#tw referenced abuse

[proudfreakmetarusonniku]

“why me?”

tommy does not speak above a whisper, but dream pauses. “i’ve told you. you’re a pest. you burn down houses, and steal, and-”

“that’s not it.” tommy shakes his head. “look, man, i get you, and that means I know when you’re talking shit. if that was the case, you’d have done it to sapnap, and to fundy. tell me the real reason.”

dream’s voice drops to a threatening tone “tommy-”

“oh, what are you going to do? torture me? kill me? you’ve done it before. i don’t care anymore. i just want answers.” his voice is choked. “please. if you can do any one fucking thing for me.”

there’s a pause, and dream sounds eerily quiet when he speaks. “… at first, it was that you were the easiest. it was just meant to be a bit of fun, y’know?”

“and?”

“… i just wanted to make sure i’d have someone who didn’t leave me. ever. and you- you had grown on me them, i think. so i wanted to keep you.”

tommy laughs. he doesn’t know why, but he does. ““so- so it was you all along? there wasn’t anything i could have done to avoid it? it wasn’t my fault. it wasn’t. and, i’d thought all along… you’re not smart. you’re not some mastermind. you’re just… pathetic. fucking pathetic. and i don’t hate you, anymore. i just pity you.”

the sirens blare.

“tommy? tommy, what’s-”

“goodbye, dream. i hope it was worth it.”

there is agony, then white, then nothing.

[chrisbitchtree]

The One With the Hurt and the Comfort

Harringrove Week Day 4

Prompt - 2am Conversations

1k

***

Steve was pretty sure that he would never, as long as he lived, get over the beauty that was Billy Hargrove. He watched the other boy, his face illuminated in the moonlight as he sat, perched on the corner of his dresser, as he took one last long drag off his cigarette and blew the smoke out the window into the night.

His motions were graceful like a cat as he stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray he kept on the dressed and hopped down, making his way over to where Steve laid the bed, curled up on his side, his had pillowed by his hands. He laid down beside Steve, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dark of the corner after looking out into the lighter yard.

Steve could see Billy clearly, which meant that he could also see the bruise covering the left side of his face, already blooming dark red where his father had used him as a punching bag that evening. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t make Steve’s stomach churn. He hoped there was never a time where he got used to it, or less worried about Billy when he saw him like this. He reached out his hand, stroking lightly over the tender flesh, careful not to press. Billy closed his eyes, his long eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks as he leaned into the touch, even as he let out a slight hiss of pain.

Steve glanced at the clock that was visible behind Billy’s head. It was 2am, but he found he didn’t feel tired at all. He’d gotten used to being up so late, visiting the other boy under the cover of darkness on the nights Billy hadn’t been granted passage to Steve’s, at best, his car keys confiscated, and at worse, his bedroom locked from the outside, leaving Billy with no access to the outside world.

He would park three blocks away, no matter how cold it was, then walk the rest of the way to Billy’s, appearing silently at his window, long after he assumed Neil had gone to sleep. More than once, Billy had had to turn him away, because he could hear his father rummaging around in the fridge, probably looking for a beer, or using the washroom, which was right next to Billy’s room.

On those nights, Steve would turn around, defeated, wishing he could whisk Billy away, out of this world of pain and misery that he was trapped in for the foreseeable future. He’d begged the other boy to talk to Hopper, to no avail. “You don’t understand how much worse it would be if I tried to leave,” he would say, sighing.

He was right, Steve didn’t understand, not completely. There was no way he could. His father was an asshole, but he had nothing on Neil Hargrove, a monster walking amongst them, tricking everyone from the school principal to the clerk at the grocery store that he was an upstanding citizen. But they didn’t get a peek behind closed doors like Steve did, a look at the horrors within 4819 Cherry Lane.

Steve was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice at first that Billy was crying, silent sobs wracking his body. Steve wrapped his arms around the other boy, stroking his hair, soothing him as the tears flowed after being held back for hours. His shirt was soaking wet, and was probably smeared with Billy’s blood, but a ruined shirt was a small price to pay to make sure that Billy felt safe and cared for.

“I’m so sorry, Steve, I’m so sorry,” he hiccoughed out quietly, clenching Steve’s shirt in his fists.

Steve immediately knew what he was talking about. That afternoon, after months of want, of pining over his best friend like a lovesick puppy, Steve had asked Billy out. He’d held out as long as he could, trying to be there for Billy as the friend he knew the other boy so desperately needed, but that afternoon, as he sat behind Billy in English, something had snapped inside Steve, leaving him unable to go another second without letting Billy know how he felt.

He'd asked Billy to talk in his car for a minute, after telling Max to wait at the Camaro. She’d readily agreed, happy to have five more minutes with Lucas.

He’d taken Billy’s hand in his own, butterflies fluttering in his stomach, and asked him if he could take him out to the movies that Friday.

Billy had let him down as gently as he could. “I’m sorry, Steve, but I can’t. If he ever found out, it would be the end of both of us. I’d like to, someday, but that can’t happen right now.”

Steve had almost wished that Billy had just flat out refused. It was harder knowing he wanted this, but that it just wasn’t their time.

“I’ll wait as long as I have to, I promise,” he’d replied, trying to be strong, even as his heart was breaking in two.

Now, he rocked Billy in his arms as he broke down, the way he told Steve he only did when Steve was around to carry the emotional load for a little while. “It’s ok, Billy, we’ll be ok. It won’t always be like this. Someday I’ll get to tell anyone that’ll listen that the blonde hottie is all mine.”

“I want that, I want that so bad, Stevie,” Billy replied, wiping the snot off his face with his arm. If anyone else had done that in front of him, Steve would have been disgusted, but with Billy, it was endearing, just like everything else about him. “I’d leave right now if I could.” He collapsed back into tears, muttering again that he was sorry.

“I know, Billy, I know. I know you would. But you’re brave and strong, we both are. We’re going to get through this and someday, someday soon, it’ll be our time. For now, just try to get some sleep, ok?”

Billy nodded, burrowing in further to Steve’s warmth.

Steve held him as he slept, hoping that he could keep his promises to the boy he loved so much.

[oceanwithouthermoon]

Talking about Saiki and SA here a bit, btw, just a warning~

Thinking about how you said Saiki was a victim of SA and you’re literally so right. I feel like people sometimes just blow right past the fact that Kusuke is like that with his brother, but I think it can add a lot to interpretations of his character. But even if it only goes as far as what is shown in canon — which I almost doubt — it still remains the fact that Kusuke is doing all of that knowing fully well that his brother can hear him. It’s literally sexual harassment.

People point it out more often with Teruhashi and her brother (back to the reasons you said, people think it’s more serious if it happens to women). But the things he does, that’s all sexual harassment. And yet when Kusuke does similar things, it’s often brushed aside. Just,,, a bit crazy to me.

(And that’s not even mentioning when people completely disregard this part of Teruhashi’s story and act like she’s one-dimensional,,, but that’s another story)

But all this to say you’re literally so right. Anyways love you mwah =^•w•^=

THANK YOU SO MUCH. I NEEDD PEOPLE TO ACKNOWLEDGE THIS MORE.

(heed the sa warning + abuse and incest warning before opening, i talk a LOT here.. im mostly just reiterating what happens directly in the manga though.. ALSO EXTREMELY LONG POST WARNING..)

