#mentions of child abuse

[farfromstrange]

Daddy Issues | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Inspired by this song.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: There are some scars from our childhoods that just won't heal, like daddy issues will somehow always affect our relationships, especially with men. It's the trauma that makes us afraid. Matt Murdock is a considerate boyfriend and he hardly ever raises his voice, so when he lets his anger out on you, he triggers something in you that you have never told him about.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of child abuse, daddy issues (not the sexy kind), childhood trauma, yelling, crying, small injury (reader cuts her finger), not proofread

A/n: This is entirely self-indulgent. I won't tell you why exactly, but let's just say today was not a good day and I needed to write this to feel better. It helped, for the most part. If you have/had a father who yells a lot and likes to blame you for everything, this is for you. But also basically everyone who's afraid of men yelling at you because you've been traumatized before. This has not been proofread or beta-d. It’s just a silly little comfort fic.

Tags: (people who answered the original idea and I think would enjoy this or asked to be tagged)

@igotanidea @lina-mar @redzie02 @hellskitchens-whore

[not my gif, credits to the owner mentioned under the gif]

In the heat of the moment, some people raise their voices. May it be a fight or a moment of excitement. When we get angry, we often resort to a louder volume and sometimes even verbal abuse. We say things we don’t mean. We wouldn’t be human if that didn’t happen sometimes, although most fights can be resolved by talking civilly. There is no point in screaming when talking like adults is a viable option that won’t hurt anyone. But it hardly ever happens, not when both parties are already worked up to the point of no return.

For you, there has not been a fight or discussion in your life that hasn’t resulted in a screaming match. Your parents often yelled at each other. You grew up like this, the voices of your fighting parents constantly in the back of your head until the day they divorced. And even after that, you figure you started hallucinating their fights whenever the world went quiet around you so you would have some noise in the back of your head.

Your father was the one who screamed the most. He yelled and scolded you whenever you didn’t act according to his standards or made even the smallest of mistakes, didn’t do something or just used the wrong tone with him, something that often didn’t sit right with him.

He always resorted to screaming. The context never really mattered, he just got louder, harsher and he used words that would confuse every kid and make their tiny brains overflow with the guilt they caused. And when you cried, he only waved it off because “there is no reason to cry, I’m just stating the facts”.

It traumatized you in a way many children who grew up in such families understand, and he made you believe that every man in your life has a reason to yell at you, to use you, to abuse you and constantly ask you for things even though you can’t possibly match up to all of their expectations.

You always expect to be yelled at by the men in your life. Even the smallest hint of the disappointment in someone’s voice makes you anxious and more often than not, you start to cry. It’s your defense mechanism. You’re fragile and you get scared easily. A switch gets flicked and you’re suddenly standing in the same house you grew up in, letting your father rain hell down on you because you were too scared to fight back.

The constant screaming made you scared of men, and it made you more careful with what you say or do around others. You tread carefully. You try to please and not to screw up too much, too scared of the consequences and possible negative reactions. In school, you used to do the same, always wanting to please the teachers and when they raised their voices, you often excused yourself and were left shaking and crying in the bathroom. 

Matt Murdock has always been a man with a heavy internal conflict, and that conflict resulted in anger issues and his ever-present catholic guilt. When you met him, he came across as attractive yet dominant, and that scared you a little until you talked for the first time in the middle of a cozy coffee shop and he showed how soft of a man he actually is. He keeps himself locked away and that might make him seem unapproachable, but he isn’t. He’s the kindest man you have ever met, and his heart is set right. Out of all the lovers you’ve had, he is truly the best and most considerate when it comes to your relationship.

He treats you like you’re the universe to him and when you fight, it’s more often bickering than it is an exchange of vulgarities and screams. He takes his anger out on punching bags, not you, and when he hurts someone, it’s often criminals who deserve his wrath. His life is complicated, but it’s easier with you in it. He feels alive, he’s told you, and he wouldn’t trade that for the world, so he always makes sure you’re taken care of and happy before he looks after himself.

