they're not out there killing people!"

i mean, good for them, but I don't think we need a "best practice" approach to trauma

[snowdice]

Face the Music (Sometimes Labels Shift Series)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton, (background) Patton & Virgil, Logan & Virgil

Characters: 

Main: Patton, Logan

Mentioned: Virgil

Summary: Patton and Logan have a small chat about healing between Wind Symphony and Wind Symphony: The Sequel.

This is a dealing with events set after my story Sometimes Labels Fail.

Notes: Superhero AU (not that it matters), past emotional abuse, references to a nontypical trigger, though said trigger has been dealt with in therapy and is mostly under control though not gone

“You don’t have to go,” Logan said when Patton was halfway through pulling off his shirt. Patton finished pulling off the shirt to squint at him. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, so Logan’s form was blurry, but he was sitting on their bed looking at him.

“I know I don’t have to go,” said Patton. He turned to grab the sleeping shirt he’d set out and pulled it over his head.

“Virgil wouldn’t care,” Logan said. “I would be the more likely candidate to take him shopping for such a thing considering the research I’ve done into the topic anyway. I doubt he has any expectations that you will come.”

Patton frowned as he slipped his glasses back onto his face, turning Logan from a blurry mess of blue into a man wearing a blue t-shirt. “Maybe he wouldn’t,” Patton said, “but you don’t know that.”

“Patton,” Logan said, his brow creased in the way that it did only when he was attempting to do a very difficult math equation or was trying to process emotions on the fly. “You once almost had a panic attack because a musician attempted to hand you a violin.”

“That was years ago,” Patton bristled, “and I’d been having a bad day. The violin was not the problem.”

“Perhaps not,” Logan agreed, “but it was a problem.”

“A music shop is not a house of horrors for me,” Patton said. It was the truth even if it felt just a bit like a lie. What he remembered from the music shop of his childhood, the one he’d have to go to for new music books every time he completed his old ones, was an old man who would freeze Patton in place with his gaze (even when he wasn’t actually doing so with his powers), ancient instruments on the walls that Patton’s young mind had imagined being used in blood rituals, and an overwhelming sense of foreboding. He thought normal music shops probably were not like that.

Logan was still frowning, so Patton crossed to the bed and reached for his face. He kissed him on the nose.

“I want to be there,” he told Logan. “Playing the clarinet is something that Virgil loves, and I want to support him in every way I can. I will not be like my mother and that both means not making him play an instrument if he doesn’t want to and encouraging him to do so if he does want to.”

It was easier said than done. If Patton had ever gotten joy from playing a violin, he did not remember it. Thoughts of playing a musical instrument filled him with an uncomfortable squirming sensation even after all of these years. It was a knee-jerk reaction to not want Virgil to experience the same thing, but he was not his knee-jerk reactions. He’d been very careful to keep his instinctual thoughts to himself (and occasionally to Logan when it felt unhealthy to keep them bottled up).

Virgil liked playing music. It made him happy. Sometimes Patton had to remind himself of that in order to react appropriately, but that was okay. It was a little more effort in an area most people wouldn’t even have to think about, but it was worth it.

“He does want to,” Patton continued, “so even if that desire isn’t something I will ever be able to relate to, I still need to show up.”

The face between Patton’s hands still seemed unsure. “This is just a small thing,” Logan said. “We already know you’ll be going to all of his performances. You can show up for him without going on this specific outing.”

“Life is made up of small things,” Patton said, shaking his head, “and it’s also short. I am a 56-year-old man. I refuse to live my life in fear of a string instrument. Anymore.”

“Still,” Logan said, reaching up to cup Patton’s hand still on his cheek.

Patton just rolled his eyes fondly. “I appreciate the concern,” he said, “but I’m going.”

Logan opened his mouth to speak.

“No more talking,” Patton said, using his hands to gently push Logan back onto the bed. He leaned most of his weight on him, though his toes still touched the floor. “Just cuddles.”

Logan hesitated, but then gave in. “Very well,” he agreed and then paused a moment. “Could we perhaps cuddle in a more reasonable position?”

“No,” said Patton, tucking his head into Logan’s chest with a smile. Logan sighed under him and reached up to pat his hair.

Patton knew he’d be able to face any music store as long as Logan was with him.

“Face the music,” Patton whispered with a giggle. Logan groaned.

Want to read more? Click below!

Labeled Master Post.

My Masterpost.

[quietly-by-myself]

Across the Silence of the Valley of Dreams - Chapter 3

Masterlist

CW: past child abuse, past slavery, past kidnapping, defiant whumpee, nonhuman whumpee, creepy whumper, carewhumper, shapeshifter whump, lab whump, fantasy whump, medical whump, fictional religion, shock collar, washing mouth with soap, mentioned past suicide attempt, fantasy racism, emeto, electrocution whump

===

“You’re hurt.”