I always viewed kokomi and makoto + kusuo and kusuke as like.. paralleling each other ? not sure if thats the right word, but IMMEDIATELY when i saw both of these dynamics i made the connection.. i guess since it was so clear to me, i assumed that it was so obvious and on purpose that everyone else knew too, but so many people just.. ignore it..

i think most people that read/watch saiki k have recognized the fact that most main characters are meant to parallel or relate to saiki in at least some way, (if anyone who doesnt know what im talking about is reading this, im sure at least someone on here has done a better breakdown on that, i just.. dont know where to find that..) but this particular connection is one i dont see often and i genuinely believe that its almost entirely because of the whole "sexual assault/harassment isnt as serious when it happens to men as when it happens to women" thing.. most of the fandom acknowledge that what makoto does is awful and kokomi is a victim, so why is it different when its kusuke and kusuo ??

its EXACTLY the same.. what we see on screen with the saikis is WORSE, actually.. and what WE see from these two relationships isnt the full extent of what the two victims experience off screen, and i strongly believe that its heavily implied that both kokomi and kusuo have been through much worse with their brothers than whats shown..

we have no idea what kusuke couldve done BEFORE moving away and creating the telepathy canceler (and dont say that he couldnt have done anything cuz they were kids, cocsa [child on child sa] is still a thing and still valid, ESPECIALLY since they were both kid geniuses and kusuke definitely KNEW better.. but yea, kusuo implies that hes been like that for a long time, way before we ever saw them, sooo..) and its highly likely that whatever happened that we didnt see, before or after the move, was WORSE than what he does ON screen (i honestly dont want to think about what a guy with an incestual obsession with his brother does with cameras everywhere in his brothers home..) and what we see him do is already insane..

literally using his brother to get off, manipulating him and forcing him to play the games that give him sexual pleasure.. actually, speaking of, ive seen some people say that what kusuke does isnt really incest because the only reason he uses kusuo is because hes a masochist and kusuo is the only person that can overpower him.. this is a total misfire LOL, his upbringing alongside kusuo and his relationship with him is the REASON that hes a masochist, the ENTIRE REASON why thats what he gets off to.. its not just CONVENIENT that kusuo is there to get him off, he SPECIFICALLY seeks kusuo out and forces him to do things that give him sexual pleasure.. he believes that kusuo is the only person in the world that can ever give him sexual pleasure, what about that doesnt sound incestuous?

and one of the worst parts of it is, kusuo BARELY acknowledges how weird it is.. in fact, he's COMPLACENT in a lot of the games, obedient even, being bribed into them the same way he does with simple things like bringing kuniharu to work.. this is the biggest reason why i believe the off-screen stuff is probably worse, because kusuo is obviously conditioned to think that letting your brother get off to you is just.. fine.. we hardly see him try to get away from this situation beyond simply calling him gross.. theres one moment during the cat tank situation where kusuke tries to get him to grab the limiter off of his crotch specifically so that he can see him in that position and kusuo looks terrified and cant do it, BUT its unclear whether the expression of fear was entirely his concentration because he didnt wanna break the limiter or because he didnt want to let his brother get off to that, and i think its mostly the former ? idk, i dont remember this part that well but im preeeetty sure..

he does acknowledge that MAKOTOS behavior is bad when he sees it, but he never thinks its a big enough deal that he needs to help her or anything, (except for maybe the okinawa situation) which i know is probably just for the sake of not letting the gag manga get too serious, BUT it can also be explained pretty easily by this whole thing.. the way kokomi is treated is literally the same way kusuo lives his life, even down to their incestuous brother being possessive to the point of berating their potential love interests.. (which in this case happened to be each other, kusuo and kokomi..)

so yeah, kusuo just. doesnt really know how bad it actually is ? or maybe he does, but doesnt acknowledge it because he doesnt WANT to.. him barely acknowledging it and being complacent is part of why some people dont really get that its sa and incest, but his complacency obviously plays a big part in how its effected him too, like thats purposeful.. like i said, hes been CONDITIONED not to acknowledge it..

to me, it looks like a classic situation in which kusuo doesn't acknowledge his trauma because he knows that if he did, it would change his outlook on his life, his family, and his childhood FOREVER. he would never be willing to tell anyone or ask for help on his own accord, and accepting that there was anything wrong in the first place means, to him, dealing with that issue by himself for the rest of his life.

why would he ever admit that anything was wrong if nothing would change either way? the only thing that WOULD change is HIM, and why would he want that? isnt it better to be blissfully unaware than to knowingly suffer in silence?

plus, he genuinely does love his brother and knows in the back of his mind that kusukes feelings toward him comes from their unhealthy upbringing and relationship and its more complex than just "hes an evil guy blah blah.." because he isnt really evil and kusuo KNOWS that.. actually, he might be the only person in the world who COULD understand..

so yeahhhh.. kokomi and kusuo are both CANONICALLY victims of sexual harassment.. (and incestual abuse at that..) and, by my interpretation, implied victims of sa as well !! (im not really sure where the line can be when it comes to this sometimes, like when your brother sniffs your bedsheets and rubs himself on them or gets off to you right in front of your face or tries to get you to grab something positioned over his crotch so he can see you in.. THAT position.. but i already said that its pretty likely that both brothers have gone farther than that off-screen..)

anywayyyy.. this is so important to me and i wish people would talk and write about it more instead of pretending it never happened and mischaracterizing every one of these characters, especially for the sake of a ship like i was talking about in my other post.. it sucks that people so often just cast kusuos canon issues aside..

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Merry Whumpmas 2023 Day 31: Free Day

And... that's a wrap for Whumpmas 2023! Thanks for reading my contributions, I'll see you all in the New Year!

This is the third (and final) part of a hero x villain story that I accidentally created during Whumpmas. (edit: I lied. there's more)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

Hero x Villain Masterpost

TW: blood, surgery, medical staples, referenced abuse, painkillers

Hero was lying on the couch in Villain’s safe house, staring at the ceiling and impatiently waiting for painkillers to kick in, when the door burst open. Villain stumbled inside, covered in blood. Hero shot to their feet from the couch, gritting their teeth against the pain caused by the movement. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Villain bolted the door and leaned heavily against it, breathing raggedly. “Yeah,” they mumbled, pulling off their mask and tossing it onto the nearest surface, “I’m fine.”

“But you’re covered in blood!” Hero protested, anxiously following them into the makeshift surgery room, the original purpose of which they hadn’t yet discovered. Hero stared in horror at the rips on the back of Villain’s suit, revealing the deep cuts underneath.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Villain muttered, rummaging through their medical supplies in search of something. “And it’s not all my blood.”

“You need stitches—”

“On my back? It’ll be fine, I just need a mirror.” Villain held up a medical staple gun. “I’ve done this before. Hurts like hell, but works just as well as stitches in a pinch.”

Hero wordlessly turned on their heel and left the surgery room. Snatching the bottle of painkillers off the small table by the couch, Hero returned and held it out to Villain.

Villain took the pill bottle and set down the staple gun to take the medication. “Thanks,” they said softly, shaking out what was probably more than the recommended dosage and swallowing it dry. They winced and made a face. “Think I might have bruised ribs, too.”

“Sit down,” Hero ordered, picking up the medical staple gun. “I can do it.”

Villain frowned. “You sure? You’re still not a hundred percent—”

Hero shook their head adamantly, ignoring how the movement jarred their own injuries. “I’ll have a better angle than you and your mirror contraption. You don’t need to do everything yourself.”

“Oh…” Villain said softly. They boosted themself onto the table and sucked a deep breath in through their teeth. “I guess… I guess you’re right.” 

Hero took a second to clean their hands and put on gloves before they moved behind them and picked up a clean alcohol wipe. “This is gonna sting, but I need to get rid of all this blood.”

They didn’t miss how Villain’s hands curled into fists as they wiped away the blood from the scratches. “How’d you encounter my team, anyway? Did they come to you?”

“Yeah…” Villain hissed through gritted teeth. “Just two of them. Not the fire one, thankfully. I hate fighting them. It was the one who can turn into different animals and the one who has the sound… gun… thing…?”

Hero positioned the head of the stapler in the center of the first of the cuts on Villain’s back. “Guess that’s where you got the scratches?”

“Cor—” Villain began just as Hero pulled the trigger. They yelped, flinching away from Hero. They glared over their shoulder. “Now that’s just mean.”

Hero shrugged. “I didn’t want you to tense up. Get back here, I gotta put one more in that cut and then another two in the other one.”

Villain closed their eyes and pressed the heels of their hands against them. They breathed slowly, purposefully, until they removed their hands and moved back towards Hero. “Alright,” they mumbled, fingers gripping the table's edge so hard, the knuckles turned white. “Fire away.”

Once the first staple was in, the rest of them went in swiftly. Villain flinched away every time, but only a few seconds later would order Hero to put the next one in. Finally, Hero had Villain pull off the top part of their suit so they could cover the cuts in bandages. Villain kept their eyes forward throughout the process, but Hero didn’t miss how their cheeks flushed when they removed their shirt.

“Okay,” Hero said, removing their gloves, “I’m done.”

Villain slowly pushed themselves off the table, wincing at the pain the movement caused. “Oh… that’s gonna bug me for a while.”

“Will your part of the city be all right?” Hero asked anxiously, wondering what would happen if their team decided to invade while Villain was recovering.

Villain waved their hand dismissively. “Yeah, they can handle themselves. I think I threw your old team off your trail by acting all annoyed that they’d showed up and really playing up the whole ‘sworn nemesis’ deal we had going.”

“Oh…” Hero said softly. “And they fought you anyway?”

“They didn’t take too kindly to my very reasonable request that they’d leave me the hell alone. Sure, I got all scratched up but I shot your shapeshifter buddy in both legs and broke the other one’s sound gun so I don’t think those one’s’ll be coming after us anytime soon.”