There is, of course, the issue with his enhanced senses. He’s blind but his senses are enhanced to an extent that most blind people don’t have. You found out about that early on in your relationship, but there’s never been a doubt in your mind about the love you feel for him, so it was no hard choice to stay.

Though dating the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen comes with its collection of issues. More often than not you have to stitch him up or search him in dark alleys and trash cans because he keeps getting in trouble, and the worry often eats you alive. Still, you comfort him when he’s had a bad day, always, and you make him the spotlight of your life every time. In your mind, taking care of him comes first.

But Matt always gives back. It’s his Catholicism, you’re sure of that. He can’t take help. He has to be the one doing the work and moving mountains. He is God’s disciple and he feels responsible for his city and the people living in it. His blindness feels like a gift given to him by God to conquer all possible battles, and while you don’t really believe in God, you have accepted that part of him with open arms and more often than not join him in his faith because life with him is surely not the easiest.

When Matt Murdock feels overwhelmed, he tries not to show it. He’d rather lock himself away than burden you. He’d rather struggle on his own than put the people he loves in danger or hurt them with his personal struggles and the pain that consumes him.

Matt is patient and he doesn’t care if you screw up, even though you apologize profusely most of the time. He’s patient because we’re all human. We all screw up. That is the principle that he lives by and he makes you feel like you can be more of yourself around him. So after a year, there are no more reservations and you feel a lot more comfortable in your skin.

Until this day, he had never let his anger out on you, and he had never opened his mouth to yell at you in any way. Until that day.

He’s different when he comes home. He finds himself at his wit's end, and he has been ever since that godforsaken murder trial started. When he comes home, you don’t think much of his distance toward you, the denial of a proper kiss, and his grunts as he lowers himself on the couch instead of asking you about your day. You don’t think much until it all goes wrong, and you’re not even sure at what point it does or what you did to deserve this, but there has to be a reason because the man you’re seeing right now is not the Matt you usually get to see.

We all have bad days sometimes, others more often, but this seems deeper than just a bad day at the courthouse. This is not the face of an exhausted man after a long work day that just needs some kisses and maybe a blowjob, or to have sex with his girlfriend in all his dominant glory with aftercare to put the cherry on top. This is not Matt Murdock, this is the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen that comes through the front door, tosses his cane into a corner, and then just falls on the couch like a wet sack of potatoes, his fists clenched as if he is ready to explode any second.

You’ve been taught to tread carefully, so you do. You approach him only slowly because you are worried, you always are. Perhaps it’s the line of questioning that has him exploding in no time.

“You okay?” you ask.

He props his feet up on the living room table and huffs. “Fine,” he says.

“You don’t look fine. Did something happen?”

You’ve brought him a glass of water, which he takes with a curt nod. Something is bothering him, but he won’t talk to you.

“Bad day at work?”

“It doesn’t matter now. I’m fine. I just want to forget that today ever happened.”

“You want some coffee?” you decide to ask instead.

“No,” he says.

His leg starts to bounce. It only does when he is agitated or overstimulated and is trying to deal with the world around him. 

“Do you want me to run you a bath?”

He sighs. “No.”

“We still have leftovers, maybe I could warm them up.”

His tone is harsher this time, “No!”

You blink, a little taken aback by the force in his voice and involuntarily, you start to shake.

“I just want to be alone,” he adds, softer this time. “Can you… you know what, I’m just gonna get changed.”

And like that, he is gone. He disappears into the bedroom and you’re left flabbergasted. You want to ask what’s wrong, but you’re scared. You’ve never been scared of him before. It’s not him, it’s his reaction, and so you retreat into the kitchen. 

Eventually, he comes out again, though he is still missing a shirt. “Have you seen my Columbia sweater?” he asks, the lights of the billboard reflecting off his marble skin. 