June hardly remembered falling asleep. However, he knew well that he was asleep when he saw the black-pelted deer in front of him. Her legs were bound in chains and, on her head, the skull and horns of a male deer adorned her head.

“Goddess-”

The look in the shadowy, pitch black eyes of his goddess softened a little. “My dear, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“I’ll get out- I swear, Goddess. I will.” Panic rose in his chest. He couldn’t lose his status, his magic, his protection. He’d dedicated his life to this.

“June.” His name was more like a command coming from his goddess’ mouth. “Listen to me.”

June had hardly realized himself beginning to hyperventilate. Calling on that familiar magic that came to him in that space between life and death, the domain of the Forgotten Gods, June took a few breaths and forced his head to clear. A few more breaths cleared his head completely. He was fine. Here, he was safe. June was a friend of the Forgotten Gods.

All the while, his Goddess watched him from behind her skull mask, quietly observing June. Even after June had calmed down, she stayed quiet, as if she was debating some great response.

“June, my dear, you’re safe here. You’ve proven yourself. I gave you my blessing. You have my protection here. I’m not abandoning you. I’m not like your father.”

His father. The bastard that put him in this situation in the first place. June would never trust a non-witch. Never again. Not after him.

Of course, his Goddess understood without either of them saying anything. She knew that June’s liver was adiposed with hatred and resentment. After all, why would she have chosen June if not for the hatred he stored in his liver? Away from his heart to hope for a bit more hope for life?

What was June supposed to say? He took a breath, trying to ground himself.

“I’m sorry for doubting you, Goddess.”

The deer considered him for a moment. “June. It’s okay. I know you’re hurt and you’re hurting. I’ve seen bitterness consume people. You must carry out your duty. You cannot let bitterness consume your heart.” 

Carefully approaching him, his Goddess laid her head on June’s shoulder. Hesitantly, June touched his Goddess’ neck. Even if he’d touched her before, each time still felt strange. A being with so much power robbed from her allowed him to touch her. It was a vulnerability and tenderness unbecoming of a Forgotten God.

“I want to go see my mother.” June’s voice broke a bit on the words. His mother was an ocean away, a trek that June would never be able to make. “I miss her.”

“I know you do, June. When things like what you went through happen to us, there’s a child left inside us. That child holds the emotions, the memories you felt then. Your child is still full of anger and spite for what happened. You keep trying to silence that child, but you must listen to it.”

Listen to it. How could June listen to it? Whenever he did… “He sold me into slavery because I’m a half-blood! He planned for me to be used against my mother.” June’s heart sank. “That- that can’t be what Linden has planned.”

His Goddess sighed. “I don’t know what they have planned. I cannot see more of the mortal realm than you can, my dear June. Even then, I was never clairvoyant.”

Taking heaving breaths, trying to prevent himself from crying, June stepped back from his Goddess, that doe wearing a buck’s skull and horns. “Is she even still looking for you?”

His Goddess paused. “I knew her at one point, June. Your mother is an old witch. She… she was there when the magician’s gods drove us away. She’s a bitter person.” If a deer could smile, his Goddess certainly was. “You take after her in many ways, June.”

June looked down. 

“June, I cannot be with you much longer. You will wake soon. However, I want you to know that you’re stronger than you think you are. You’ll survive and you’ll triumph.”

“No, Goddess!”

However, that dark space faded as June awoke to the solitary cell Linden had locked him in. Burying his hands in his face, June felt tears rolling down his face, wetting the bandages over his eye. 

“What are you crying for? You’re going to ruin your bandages.”

June’s head snapped up, searching for Linden. He was sitting in a chair, watching June.

“The fuck? Were you watching me sleep?”

“My subjects have often been suicidal their first night with me, so yes. I did watch you sleep. I wanted to ensure you wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

The small amount of kindness Linden had shown June was gone. June found himself growling a bit.

“Creepy much?”

“I’m a doctor and a scientist, June. I have to ensure your well-being. That includes strictly monitored meals, medication, and yes, watching you sleep if I believe you to be a suicide risk. It’s a precaution.”

June’s growl turned into a snarl. He didn’t have much time, though, before he went crashing to the ground, spasming in every part of his body. Electricity coursed through him, making every nerve fire off painful signals.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

Up went the intensity. June couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Everything was agony and there was nothing he could do. He was helpless against the shocks. 

When the electricity finally stopped, June didn’t have a moment to catch his breath. Linden was dragging him to the bathroom, grabbing the bar of soap from the sink. Forcing June’s mouth open, Linden shoved the bar of soap in June’s mouth, scrubbing while June gagged and choked on the soap. It burned his mouth so much.