“Did they ask about Whumper? About how… you killed them?”

Villain smirked. “Nope! I forgot to tell you about this earlier, but I moved the body to the complete opposite side of the city from us. If anything, they probably think you killed them.”

Hero stared at them for a long few seconds. “I…” they stammered, trying to gather their thoughts, “I… why are you doing all this?”

Villain blinked. “Huh?”

“Saving me, stitching up my wounds, throwing off my other teammates, letting me stay at your safehouse…” Hero’s vision blurred as tears began to drip down their face. “I… what have I done to deserve all this? You’re risking everything for me, and I don’t have anything to give you in return….”

“Oh, Hero…” Villain murmured. They took Hero’s hand. 

Hero froze, gazing down at it in surprise. 

“I saved you,” Villain said, “because it was the right thing to do. You would’ve died in that alley from Whumper, so I took you to safety. I stitched up your injuries because you would’ve died from infection. And I’m letting you stay here because out there, those bastards would just recapture you again.”

“What…” Hero whispered, “What are you saying?”

Villain smiled. A soft, genuine smile. “I care about you, Hero. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I abandoned you.”

More tears began to well up. It was suddenly hard to breathe. “I…” Hero stammered, heart racing, “I care about you too. Please… please don’t get yourself killed trying to protect me. I don’t know… I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Me neither,” Villain murmured, a dark look crossing their face. “Me neither.”

[silverboo]

After seeing some posts about a recent situation, people need to learn that “narcissist” and “psychopath” are NOT synonyms for “bad person” and to stop putting those labels onto a person who doesn’t have those disorders.

Disorders do not make people abuse others.

[captain-astors]

[ashintheairlikesnow]

His Word Goes Forth

CW: Referenced past child abuse, some emeto references (brief, vague), some dissoci@tion towards the end, alcohol references, prostitution references. Just a whole load of references. But I am so excited to finally be able to write this chapter and introduce... Gilly's children.

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

The Hotel Import, Grand Island, the Colonies

Guilford Wentworth the Fifth - who went by Ford and told everyone who didn’t already know his parentage that his name was Wilford Prose, simply a cousin to the illustrious Wentworth name - woke up to sunlight streaming in through the gauzy curtains, bright like daggers against his closed eyes.

He’d been meant to go to the symphony last night and make some sort of connection with a man whose properties his father admired, a man named Hogarth or something who owned too much land and not enough good common sense to know to avoid anything to do with the Wentworth businesses. Ford had been told to convince him a visit to the Continent would do him good, to stop by the Wentworth estate and meet the elder Guilford.

He’d been told to make many such meetings before, and usually he did as he was told. Ford had ceased to be treated as a child and had become just another tool in his father’s toolbox since his mother died and could no longer shield her children. He’d been good at it at first. 

But now… He was only eighteen and already he was tired of this.

And last night, he’d decided to let tired win the day.

Instead of making contact at the symphony, he’d instead allowed himself to be distracted by the promise of further liquor in a dark men’s club down the street, and spent his night in pursuit of new ways to forget his hated name.

He had succeeded, however briefly.

Unfortunately, the end result was that Ford woke up knowing his own name very well still, but with a headache that threatened to split him in two from temple to chin, a tongue that felt like cotton stuffed into his mouth, and a stomach that was either threatening to empty itself or ravenous for food and it couldn’t seem to decide which.

“Damn the sun,” He groaned, still feeling the ebb and swell of the liquor from the night before within him, stretching against the sheets. There was an ache in his hips that he enjoyed more than he disliked it, and when he tried to open one eye to look down at himself, there were marks of red from someone’s rouge, he thought, along the insides of his thighs. “... huh.”

Rubbing his face, he slowly sat up, squinting against the pain. There was a bottle with at least two good drinks left in it on the table next to the bed, and he drank it all, feeling it burn all the way down.It would help hold off the worst of the ache, though, at least until he could find somewhere darker to hide away from the daylight and a draught of laudanum to send him back to sleep.

Then, when he woke up once more, he’d need to come up with an excuse for why Hogarth Whoever wasn’t already boarding a ship for the Continent, to be swayed by his father’s monster like everyone else was.

That could wait, though. At least for however long it took to sleep off last night, both the alcohol and the pleasures that came with the darker bars and the seedier places in the city. Ocean air and warm nights made pleasures easy to find, and there were plenty of people who wanted money to eat more than they wanted their own virtue intact.

Ford had plenty of money.

Although even the money wasn’t really his.

He sighed, dropping back into the bed. There wasn’t anyone in the bed, although there had been when he went to sleep. Or passed out. Whichever it was that he’d done.

There’d been a young man, his own age - what was his name? It didn’t matter. None of their names mattered. Once they had coins in hand he could call them anything he wanted and they’d do anything they were told. Nothing there beside him now but empty space.

 When he laid his hand there, it was still warm.

“Damn,” He whispered, then checked the other side, where there had been a lovely woman. Had the two known each other? He couldn’t remember. Well, in any case, that space was equally emptied, and it wasn’t warm at all. 

She’d left long before the man had. 

“Well… double damn,” Ford said, voice a little rasping. One of his last clear memories had been shout-singing along with the sea shanties sung by the sailors come on shore to drink and whore with the rest. Had the young man been a sailor on leave? Might have been... “If he told me his name, I forgot it. I rather liked them.”

His eyes drifted closed again.

“Of course you did,” His sister’s voice came, warm as the ocean nearest the shore, dry as the desert wind, breaking through his thoughts. “You like them all, because you are an idiot with money and that makes them like you.”

Ford gasped, his heart half-stopped before his mind caught up and he realized she wasn’t actually in the bedroom, but out in the sitting area where he couldn’t see her - and more importantly, she couldn’t see him. Even so, he felt himself flush and yanked the blankets up to cover himself, sitting upright all at once.

“Nathalie! What in the gods’ names-”

He heard the rustle of the morning paper. “Good morning,” Nathalie said, without even the slightest change in tone. “How are you, dear beloved sister? Oh, I’m fine, Ford, thank you for asking. Did you just arrive, Natty? Why yes, Ford, I did, it is so lovely of you to ask after my health-”

“Fine, fine, Nathalie, I get it. Just-... hold on, let me dress and I’ll join you.” Ford snorted, reaching blindly towards the floor and grabbing at the first pieces of clothing he found there. The suit he’d been meant to wear to the symphony, now a wrinkled mess - but it wasn’t like his sister would care, or even as if it were the first time she’d seen him in disarray after a night wasted. He had to fight a swell of dizzy nausea as soon as he was on his feet, leaning against the wall and letting his fingers scrape the textured wallpaper there, a series of flowers in dim pastels against cream. “How did you get in here, anyway?”

“I asked at the desk if my brother was here carousing with whores,” Nathalie said. The paper rustled again as she turned the page, as if punctuating her sentence. “And the sweet young man at the desk informed me that you were, indeed, carousing with whores. I paid him to let me in and threw out the whore.”

Ford swallowed thickly, walking with slow, careful steps along the cool wooden floor to the doorway, his shirt half-buttoned and the linen a mess of wrinkles. “There were two.”

“Of course there were.” Nathalie set the paper down and turned to look at him. She looked like their mother - both Ford and Nathalie looked like her, thank any god who might have been responsible. They had her delicacy, her bright wide eyes. Nathalie looked the most like her, though. And now she turned their mother’s look of solemn, disappointed judgment on him just like she had. “There was only one when I arrived. I sent him away.”

“Hmph. I thought he was quite nice, I was hoping to seek him out again. I can’t recall if he told me his name, though.” He dropped into a chair at the little breakfast table she’d set herself up at, slumping against the hard wooden back and tipping his head back. The world swayed dangerously around him when he did.

“His name was Darren,” Nathalie said, and when he opened his eyes to look at her, he found that the disappointment had become the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “Darren Meander.”

“That… He cannot have been speaking true to you.”

“I don’t care if he was or wasn’t, it’s what he told me. There, now you have a name if you want to find him again.”

“Thank you. Why did you bother?”

“You get on better with the whores than you do with your own class,” Nathalie said, as if the answer were obvious. “And you’re going to seek them out anyway. Besides, I use you as proof positive to myself of something I have always known.”

“What…?” 

“That I, Lady Nathalie Wentworth, shall never marry, since any man of means or with a good family name may be as dissolute and pointless as you are.” She winked at him, and he might even have found it in himself to laugh if his stomach hadn’t twisted angrily at the thought. “I do enough picking up after you, I don’t think I am in need of any other man to deal with.”