“It’s in the washer,” you tell him.

“Why?”

“Because it’s dirty. Matt, what is going on?” You place your mug down and look at him, eyes soft and full of concern.

He only rolls his. “I just want my sweater.” Grabbing the used shirt from the chair at the dinner table, he slips it on. It’s not the fabric he wanted and he tenses up, hating the new sensation already.

“Are you sure this is about your sweater? You’ve been on me ever since you got in.”

“Yes, because you keep asking useless questions.”

“Useless?” You scoff. “So my interest and worry for you are useless?” 

If there is one thing you have gotten good at it has to be defending yourself.

He brushes past you to get a beer from the fridge. “I told you, I’m fine.” He is good at brushing you off because he doesn’t like to admit when he feels weaker than usual.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Oh, my God, then stop fucking looking!”

“Okay, what the hell is your problem?”

He scoffs. “You don’t get it.”

“What don’t I get?”

“Everything.”

“Enlighten me then.”

“It’s not…” his chuckle is bitter. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. You’re gonna keep seeing problems where there are none, so talking to you makes no sense anyway.”

What did he just say? You are so confused and suddenly very angry that you forget you are holding a glass. You smash it down on the counter, and, as expected, it shatters into a million pieces. Most of them fall to the floor and right at his bare feet. His eyes darken.

Oh.

Now you are scared, and not in a way that resembles sexy foreplay. You are scared because he is turning into a stranger right before your eyes. Suddenly, all you can see is not your loving boyfriend Matt Murdock, you see the anger of both your father and your stepfather in his eyes and hear it in his voice and it instantly tells you, 'this is all your fault'.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t see…”

“One night,” he says. He moves out of the kitchen, trying not to step into the glass.

You follow him with wide eyes. “What’s that?” 

“One night,” he repeats his earlier statement. “That’s all I wanted. One fucking night where people don’t prod or- or want things from me. And what do you do? You keep talking and talking, and you don’t even care that I simply don’t want to talk.”

“Matt, that is not fair. I just wanted to-“ the tears start to prick in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Jesus Christ.” And that’s where your strength stops and you retreat into your shell – the next words out of his mouth come so loud, you could have sworn they echoed off the brick walls and shot straight into your eardrums. “For once in your life, stop fucking apologizing!” 

His hand lifts, mostly to underline his words, and with the bottle in his hand he is suddenly so close, your eyes squeeze shut at the gush of wind. You flinch, your entire body caving in on itself. It’s not even intentional, you can’t help it. You’ve been conditioned to expect the worst when someone raises their hand, and Matt has never done it before. 

He realizes what it looks like the second your heart jumps and your blood rushes loudly in his ear. He can smell your sweat, the tears, and the fear that surrounds you. It’s your pheromones that change and something lingers in the air that makes him stop and think, what did I just do? 

He has been so in his head and the city has been loud for hours, he lost most of his patience at the courthouse, and then you’re there all caring and lovely and he can’t help but tell himself he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve you. He just wants quiet and to be alone while at the same time, all he wants is you, but it’s too much. It’s all too much.

And now, as you flinch away from him and his booming voice, he snaps back to reality and realizes he made a mistake. He’s never experienced you like this before, and it scares him. 

“Did you just…” he begins, his voice soft and barely above a whisper.

He hears you fall to your knees, the taste of salt thick in the air and your breath shakes with every intake. You bite your lip and you collect the shards, trying to clean up your mess as if he would hate you if you didn’t. You whisper a silent, “Sorry.” And then he hears it. You’re sobbing, you try not to but you are, and it is his fault.

“Did you think I was gonna hit you?” he asks, dreading the answer.

You sniffle, not answering.

You flinched, he heard it, and not because you were surprised. You are scared, he knows. 

He slowly approaches the kitchen. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”

“I just gotta clean this up,” you whimper and you brush the glass together with shaky hands. The tears are running down your cheeks in thick streams and your teeth have gnawed your bottom lip bloody, your throat dry with the denied sobs.