“Watch your language,” Linden hissed in his ear. “You will not swear around me. I understand that your… kind has less manners, but you will have manners in my presence.”

By the time that Linden had taken the soap out of June’s mouth, June was ready to vomit. Heave after heave of bile came out of his stomach and into the sink, his mouth a soapy, vomit-filled mess. Burning and not burning, the taste of soap and his own vomit making him only vomit more.

Linden chuckled. “Are you ready to go to the lab, little fox?”

June glared, the lights from the bathroom buzzing and causing his head to pound. When had Linden turned the lights on?

“In your-”

June fell to the ground as an even stronger shock filled his body. He wanted to scream out, curse Linden for doing this to him, but he knew it would get him nowhere. So, he just waited, feeling that bitterness and hatred for magicians in his heart.

In his heart, the anger consumed him. He needed to be smart. He needed to be wise. He needed to make his goddess proud. 

So, when Linden yanked June up, June obeyed. He didn’t put up a fight. Linden looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but June tried to ignore it. 

Even when Linden brought him down the hall by the collar, rubbing against the spot burned by the shocks, and into the lab, June didn’t fight. Today, he couldn’t fight. He needed to watch and learn.

How had he forgotten that?

===

Taglist: @i-can-even-burn-salad @whumpsday @pigeonwhumps @oddsconvert

[mattodore]

the echthroi protagonists on the set of barbie

[pigeonwhumps]

Abolition

Immortal Cannon Fodder masterlist

Taglist: @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance

The horrific boarding school that Gemma, Aisling and Ethan were forced to attend for secondary school is abolished, and Gemma tries to cope.

(credit to @/i-eat-worlds for the news website name)

765 words

CWs: past institutional child abuse, past character death, briefly mentioned suicide and murder/manslaughter, grief, fake news headlines on the subject, emotional whump, mentioned past beating and power blocking

Gemma lets out an involuntarily gasp as she sees the headline.

She shouldn't be following the news. Not in this. But this... this...

She wasn't expecting this.

Not so soon. Not now. Not without more incessant phone calls and emails and interview requests. But it's just... closed.

The whole chapter in her life has slammed shut, but the gust that's created hasn't hit her yet.

She doesn't know how long she sits there, on her bed, curled in blankets, staring at the screen. Someone knocks on the door, and she must answer satisfactorily because they don't enter.

She's not sure if it's minutes or hours later that one of the only people she could stand to see right now enters the room. She hears the footsteps and knows exactly who it is before they sink down on the bed and their arms wrap around her.

Gemma turns and buries her head in Aisling's arms. Aisling rests her own head on Gemma's shoulder.

"We'll be okay," Aisling murmurs, "we have to be okay. How are you?"

And suddenly, Gemma's angry. They're both on record and yet they weren't so much as warned about this. People have died and nobody bothered to so much as try to prepare them. It's a very good thing, the closure, there's no doubt about it, but it's a lot.

And now they're closed, in the UK at least, they'll try and forget, won't they? Pretend these atrocities never happened. Pretend she, and Aisling, and Ethan, and all the others, ever got the second half of their childhoods.

They made a pact, her, Aisling and Ethan, during one of the nights trapped in that awful excuse for a school, that when they were finally abolished, assuming they were ever abolished, they'd still be friends, and they'd celebrate together.

Now, Ethan's dead. And nobody cares. She understands it in people like Morfydd and Lian, after what he did, but most of the officials don't know the connection between Ethan and Razor. They're just assholes.

Gemma burns white-hot with anger.

"I need a training room. Before... before it's too late."

"Yeah. Yeah, we'll go find one. Do you have spare goggles for me?"

Gemma nods and digs them out, picking up her own at the same time.

"Here."

"Mm. Let's go."

They exit the room leaning on each other, although Gemma straightens as they approach the part of the corridor that passes Lian and Morfydd's rooms, just lacing their hands together – she doesn't want to look weak or incapable in front of them. Morfydd looks up worriedly as they pass the kitchen.

Of course. She or Lian must've let Aisling in.

"We're going to the training room. We might be a while, but we're alright."

"Okay," replies Lian. "Just look after yourselves."

"Will do." Gemma wonders how much they suspect. It must be some. Despite her attempts she knows she hasn't been subtle in dealing with her trauma.

Maybe she's imagining things, but the training rooms seem busier than usual when they reach them. She unlocks theirs and draws the blinds, Aisling setting up a couple of punching bags and absorbing material for Gemma's UV beams. Then they both don their goggles.

Aisling gestures to the light-absorbant bag. "Go ahead."

Gemma wastes no time in launching a beam. Then another, and another, a whole volley, imagining the bag is their headteacher, dorm manager, discipline head, the journalists and paparazzi. The teachers who put her in cuffs for dangerous lengths of time, who beat them using 'training' as an excuse. Always, always, training was the excuse.