“I’m sure you can find a pious man and get to him before he joins the priesthood,” Ford muttered, his face hot with guilt. She really did so often have to handle things for him, things he should have handled himself as the eldest.

Nathalie was younger than him, only just now sixteen, but she’d always seemed older, more second mother than sister some days. Maybe because, since their mother had died - when he was eleven and she was only nine - she’d done all the mothering of the twins, all the hiding them from the attention of their father, holding them in the night after nightmares or when the coastal storms raged. 

Ford’s job, back then, had been to take the brunt of his father’s anger, keep Guilford’s eyes - and his fists - on him, and only him. It had kept Nathalie and the twins safe, for years… until their lordly father had split them all apart and declared the twins were old enough for finishing school, Ford was ready to take over the business interests in the Colonies, and Nathalie was old enough to run her own household and prepare for marriage.

Still.

They were all still far, far away from their father, and therefore safe from his direct influence, his attention, and his damnable monster.

Still.

Ford sighed, watching a shivery little rainbow from the sun shining through a window just right bounce off the ceiling. “In any case, I’ve hardly caused enough trouble to cross the channel and find you. What are you doing here, anyway?”

Nathalie didn’t look up from the paper she was scanning, but she gestured at a carafe before her. It had freshly-brewed coffee that steamed as he poured it into a teacup, and he sighed happily at the first sip. She hummed. “I came to see you.”

“You’re meant to be up at Howe House.”

“I was up at Howe House. I’ve been supervising it for months. It’s nearly habitable, which is lovely, considering I’ve been habiting there amongst the dust and the mouse droppings all this time.” Nathalie finally set the paper down, crossing her arms on the table and looking Ford over. She was pristine, in a light-blue linen dress made for the hot island days, her hair pulled back in a chignon to keep it from suffocating the back of her neck. “Oh, Ford. You look awful.”

“I feel awful, thank you ever so much for noticing.” He drained the first cup of coffee and poured a second, his tongue flat and numb from the too-hot liquid. He didn’t care. “So if you were at Howe House, why aren’t you there now? It’s a four-day sail to get here from there, and you sent no warning-”

“I absolutely did send you a notice, you shattered teapot of a man. You just haven’t been home in a week, I checked when I arrived. Your servants haven’t seen you since last Wednesday and not a single one had a clue where to find you except your butler.”

“Yes, well, he’s the only one I told when I left that I was going to stay here.” Ford exhaled. His sister’s constant piercing stare wasn’t helping his headache even a little bit. His stomach turned over itself and he fought back the urge to simply be sick all over this lovely table and Nathalie’s lovely dress. “... I hate the house. I avoid it whenever I can.”

“Clearly.” Something in his sister’s bristling manner softened, a little. She reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Ford. I know this… wasn’t how we hoped it would be, when we were young.”

Ford laid a hand over hers. His fingers felt chilled and numb - hers, by contrast, felt bright and warm and full of life. “We thought we could go farther from him, that he wouldn’t follow us. But…”

That had been when their mother was alive, and they had thought they could bring her with. Neither of them said it. Both of them heard it, anyway, even unsaid.

Ford cleared his throat. “... but if this is what our father wants, we must help to build and maintain the Wentworth name and fortune.”

“I know.” She squeezed his arm, brief but firm, and then let go of him, glancing back down at the paper. “I know. And we are, however we hate our parts, we play them. For the twins, at least.”

“For the twins. They’ll… be out of school in a few years, and by then, maybe-”

“Maybe.” She cut him off. She poured herself a coffee, then, holding it in both hands. Her nails were bitten nearly to the quick, the one bad habit that had never been broken in her no matter their father’s rages. “I should tell you, Ford, this is not a social visit. I was… sent here to pick you up.”

“You were?” Ford sat up straighter, and felt a frisson of dread like an electric eel moving inside of him. “By-... Nathalie, not by-”

“Yes. By… our father.”

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “... why?”

She took in a breath, wincing and pressing one hand to her side as the mere expansion of her ribs pushed against the tightly-fitted bodice. The style of the times, for wealthy young women, and Ford had spent more than a few nights undoing laces of young ladies wondering if ‘style’ was just a pretty way to avoid saying suffocation. At least the lower class women he spent most of his time with were allowed to breathe. 

Nathalie’s voice was so soft it was nearly a whisper. “You were supposed to be packed and ready to go when I arrived, Ford. I was supposed to explain it to you on the ship.”

“... what?” He blinked.

"Father's letter to me made it clear I wasn't to tell you until we were underway, but-... but I meant to regardless, just-... I expected you to have seen my letter."

"... Ah." The mere mention of his father had made his stomach try to rise up in his throat again, and the idea of going back on a ship - the weeks of seasickness and then the week of land sickness afterward when he had to get used to being solid and still once again - made it much much worse. He had to swallow hard as bile rose and lean over, resting his forehead on the cool surface of the table and pressing one hand over his belly to try and calm it with the pressure. 

The morning breeze blew in through the windows, bringing the salt-scent of ocean air with it. There came with the welcome salt the faint hint of dead fish, a simple fact of life everyone tried to ignore. You got used to it. Ford had gotten used to it, in the end. But it didn’t help his stomach feel any better now, or stop his heart from racing. “Father sent you... to pick me up? I am to live at Howe House with you now?” He groaned against the tabletop without looking up. “That house is full of ghosts!”

“It is not.” Nathalie rolled her eyes. He could hear her shoe tapping impatiently under the table and her cup clatter against the saucer as she put it back down. “That’s an old wives’ tale, I’ve never met a single one and I’ve been living there for more than a year.”

“Yeah, because you aren’t the heir, they don’t loathe you like they do me.”

“There are no spirits haunting Howe House,” Nathalie said firmly. “And if there were, why would they hate you?”

“The same reason I have such hatred for myself, due to the blood in my veins! His blood!"

Oh, he’d spoken too loud. The pain in his head spiked with his voice's volume, and he had to close his eyes tightly and breathe in quick, shallow pants until it ebbed again. 

Nathalie was silent, but her hand laid on his back, then, rubbing gently up and down. Just like their mother had, when they were young and came to her with sickness. She gave him a moment or two of quiet, which... it helped, honestly. “You cannot help the circumstances of your birth,” She murmured. “And remember what Mother said."

"It is only blood," Ford muttered, mouth barely moving. "She had no idea how deep the ties of blood run."

"Yes she did. And... I understand, Ford, I wish as much as you that we could change our names and be gone, but you know we can’t."

"The twins need us."

"Yes. Besides, Father-”

“Why, why would Father even think of me? I’ve done everything I can to get him to forget me entirely, Nathalie!”

“Oh, is that what the drinking and whoring were about? Being easily forgotten?” Nathalie’s humor was sharp, but it never quite cut deep. He knew her too well for that, and she was still gentling herself for his sake. He made himself sit up and look over at her. There was something in the set of her face that had his nerves singing in worry. “Listen to me, Ford. You aren’t coming to stay at Howe House.”

“Well, he can’t have sent you to scold me about… this.” He gestured at the wreckage of the hotel suite around him, bottles emptied or half-emptied. It looked as though at least one of his guests the night before had left their shirt behind. Or maybe that was one of his, and it had been unpacked… He’d never seen it before, but that didn’t mean much. Ford’s clothing was bought according to his father’s specifications, he never knew of it until he was sent for tailoring. “He doesn’t even know about it.”

“You cannot be sure, but… no, no, it’s not about this.” She licked at her lips, looking uneasily over to the window. Outside, the sun shone in a perfect, cloudless blue sky. The sound of people going about their lives down there filtered up to them. “... Ford. He calls us. We have been summoned... home.”

His heart chilled at the word. "No."

"Yes." Nathalie exhaled, folding her hands in front of her. She looked everywhere but him, and he tried without success to follow her gaze. “He’s… sent for us, Ford. You know why. You know what that means.”

“Either of us, really.” His voice was a whisper, airless. The hotel suite around him seemed suddenly transparent, as if he weren’t even seated here within it. As if it were all a pretty fiction, a daydream he had at night with Wentworth Manor crowding ever closer, his father’s eyes everywhere searching for faults, always finding them. His father’s monster with teeth bared and loathing in its dreadful eyes. “It could be for either of us. You’re sixteen, I’m eighteen, it could-... it could be for you, or for me, it could be-”

“... I think it’s for you.” She took his hand in both of hers again, and this time she held on tight. They looked at each other, with their mother’s eyes, and Ford felt the wave of fear he had spent his time here on the islands trying to escape breaking over his head, to drag him under again. “I think Father has found you a wife.”