“I just gotta clean this up and then I can make you dinner or something. I don’t… I can fix this. I’ll fix this. I’m sorry.”

It’s your fault, you tell yourself. You pushed him. You deserve this. He worked hard the entire day and you annoyed him. He has every right to do this. In your head, at least. It makes all sense in your head while in reality, Matt has never been more shocked to read your body language than he is now.

He slowly kneels in front of you. “Answer me this,” he says, “did you flinch because you thought I was gonna hit you or because I yelled?”

You shrug, unable to look at him. One of the shards slides across your finger and you hiss, the smallest cut forming and causing blood to pool out of your skin. Still, you don’t stop. You need to clean this up before he gets even angrier at you. In your state, you don’t realize his voice has softened and he no longer stares at you with those blacked-out eyes. He looks sympathetic, almost, but most of all the guilt has spread throughout his features and his heart. He is aching to touch you, but you are scared and shaking and he doesn’t want to hurt you any further than he already has.

He had been so ignorant that he didn’t see the signs before.

“Why are you crying?” he asks again.

You wipe your cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you. It’s my fault,” you say. “I’ll clean this up, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“Hey.”

“No, I gotta-”

“Stop.” His hand is on your arm then. “You cut yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s a mantra you’ve taught yourself to say in the hopes you could somehow fix this before it’s too late.

But it’s not too late. When you finally look up, he’s smiling softly, and his thumb is stroking over your skin in circles. 

“I’m sorry,” it’s his turn to say it. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. None of this is your fault. I was so caught up in my own shit, I… God, I would never hit you. I just- I didn’t think when I raised my hand. I didn’t think what it might look like to you. And I didn’t think when I yelled because I… in my head, I wasn’t thinking.”

Your facade cracks even more to the point you are seethrough and your defenses have fallen completely. You’re a snotty mess, shaking violently in his grasp. 

“I’m trying, I swear I’m trying to be better. Just don’t be angry with me,” your voice is bordering on helpless little sobs, your lips turned downward and God, you are shaking so badly, you haven’t done so since the last fight with your father when you were a teenager. 

Matt’s face softens even more, but there is a pain in there too. He takes a paper towel to wrap around your injured finger and he holds your hand, not sure if he is allowed to touch anywhere else, but he wants you to know he is here and he is going nowhere. He is neither mad nor is he going to break up with you. You try to tell yourself that, but it’s hard with the demon in your head whispering all those awful things into your ear, reminding you that everything bad that happens can only be your fault and that there is no use for you but to destroy and disappoint. But you don’t want to disappoint, you want him to be proud of you. You want him to hold you and tell you everything is alright. But you’re scared and you feel so stupidly guilty for something you can’t even put a finger on. Your bleeding finger.

“Angry with you?” he says. “No.” Matt chuckles, but it’s broken and almost whiny as he does so. “I’m not angry at you, bug. Of course not. I was just angry with the world. I was angry at everything else, but not you. I’m not angry at you. I couldn’t possibly be. I’m sorry, it wasn’t fair of me to take it out on you. I realize that now. And the glass…” he forces you away from the chaos gently, helping you stand up without hurting yourself further. “It’s just glass,” he tells you. “I’ll clean it up. There’s nothing bad about breaking something.”

“But the mess,” you say. 

“Fuck the mess. The whole apartment’s a mess.”

“I’m so sorry! I can clean it. I can clean up, I promise. I just… I’m so sorry, Matt.”

“Stop apologizing, baby, please. The mess doesn’t matter. The apartment doesn’t matter, and the glass does not fucking matter. None of this is your fault. You didn’t do anything but try to help. I had no right to yell at you. And my hand… I would never hit you. Never.” He squeezes your hand. “I love you.”