Maybe they were right. Maybe it did help her withstand the times she's been kidnapped. But that didn't make them right to torture children, both physically and verbally.

She spins round and catches Aisling's eye, beckoning her oldest friend towards her. And then they start off.

Punching dissolves into wrestling, eventually, and Gemma can barely see through a thick sheen of tears. It's not fair. They've been abandoned as the government try to hide what they did, obscure the worst of it. Maybe one day they'll get compensation.

But they'll never get their childhoods back. They'll never get Ethan's life back. Or any of the others who have been killed, died, taken their own lives over the years.

It's not fair.

It's all too much, suddenly. She can't do it any longer. She can't keep it together, when people are dead and she knows, she knows, everything will be pushed under the rug.

She crumples against the wall, tears racking her body.

It should have been three of them.

.

.

.

.

.

Bonus: the trust logo after Gemma graffitied over it. It was originally Foundation of Hope Trust:

[thebad-lydrawn-sanses]

Dream: at least come out and talk to me

Villager: you need to stop talking to your brother. Prophecy Nightmare: WHAT? Dream: …excuse you? Villager: See? There's your attitude. Prophecy Nightmare: I Prophecy Nightmare: . . . Villager: He's corrupting you with his demonic powers. Prophecy Nightmare: KILL THIS MAN.

Prophecy Nightmare: HEY Dream: DON'T EVEN START.

Villager: his skull broke! can you believe that? all i did was throw his book at him and it CRACKED! like an egg! Dream: ??

Nightmare: uh. m Nightmare: hi! brother. i Nightmare: i fell out of the tree. again Nightmare: sorry Dream: oh! that's okay, i can patch you up :)

Dream: ARE YOU SULKING

[an-angels-fury]

Okay, so I was searching for POTO content here on Tumblr, and everything was fine until I went across the 2004 movie hashtag and find a person saying how much they hated the movie, how much of a torture and a terrible experience it was to watch it (except for the Raoulstine parts), blah blah blah and all that kind of comments I've already read and seen a hundred times in this phandom. Basically, no big news...

You know, I could simply have ignored these posts like I use to do because everyone has their own opinions and tastes about things, right? It's not like I could or even wanted to waste my time trying to change people's minds. I'd much rather to keep posting about what I love and move on with my life... But then I read a part that literally made me lose my shit!

👇

The OP basically wrote that the Phantom is nothing but a stupid shit who isn't truly traumatized, he just fakes it (since, according to OP, he lets Christine touch his face and he's not deformed at all) and makes horrible things just because he seeks for attention and I just... 😤🤬

Yeah, be rejected by his mother and be abused and humiliated in a freak show during his childhood definitely didn't affect him at all. All his cries and outbursts were jure pure acting! He just invented this to manipulate Christine because he's a dramatic asshole and lying to make people feel sympathy for him is the only thing he knows how to do, right? 😒🙄

FUCK I'M SICK OF IT!!!

[fureliselost]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson & Harry Potter & Blaise Zabini Characters: Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Cormac McLaggen, Basilisk (Harry Potter) Additional Tags: Slytherin Harry Potter, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Basilisks, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Dehumanization, Panic Attacks, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Severitus | Severus Snape is Harry Potter's Parent, Sleep Deprivation, None of these are too heavy but they are there Series: Part 7 of Soured Summary:

Okay, the basilisk needed to stop with the waking him up in the middle of the night thing.

It was annoying.

OR: Harry is stressed and sleep deprived.

[krikeymate]

for foster your love: Does Tara ever compare her scars from her mother to Sam’s scars after GF attacks?

Well she fucking does now!! 😭

Tara has a thin scar across the side of her neck where her mother held the knife that night, and another on her shoulder where the knife went through as she lashed out. Tara has her own wounds from Ghostface too, a slice across the forearm, a stab in the stomach. She has smaller scars from her childhood scattered across her body, a few hidden in her hairline, a noticeable burn on the back of her hand, a notch on the tip of the ear.

Sam likes to run her fingers over Tara's scars as a reminder to be gentle when she feels rough, when Tara pushes a little too much. Because neither of them are perfect. Sometimes Tara acts out, unable to contain her emotions. And sometimes Sam gets mad, and has to contain her emotions. They work through their negative emotions by aggressively cuddling until the Big Feelings fade.

Sam catches Tara staring at her scars and nudges her, tells her "hey look, we match now," and points to her shoulder wound. Tara likes to help Sam with her bandages and the antibiotics and the creams, even after Sam is healed enough to care for her wounds herself. Sam doesn't bring it up and lets her work through whatever she's dealing with as she slowly traces the scars before she finally gets to work.