The sun shone. Birds sang. The ocean was a constant dull, reassuring roar just outside the window. Despite the heat, Ford shivered with a depthless chill and felt water closing over his head, drowning him in the dark with all his fears coming suddenly to life.

“How-” His voice broke.

He had to swallow down terror, just like he had done since he was a child, and straighten his shoulders. He had to tell himself the world was only a play, and he was only a part his father had imperfectly cast. He had to keep his own life at a distance, and not feel it, or he would feel too much. The world had too many sharp edges, and he must stand apart from them or be slashed to ribbons. “Nathalie-”

“Please,” Nathalie whispered. “Please don’t ask, Ford. Don't, I won't know the answer, none of us know."

“How long?”

She didn’t answer, only looked away. He could see the glimmer in her eyes, knew it for what it was. It made the world feel even more distance, as if he were adrift in a lifeboat, the tide carrying him away from his own body. The escape was a gift or a curse, and he didn't know which.

His mouth still moved, without his consent. Without his decree. It asked the question neither of them knew the answer to, the question that haunted every Guilford Wentworth but the first.

“After I’m married, Nathalie... after he has given me to his bride, and the monster has taken my mind and will from me... after he has me shut up in his house again..."

His voice felt like someone else's. His body was only a creation that carried blood to a new generation, to give his father more power. He was far, far away from it.

"Nathalie-"

"Please, Ford-"

"How long will he... let me live?”

-

Taglist: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood @latenightcupsofcoffee

[riality-check]

Max, Eddie, and found family feels

Summary:

“He was such a prick,” Max whispers. “And I hate that I feel bad, and I hate that I don’t feel bad.”

Eddie sits back down across from Max and tries to wrack his brain for an intelligent thing to say.

He settles on, “You’re allowed to feel however you feel.”

Max snorts. “But isn’t it fucked up either way?”

“Welcome to Hawkins, Red,” Eddie says dryly. “We’re all fucked up here.”

OR

On a Sunday morning, Eddie and Max talk about survivor's guilt, cycles of abuse, and good ways to feel big.

[betweendisorders]

(trigger warnings in tags)

Basil is folding origami.

The edge of the bathroom counter crests over Aubrey's hair.

It flows past her, like stagnant filth. Like her house was flooded in it, up to her eye level, and then past her hair. Gentle pressure on all her fragile bones.

A fluorescent bulb burns. Ugly, artificial yellow.

She reaches up. One hand fumbles over the cold linoleum. Slick, icy cold water. Small hairs. Shaved stubble. A prickle, a sticking. Venus fly trap.

Her other arm hangs limply by her side, all undone.

She pulls herself up. Clambers over the side, with pained little noises. Has to crumple her body, fold herself against knives' edges. Turn herself inside out. Make herself unnatural.

There's a clatter against the floor, as a razor falls off. She ignores it.

It's a fortune teller. It's made of notebook paper, torn to be square. A little uneven, so some of the teller's teeth are larger and more jagged than others.

He has a quiet sort of expression. Focused. He makes art from notebook paper, and glances across at her.

They're in his driveway.

Nobody's home. Not anymore.

She sits down. The counter is as cold as it is filthy. She's careful not to knock their toothbrushes off. There are two. Aubrey isn't completely sure which one is hers.

She opens the cabinet, with her good hand. The mirror cabinet. Like a magic door, all secret and tucked away. Right where she never would've guessed, last birthday, when she cut herself slicing a cupcake in half. Sliced her skin open on Mom's broken promises last year, about next year, which became this year too quickly for her to keep up with.

Last birthday, when there was nobody to tell her where the med kit was.

But that was last birthday. Next year is here, and all the secrets of the world reveal themselves, when Aubrey's arm comes undone.

He looks embarrassed, when he notices she's watching him. "It's, um. It's a fortune teller." He laughs, a little, to himself. At himself. "It's silly, I know."

"Yeah," Aubrey says, shortly.

He smiles, briefly, across at her. A little pained. Looked back down, and stopped smiling. "Yeah," he agrees, playing with the fortune teller. Putting his fingers through the gaps. Shaping it properly.

And then, he started unfolding it. Ruffling through his pockets, to fetch a scratched, rattling, cheap plastic mechanical pencil.

He glanced at her. Anxious in the eyes. Unable to ignore her. "What, um... what fortunes do you think I should put?" he asked.

The mirror is stained.

Old spittle. Flecks of toothpaste. Smears of something grey and thick, semi-solid. Indistinct streaks. Smudges. Scratches. All those things that marked it as uncared.

Aubrey looks through the mirror.

On the other side, there's a her that isn't her. Her tearstains are permanent. Snot dribbles down from a quivering lip. Blood covers her shirt, dries against her chin.

The bathroom beyond is indistinct. The foggy, dirty glass that covered the shower - no bathtub beneath - glittered faintly. Horoscopic. The linoleum lapped against the smudges on its surface.

Aubrey looks to the other side, and sees a beach. Wishes she could be there, because her reflection isn't her.

"Don't ask me," Aubrey says, shortly. "I don't have a clue."

Basil looked down again. "Okay," he said, quietly. Willingly.

He's stark pale. As pale as he was drowning.

Fuck. "Fuck," she says as much. "Something good, I guess." She sneered, at the horizon beyond him. Glanced away. "God knows we've earned it."

Basil hesitated, for just a beat. Looked like he wasn't so sure.

His pencil scrawled against the paper.

I love you, Mom lies. The stench of blood thick in Aubrey's nose. Warmth, sickly, cradled carefully against her chest. Bundled and fumblingly uncaring. A dying sun, never to collapse into something bigger, or brighter, or supermassive. Just... going away.

I love you, Mom promises, and breaks it next year, when it comes too quickly.

(Anger needed an outlet. Mom wasn't here.)

Aubrey's arm was undone, and her reflection looked scared. Empty in the eyes, quivering lip.

Happy birthday, Mom didn't bother to lie.

"Happiness is just around the corner," Aubrey read aloud.

She looked across at him. Glared flatly. "Did you put this on all the flaps," she asked, though her tone was more like a statement of fact.

"Um... No?" He looked uncomfortable. Vaguely pained. She couldn't tell if it was confusion, or nerves. At being caught.

If he'd done it, at least.

She was sure he had.

She dropped the fortune teller onto the concrete. Let it splay out of her hand, and slip down. Tumble onward, and onward, and onward. Land hard. Bite off its own tongue, so the bark of the future wouldn't warn her.

"Life's bullshit," she said.

Basil hummed, vaguely. Looked away.

"...And then it ends," he said, quietly. Made a feeble attempt at a shaky, pained smile. "Might as well make the most of it?" he offered, like a consolation prize.

And Aubrey, for just a moment, thought of the beach. Where the ocean met the land. Where the unknown met home. Where she could wade into the water and still be safe, and the sun shone so brightly.

The fortune teller crinkled.

The sound made Aubrey's arm ache, dully.

(cross-posted to ao3)

[proudfreakmetarusonniku]

Letters

TW: Referenced human experimentation, mild dehumanisation, referenced torture, referenced abuse, obsession, possessive behaviour, extreme paranoia, and infantilisation

——

They come twice a week, every week.

Dream's not sure how letters manage to get sent to a brand new server, but like clockwork they end up on his doorstep regardless, “Dream” written on the envelope in scratchy red pen, spelt correctly maybe half of the time.

“Dear Dream,” they always begin, written more like the author knew vaguely those were the words used to begin a letter instead of their actual meaning, the politeness contrasting with the rest of the text, even the elegant, clearly heavily practiced font different to the childlike chickenscratch the rest was written in.

“Today I saw you on the telly and I thought you were poggers,” one might say, before going into naive fantasies about how cool it must be to be famous. “Wilbur said I shouldn’t try and be like you but I made my own mask,” another might, a mix of fawning idolisation and immature complaining about overbearing family members.

What first seemed like the ramblings of any young fan- he had plenty from his Manhunts- eventually turned into a fascinating puzzle. “Were you made in a lab too? I was. I got injected with a lot of painful shit,” one said, casually in the middle of complaining about having to learn maths. “Did you know Technoblade taught me to fight?” another said, something he’d have taken as wild bragging if it didn’t come with details about him no random kid would know.

Strange anecdote upon anecdote built up. “Did you know wolves don’t do that pack shit? They raised me for a bit, I know,” might come through one day, “Wil says I’m smart but I didn’t even know how to read before he taught me. I’m a Big Man but I feel like a stupid kid,” another.