You hiccup, whimpering when he pulls you away from the glass on the floor and pulls you into his arms. His chin rests on the crown of your head and you mold into him, the tears taking on new speed and wetting through his shirt. He strokes your back, not sure what else to do, and his lips find your temple. “God, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that, none of that.”

You cling tighter to him. 

He keeps asking himself the same question over and over again. “Who hurt you?” he asks. It’s a valid question. A fear like that doesn’t just stem from nothing. Something happened in the past to have traumatized you this badly. 

Your breathing eventually slows down, as do your tears, and you look up at him through swollen eyes. His white shirt is wet now, but he doesn’t care, he only hugs you back to his chest. “My father used to yell at me whenever I did something wrong,” you tell him, your voice muffled through his chest, but he understands every word. 

His grip tightens. “Did he hit you?”

“Sometimes, but… I remember that one time I forgot to clean up after myself and he just… he…” The lack of oxygen makes you shudder and you hiccup again, nails digging into his back. “I’m sorry, he just… yelled at me. Sometimes, he’d slap me, but only sometimes. He’d threaten most of the time, but he didn’t do it often. And I mean, I was a hard kid to raise, I-“

“No, don’t blame yourself,” he is quick to cut you off. “You were a kid.”

You shudder again. “Well, I… you know, he blamed me for the smallest of things, so I got used to apologizing and trying to please everyone, but I can’t always do that. I try to fix things, but it doesn’t always work. He used to yell at me every damn time and I just… I get scared. I don’t like it when people raise their voices. It makes me feel so guilty and now I even broke a glass. That’s my fault. I shouldn’t have… you had a bad day, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry like this. I swear I’m not a baby.”

You move away to rub your eyes. He grabs your face, smoothing the pads of his thumbs over your wet cheeks. The heat has pooled under the skin in an upset blush. 

“Don’t apologize,” he says. “It’s okay to cry. If I’d known, baby, I…” Matt can only shake his head in disbelief.

He loves you more than anything and to see you hurting because of something another man did to you, a man who is supposed to protect you, makes him feel all kinds of things, but none of them positive. 

But his anger doesn’t matter. This is about you. He has to take care of you now, not himself, and definitely not your father. It’s just you on his mind.

You choke on nothing. “He told me I have no reason to cry because he’s just stating facts.”

Matt clicks his tongue. “No, don’t ever think that again. You have every right to cry when you feel the need to.”

“It makes me weak,” you say.

“Your father’s wrong. You’re the strongest person I know,” he says. “And the fact that he yelled at you and blamed you for things that were out of your control… no one has the right to treat you like that, not even your parents, and he should have never even thought about raising his hand against you. That’s abuse. I can’t believe- fuck! Do you understand that it wasn’t your fault? That he had no right to do that?”

“Yes, but… it happened. Maybe I deserved some of those slaps. I mean you… I- I don’t know. It happened, we can’t change it. And who knows, maybe he was right.”

“Stop it! That’s not true and you know it.”

“I know, but-“

“No buts, sweetheart. I would never raise my hand against you, I promise. I’m not like your father. No one should be like him. You deserve so much better.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” you sniffle, “it was just instinct.”

“Shh,” Matt kisses you gently, “I know. It’s like me dodging punches in a fight. It’s a defense mechanism. Your father, I… you’ve never said anything. I would’ve never suspected this.”

“‘Cause I didn’t think it was important. This never happened before. You never yelled before.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. You should have told me,” he says. “It’s important to me. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you. I want you to feel comfortable around me, not scared.”

You nod. “And I am, really, it’s just… I thought I did something wrong.”