And each one always, always, ended with “your new best friend, Tommy Innit!!!!!!”, written in big bold text that took up half the page. Even after months of no response, the enthusiasm shined through, that childlike wonder and adoration, that hero-worship.

How little he knew. Dream was no hero. No one was, if you lived long enough. But still, it warmed his heart and fascinated him both. Dream had always considered himself a scientist at heart, and this “Tommy” seemed like an enigma just waiting to be cracked.

One he wouldn’t figure out just through letters.

Smiling, Dream carefully loops through each letter in perfect cursive as he writes, ink bright green and glittery. “To my dearest Tommy,” he begins- after all, he doesn't know any other Tommys, so it's not a lie- “I have a spot open on my server, and your kind letters touched my heart…”

No letters show up at his doorstep anymore.

Some days, Dream dreams that they do. He opens the door to the prison, and there’s the same chickenscratch lettering. “Dear Dream, I'm sorry for being so ungrateful,” they always begin. “Always your best friend, no matter what, Tommy Innit!!!!!!” they end. When he wakes, they leave him feeling more empty and numb than the nightmares of isolation and pain.

It’s become a daily routine to read through them whenever he gets that feeling sinking through his stomach. He gets that feeling a lot, now, gnawing through him like a wild animal. If he were any more naïve, he'd say it was regret. If he had any hope in the rest of the fucking server, he'd say it was longing. But Dream wasn’t an idiot. Not anymore.

It’s almost like Tommy is right there with him when he reads those words. He hears his voice, the loud way he laughs, the softer tones as he shares the thoughts he tells no one else. One, Dream is sure he wrote while sobbing, and reading it in that sad, too-quiet tone brings back that same odd, all consuming satisfaction he misses from exile. That one is his favourite.

Once, it was odd little details and casual strangeness that drew him to the letters, made him keep them safe and secure so he could study them night after night. Now, it was the simple affirmations that stuck to him. “I know you’re a good person,” and “I wish I could be just like you,” and “I love you, man, I wish you were my brother unlike Wilbur he's so lame.”

Tommy admired him, once. Tommy trusted him, once. Tommy loved him like a brother, once. He wasn’t crazy, he wasn't, he was the only sane person on this Prime forsaken planet. Tommy didn’t hate him. Tommy doesn't hate him, he can’t, not the same Tommy who wrote such fawning praise in these letters, not the same Tommy who clung to him like a frightened animal in Exile. And if that Tommy was gone, Dream would claw him back if it was the last thing he ever did.

“Your new best friend,” they said. Always, that’s what they said. And they were right- Tommy, the only person to never betray him, never plot and scheme and grasp for power. He saw it in everyone else’s eyes- that greed, that desire. Even Punz, Dream knew, only followed him for convenience- what other reason could there be, with that power-hungry look, that eagerness for more? Thinking such thoughts was already a betrayal- what reason was there to want power other than to use it to hurt him? It was a knife in the back, every ambitious word, yet Tommy, innocent naïve Tommy, never had that glint in his eye, that hidden blade.

He misses that sweet Tommy, that childlike wonder poorly hidden behind an angry facade. The Tommy forever captured in letters, the Tommy he'd brought out through fists upon those beaches of Logstedshire. Kind, loyal, adoring. Practically worshipping the very ground Dream walked on, like the God he was. His biggest fan, his loyal protege, his best friend, his most beloved little brother. Not the angry, spiteful shell everyone else had twisted the poor thing into.

Dream would save him from them, soon enough.

Sighing, Dream struggles to quite get the words straight as he writes them, shaking hands pressing down too hard on the paper. He writes a million things he wants to say, things he can’t say. Things he will say once he had Tommy back safely, once he had his best friend back. “To my dearest, Tommy,” he always begins- after all, he had no one else left to care about, so it’s not a lie- “I have missed your letters dearly…”

[blackquill-inchains]

couldn't decide which version i liked better so have all four

i personally like how the short hair makes him resemble the protag of shoujo tsubaki since korekiyos design is supposed to take inspiration from underground art like that

[enjoytheglow]

Pinterest has sent me an email kindly asking me to please remove any Pins with references to suicide and self-harm on all my boards

And that's a whole section of my Mae board, including the title

[swiftietartt]

tease / tidbit tuesday

tagged by @bigfootsmom <3

this is from a fic i started where tommy introduces buck to his little circle of friends, but it kind of starts with a look back at what got tommy where he is now:

(tw: implied/referenced abuse)

Tommy likes taking on projects; likes taking things apart, figuring out how they work, and then putting them back together.

It’s an escape mechanism.

In high school—when things got bad at home—he’d put in as many hours as he could at the local garage, apprenticing under guys who’d let him work on the Mustang long after the shop had closed; earning just enough money to get out.

Then, in the late 2000’s—when shit got bad at work again with Gerrard—Tommy’d go home and retile the bathroom; he’d catch glimpses of himself in the mirror and call himself a coward for never standing up to him, for never having stood up to his own father, and he’d wish he could be a little bit more like Hen.

“You’ve never considered a transfer to Harbor?” Captain Nash had asked him one day, had called him into his office, and closed the door behind him; and Tommy’d felt unjustly small then, hadn’t ever really known what it’d felt like for someone to take him apart, analyze all of him, and then want to put him back together better than they’d found him.

(And, truth be told, deep down, some fucked up part of him would have almost preferred if Bobby had just yelled at him instead; about anything. He could’ve gotten in his face, pushed him around a little, and Tommy would have taken it, felt he deserved it, even, far more than whatever this was.)

tagging anyone who wants to <3

[djsherriff-responses]

still having wrote any cheek clapping but I think the setting up is done, maybe?

criticism much appreciated

TW for implied/referenced non con , abuse and Dolph’s struggles with that as well as an age gap romance

Dolph was running out of patience with this guy.

It's been over a year since the ex bodyguard of Pagan Min decided to drastically change the course of both their lives and save Dolph from a life of being treated like a cheap toy by Alex.

And a few months since Dolph figured out he and Hao were mutually attracted to each other.

Having been raised to be a soldier from the age of four and becoming romantically involved with the first man he met when he became eighteen , Dolph isn’t the most well adjusted man in the hellscape that is Eden. In fairness Hao isn’t much better , being a tiger hybrid bred specifically to serve Pagan Min’s family even before Pagan shot his old man dead and took over the family business. It’s sort of a miracle Hao managed to reach his 40s in the line of work he was assigned , never mind having a child and a wife.

Or had a wife, Hao became a widower not long after his daughter was born. In other words, Hao is single.

Which would be convenient for Dolph if the two of them weren’t socially awkward as hell and emotionally constipated. Which was worse, Dolph’s inability to express himself or Hao’s lack of confidence? Dolph pondered this as he stood in a store with the older man, the feline sniffing the small containers as the cyborg did his best to hide his cybernetics under his oversized hoodie.

“So ummm” Hao looked over to Dolph, holding a candle in each paw. “Are there any smells you like?”. Dolph looked at him nonchalantly, hands in his pockets “I thought we were meant to be getting supplies?”. Dolph asked, he saw Hao’s brows raise slightly “we are, no harm in getting something nice though, right?”. Hao gave Dolph an awkward, toothy grin.

The two stood in silence for a moment. 

“Right uh” Hao looked away from Dolph and began to mumble, trying to find the next thing to say. Dolph could relate to Hao’s struggle, he wasn’t good with his words either. But while Dolph was blunt when he spoke, Hao became a bumbling mess of a man. From what Hao told Dolph , it wasn’t usually an issue back when Hao worked for Pagan, as he simply had to follow orders and mind his own business. But since essentially betraying his boss, Hao has been forced to get out of his comfort zone and actually socialise with people who aren’t his daughter.

“Jasmine”

“Uh?” Hao turned back to Dolph “I like Jasmine” Dolph said, giving a slight shrug of the shoulders. “Why are you getting these anyways?” Dolph asked with a hint of annoyance in his voice “We should just focus on the essentials and leave as soon as possible”. Dolph could see Hao give a small frown “I know, I know, but what’s the point of surviving if you don’t live a little?”.

Dolph wasn’t convinced.

Hao sighed, he placed a hand on Dolph’s shoulder “You’re worried about Eden catching us here?” Hao gave a gentle rub with his thumb, Dolph could barely contain the butterflies that motion sent his stomach. “You can go outside and wait for me, if you prefer?” Dolph hesitated to answer, unsure if being in the store, surrounded by people in close quarters and security lurking every corner, or outside, exposed in the open with little cover, was the safer option.

Eventually though, Dolph nodded his head.

Dolph walked through the automated doors of the store and into the quiet car park. Dolph could see very little people around , but that didn’t mean Dolph was safe from being spotted by guards out of sight. The ex super soldier decided it’d be best to stand by the trash cans nearby , not too obvious but still easy for Hao to find him.

Dolph just hoped he wasn't for a certain bastard ex of his find.

As Dolph waited for Hao to finish shopping, he looked back on his time knowing and getting close to the feline hybrid.

From what Hao has been willing to share about himself , he among many other tiger hybrids were born in China within a lab and trained to work for Gang Min, though Pagan took over before Hao could be of service for the old man. Being essentially Pagan's property, Hao followed Pagan over to Eden where the pink prick wished to expand his power in the crime underworld.

While Hao wasn't a free man, he did receive some benefits so long as he stayed on Pagan's good side, and Hao was damn good at staying on Pagan's good side.

Dolph admittedly struggled to tell Hao apart from the other tigers when they first met and having been used to random guards sneaking into his cell to have their own way with him, Dolph assumed Hao simply wanted what everyone only ever wanted Dolph for:

To use him.

Despite the fact that for years he had killed indiscriminately for Pagan Min, Hao was a sweet person who cared about others. Dolph learned that quickly when Hao threw everything away to save Dolph from being used for Pagan's private night shows and decided to stay by the cyborg's side since.

Dolph was , for lack of a better description , pretty fucked up the first month away from Pagan and Alex. Dolph still struggles to gasp that anyone would want to help him just for the sake of helping him, so naturally Dolph assumed that Hao took him away to have his own way with him.

But when it became obvious Hao didn't have any sexual intentions, Dolph quickly became scared of what intentions Hao may have actually had for taking him away.

Dolph quickly flipped from acting like an eager sex doll to an anxious and easily triggered cannon as he became incredibly argumentative towards Hao, hardly getting sleep and constantly on edge made Dolph feel like he could never relax. At one point Dolph actually tried going back to Alex.

It’s an awful way to think of himself but Dolph would rather be used as a plaything than be a weapon ever again.

Dolph was in an awful state , but Hao persevered to help regardless. Dolph still has no clue how Hao ever put up with his bullshit, hell, he wonders how Hao is still putting up with his attitude. Eventually through their time together the two became more closer and open with each other. They’re still a bit stunned and awkward with socialising, but Dolph has since become more understanding of Hao’s anxiety ridden rambling and Hao has since learned to better read Dolph.

All that patience and gentleness, that fatherly aura Hao practically glows with, not falling for him was a mission and dear lord did Captain Laserhawk fail that mission.

Noticing Hao's attraction towards him was a surprise though. Whenever he could, Hao tried encouraging Dolph to go off to nightclubs and other social gatherings where they were confident no one would catch them, even telling Dolph to talk to people on his own. Since Hao is a father himself, Dolph wasn’t sure how to read Hao’s care towards him, if there was something else behind Hao’s actions or if Dolph was misreading simple fatherly behaviour.

But when Hao started grazing his hand , when his touches became unintentionally close and intimate, when Hao started physically becoming closer, Dolph knew it wasn’t daddy issues making him misinterpret anything.

After he noticed the feline's attractions towards him, Dolph started to see a bit of guilt whenever their eyes met. Considering their age difference and how Hao often pushes Dolph to interact with people closer to his age , as well as Hao’s fatherly instincts, Dolph can take a guess what Hao’s conscience is telling him.

Dolph has come to realise his relationship with Alex …..  was not great. Even before letting Pagan pimp him out , Alex wasn't the wonderful boyfriend that Dolph had imagined , far from it. It never crossed Dolph's mind until after Hao helped him escape and time apart from his ex just how much Alex had expected of him in their relationship.

Hao has his faults,he has very little confidence in himself and often bends to the will of others rather than stick to his own conviction. Hao has the tendency to ramble and mumble , this was especially bad when the two were first getting to know each other and Dolph did not have any patience. Not to mention he napes in the weirdest and most inconvenient of positions.

But Alex? Looking back , Alex rarely took their jobs seriously and despite being the one who made the plans , would often go off course from what the two agreed on. Alex would also be very ill prepared for those jobs , with Dolph having to step in and take the responsibility when times got tough. Alex was cocky , and left much of the heavy lifting to Dolph , sometimes more literal than others.

Funny, Dolph didn't realise how often he used to wear rose tinted glasses.

Maybe because Alex made him doubt his self worth, Dolph can't help but wonder if all Hao’s efforts to help him is just a waste of Hao's time and energy.

Especially since Hao has a daughter, Naomi.

Besides one phone call , most of which was Hao arguing with her to stay in Canada and not look for him, Hao hasn't had any contact with her in their time of them running from Pagan and Alex, much less seen her in person. Naomi was already in college and far away from Eden when Hao swapped being under Pagan's employment to being hunted down by him, but that doesn't stop Hao being worried Pagan will track her down and hurt her.

Despite the long distance, Hao has gone into depth to Dolph about how much he loves his daughter and how proud he is of the woman Naomi has become, particularly that she's smart and has the courage to make her own path in life. Hao carries a photo collection of her and rarely refuses the opportunity to show off his little girl, Dolph thought it was dorky but can’t deny it’s adorable how Hao comes out of his shell when his child is the focus of the conversation. Last he checked , Naomi was in Canada studying computer science and was at the top of her classes. She was never told the exact details of the work Hao did, and he wants to keep it that way as Hao wants to ensure that Naomi is kept far away from Pagan and the work he had to do under him, even if it means cutting her out of his life.

Despite Hao's reassurance that freeing him was his choice and Hao will deal with the consequences of his own actions, the guilt of keeping a child away from her father eats Dolph up at night.

Curiously , Hao has mentioned that Naomi isn't a tiger , but a tigon hybrid. Her mother was a lioness named Julie. Hao had met Julie not long after he arrived in Eden, during a night out with some co-workers they got drinks from a bar where she was singing that night and it was love at first sight. Whenever Hao spoke of her, Hao would stare off into the distance as if he was staring into something beautiful. 

Dolph wonders if someone will ever talk about him that way, maybe even-

“Hi birdie” Dolph snapped out of his thoughts as he was greeted by Hao holding a few bags. “Sorry to keep you waiting , I got all the stuff we need” Dolph looked around the area before the two left the car park. Keeping an eye out for any potential stalkers and cameras , the two kept their wits about them as they tried walking back to their hideout.

“What did you get?” Dolph asked, noticing that Hao was obviously carrying more than basic necessities and candles.

Hao blushed a bit “oh It’s um , it’s a surprise!” The tiger winked.

[let-your-chaos-explode]

Okok. Listen

LessoxReader where R is Leonoras' best friend back in gavaldon. But they both like each other,they're just too scared to face rejection.

But then when lessk goes to the SGE R is devastated. Pretty much dead but alive.

THEN,THEN R GETS SELECTED TO GO TO THE SCHOOL. But she's an ever . They reunite and they tell each others feelings that never faded.

The rest of the plot is yours to make♡♡

IT HAS BEEN SO LONG BUT I GOT IT STARTED FOR YOU!!!!

I couldn't keep it brief, so it is broken up into a part 1 and a part 2 will be coming later! Stay tuned.

The day Leonora disappeared, you were devastated. Nobody knew how, or when, or why. All you knew was that your best friend was gone. 

When you were five-years-old, some girls from town had started making fun of you for being dirty. Children are dumb, and it didn’t matter to them that your family was struggling. They didn’t understand that you could hardly afford food. How could you afford new shoes, fitted clothes, or anything more than a basic necessity? 

Leonora Lesso was a year older than you and your savior sent from above. Or from below. It didn’t really matter which. She found you crying in an alleyway following another round of harassment from the girls in town. She had told you to suck it up and then offered to kick them in the shins in the same breath. You were inseparable ever since. 

“Leo, come on. It’s not worth it.” You begged, pulling on her arm. 

“It’s worth it to me.” She growled as she yanked out of your grasp. 

“Oh look, the little piggy has a lion to protect her! Must be, with that matted mess of hair.” 

Leonora sent you an exasperated side eye. You sighed and raised your arms in surrender before she slung out her arm and decked him. She shot you a toothy grin and kicked him once more for good measure. 

You rolled your eyes and pulled at her hand. 

“Leo, we need to go.” You said as the boy groaned in pain. 

She leaned over and spit on his writhing form. With a satisfied nod, she curled her fingers around yours and walked with you back to the center of town. 

“What?” She asked under your disapproving glance. 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” 

She blew a raspberry at your chastisement. “I was just defending your honor.”

“My hero.” You swooned sarcastically. 

She laughed and bumped your shoulder with her own. You couldn’t fight the smile any longer and let it break, warm affection bursting through. She truly was your knight-errant, if not in shining armor. It was no wonder you had fallen for her. But in Gavaldon, you were an outcast enough, already bringing her down from her association with you. And you weren’t even sure she would ever look at you the same way you looked at her. Instead, you hid behind jokes and friendly smiles. You would be happy with any piece of her she was willing to give. Best friends would be enough. 

That night, the light tapping against your window pane pulled you from the most wonderful dreams of being caressed by a burnless flame. You looked around in a daze before catching sight of her outside. You quickly opened the window and beckoned her in. 

“What are you doing, Leo?” You hissed, helping her climb through. 

She snorted angrily and collapsed onto your bed. In the light of the moon slanting through the window, you caught sight of a motley of bruises littering her cheek. A sharp cut split her upper lip and the dark red contrasted violently with the paleness of her skin. 

“Oh my god. What happened to you?” You asked as you tenderly brushed your fingers against her cheekbone. 

Leonora shrugged with self-depreciation and offered you a halfhearted smile. “Peter showed up at my house with his father. Told him I jumped him while his back was turned. And, well, you know how my father is.” 

She kicked up the covers and slid underneath, lifting them up in an offer for you to join. You needed no convincing. You climbed in and snuggled into the warmth of the cocoon she created. Her long figure wrapped around yours and pulled you tightly to her chest. 

“Do you ever wish you could run away from this place?” Leonora whispered into your hair. 

You chewed on the thought for a long minute. You were thankful your back was to her chest…it was easier to say if she wasn’t looking at you. 

“No…that would mean being without you.” 

You felt her rest her forehead against the back of your neck and sigh. 

“I can’t stay here, Y/N. I want to burn this whole shithole to the ground. I know there’s more for us out there somewhere. We just have to find it.”

You found her hand and threaded your fingers through hers and squeezed tightly. 

“Would you go with me? If I asked you?” She asked tentatively into the night. 

“Of course.” You answered immediately. 

Without a doubt. Without even a second of consideration. Wherever she went, you would follow. Even if it meant to the ends of the Earth and back. You wouldn’t be leaving home, you would be following it. 

The conversation between you quieted as you felt her relax at your declaration. Eventually, her breaths evened out and you knew she had fallen asleep. You took the opportunity to turn in her embrace. In sleep, the harshness of her features softened. An occasional freckle peppered the bridge of her nose and dark lashes fluttered against her sharp cheeks. In the light of the moon, her long, curly, red hair seemed to almost glow. 

“I would do anything for you, Leo.” You whispered, knowing she wouldn’t hear you. 

If only you had the courage to tell her in the daylight. 

You awoke the next morning to an empty bed. You knew she had to be home before her father found her missing, but the emptiness still left you feeling cold. You finished your morning routine with familiar ease and walked the dusty path from your house to the main road. A smile broke upon your face at seeing Leonora standing there waiting for you. 

“Good morning!” You greeted her brightly. 

Leonora simply pinched the bridge of her nose and rubbed at her eyes. In the early morning sun, the bruise under her eye seemed less severe, but had already soured in color. 

“You are way too chipper for this early in the morning.” She groaned. “Do you sing with the birds, too?”

“Only when I know the song.” You quipped back. 

You linked your arm with hers and began the trek to the schoolhouse. 

“No more fights today.” You warned at the stone steps of the building. 

“If they keep your name out of their mouths, we wouldn’t have to worry about it.” She muttered darkly. 

“Promise me!” 

“Fine. I promise. Can we go become educated, now?” 

Together, you climbed the steps and parted to your respective classrooms. 

You always enjoyed school. It gave you a reprieve from the grueling work at home and opened your eyes to far off worlds and innovation. School was an escape. 

As you found your chair, Peter’s shoulder roughly connected with your own. 

“Watch out little piggy. Lesso won’t always be around to protect you.” He hissed as he walked past. 

You shivered but ignored the pointed barb. That wouldn’t happen. Leonora wouldn’t abandon you. 

The rest of the day passed by at an agonizingly slow rate. As the bell rang for dismissal, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Your classmates streamed out of the schoolhouse like ants fleeing a flood and you got carried along by the surge. Outside, Leonora was waiting for you once more. She gave a sarcastic bow and offered you her arm to escort you home. 

You walked in silence for a solid ten minutes before you mustered the courage to ask, “You wouldn’t ever leave without me, would you?”

The question was odd and the vulnerability was plain in your voice. It made her pause in her steps and the suddenness jerked you to a halt beside her. 

“I wait for you every day, don’t I?” She asked you with a confused frown. 

The expression was rather cute on her face and you wanted to smooth away the pinched expression. 

“Of course!” You laughed. “I just meant if you ever left this place. You wouldn’t forget about me, would you?”

“Impossible.” She scoffed and a devilish smile grew on her face. “You’d be coming with me! I couldn’t possibly leave without my traveling pack.”

She lunged at you and tossed you weightily over her shoulder. A surprised shriek fell from your lips and uncontrollable giggles followed. You certainly wouldn’t complain. You had a marvelous view from your new angle. 

“Besides,” Leonora continued with a more subdued tone. “You’re my conscience. I wouldn’t survive out there without you.” 

Climbing the last hill to your house, she set you down gently and shot you an impish wink. A thrum of longing flared in your chest. You wanted to tell her everything. 

“Leo, I…”

But the words felt caught in your throat. The bruises that littered her face mocked you. Gavaldon was unforgiving and completely intolerant of anything different. And the violence of the world’s reactions that adorned Leonora’s beautiful face were only the tip of the iceberg of what could come. 

“Yes?” She dragged out in a sarcastic imitation of your hesitation. 

“Nothing. I just…thank you. For being my best friend.” You stuttered lamely. 

A small, almost sad smile pulled at the corners of her lips. 

“Yeah.” Leonora said awkwardly. “Me too.” 

The response felt heavy in the air and you suddenly felt like you had made a mistake. 

“I’ll see you later!” She added after a beat, turning to head down the hill toward her house. 

“Bye.” You called softly. 

You watched her walk until her form faded into the sun. 

Nightmares plagued you that night. Vague images of a smoky red sky and screams in the night. You felt exhausted when the sun rose the next morning. Thankful that tomorrow was the weekend, you dressed robotically for school. 

When you made it to your gate, Leonora wasn’t there waiting for you. Unease buried itself low in your belly. She was never late. Even when she was sick, dead, or dying…she was at your gate to greet you every morning. You waited. And waited. And waited some more just for good measure. 

You made it to the school halfway through the first period and ignored the stares as you found your seat. Your unease grew to monstrous anxiety that clawed at your gut. The buzz of the whispers around you fell like a fog until her name cut through the haze. 

“The police were at the Lessos’ this morning. Maybe that’s why Y/N is late. They probably think she had something to do with it.” 

“Do with what?” You asked, whipping around in your seat. 

“Lesso’s gone missing. Parents seem to think she ran away.” The girl behind you whispered dramatically. 

“She wouldn’t do that.” You adamantly denied. 

But even as the words escaped your mouth, it felt like your heart tried to reach up and strangle them. To pull them back. 

Not without me. 

Suddenly, you couldn’t focus. The air felt thin and your ears began to ring. Was this what heartbreak felt like? 

You stood and the ringing in your ears grew to a thundering roar. The voices of your teacher and classmates drowned in the same waves that seemed to crash over you. Ignoring the presence of everyone around you, you stumbled back out the door and sprinted home. You ran past the outskirts of town, ran up and over the hill of your house, and down the sloping curve to the Lesso family home. You didn’t stop until your fists were pounding against the rotting wood door, echoing the beats of your heart. 

“What did you do to her?!” You screamed through the trembling pine. 

The door swung open to reveal the hulking form of her deadbeat father. 

“Get the fuck off my porch.” He growled as he shoved you off the step. 

“What did you do to her?”

“I ain’t touch her.” He hissed. 

“We both know that’s not true.” You said lowly through clenched teeth. 

He looked at you through narrowed eyes and straightened his back. 

“Bed was unmade this morning and window wide open. Ungrateful brat finally took off. If she knows what’s good for her, she won’t come back.”

He said no more and slammed the door. 

Your feet blindly carried you back to your front gate where you collapsed into a heap against the post. Sobs suddenly crawled up your throat and broke free in an agonized scream. 

She left.

[suncaptor]

Lucifer wearing Sam to the prom 🤝 Sam's prom date being possessed by a demon 🤝 you're like the girl that kept turning me down at the prom