His smile is soft when he leans in to kiss you again, tasting the tears on your lips. “You didn’t. I let my anger out on you for no reason. You didn’t deserve that. It won’t happen again, I promise,” and he dives right back in. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, relaxing in his arms as his lips move against yours with sweet precision, making you feel lightheaded. He scared you, that much is true, but it was neither you nor his fault and you realize that now, safe in his arms as he proves his devotion to you with a single breath into your mouth. With his gentle touch around your waist he promises never to hurt you, never to let his anger out on you again, and he promises that he will drive himself to hell personally if he ever scares you like that again because he couldn’t forgive himself if anything happened to you because of him. He couldn’t live with himself if he broke your heart or triggered the trauma you brought into the relationship from your broken childhood, and he promises that he will never leave you, never put you second and always hold you when times get hard because people screw up, bad things happen, and you might be at fault sometimes, but so is he and there is no reason to be put down for being human. He wants to teach you that, he wants to help you heal yourself, and you have never felt more in love than at that moment, losing yourself in his lips, eyes and arms.

He breaks the kiss, moving on to your forehead. “If there is anything else I need to know,” he breathes hotly against your already heated skin, and the exhaustion slowly starts to seep into your bones as the shakes and tension subside from your bones, “please tell me before I make another mistake that might trigger you.”

You take in a deep breath, shaking your head. “There is not much else. My childhood wasn’t the best, but that’s okay,” you say. 

He brushes his knuckles over your cheekbone. “Bad enough. Promise you’ll tell me if something else might come up?” He resembles a puppy as he tries to meet your eyes, but he fails miserably.

So you promise him, “Okay.”

“Can you forgive me for yelling?”

Your tears have finally come to a halt. “Yes,” you say. 

“Thank you.”

Your eyes fall on the mess on the kitchen floor again and you go to grab the broom. Matt’s arm around your frame stop you and he gently pushes you out of the kitchen. “Let me clean it up,” he says. “Put a bandaid on your finger and then go lie down. I’ll deal with it.”

“No, I broke it. Please, Matt, let me do this.”

“Not everything is your fault, sweetheart. Besides, you already cut yourself once and with how you’re shaking, the next time you accidentally cut yourself I’m sure you’re gonna cause more damage.”

“But I-”

“Go to bed,” he insists, “I’ll be there in a second and then we’ll cuddle so you know I’m serious when I say that I love you more than life itself.”

The weight and guilt fall off your heart. “I love you,” you tell him. “More than life itself, too.”

It’s not a lie. If there is anything or anyone you love, it’s him, and you’ve never been this in love with anyone before. It’s sickening to the point it hurts, but the pain is sweet and it’s all worth it because with Matt, you can be yourself. 

The past matters just a little less with someone who loves you right by your side, and he would never give up on you like everyone else did before him. 

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil x reader #gender neutral reader #matt murdock imagines #marvel #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #mentions of child abuse #hurt/comfort #matt murdock fic #daredevil fic #daddy issues (but not the sexy kind)

[stevieschrodinger]

I really want to write this as like a fully fledged, 100k word fic, but I just do not have the time. I need to get the idea down so here it is.

So modern AU. Steve is an Alpha, always known he wanted to help people, little boy who wants to be a police officer or a firefighter, that sort of thing. Mother humors him, Dad is disinterested, both parents are hands off to the point of being borderline neglectful without actually crossing the line - the second Steve can legally get out, he goes to college. Ends up taking an interest in Omega studies, of all things - which leads neatly into the career choice that Steve didn't even know he needed.

By the time Steve is 23 he's leading his own little team under the watchful eye of his superior - Jim Hopper. They're a special branch of the FBI, geared specifically to finding and breaking up illegal Omega abduction and trade rings. Steve's good at what he does - really good - top of his class for firearms, has an affinity for the Omega he comes into contact with, and his control over his Alpha is pretty second to none. Steve can radiate comfort in the middle of a firefight if he has to - if it means keeping these people safe.

Steve sees some pretty horrible shit - he's miraculously well adjusted, goes to his mandated therapy sessions like a good boy, and gets on with Hopper surprisingly well for how surly the guy can be.

Steve's worst attribute is that he's a workaholic - he has a history of failed relationships, so he gives up entirely and has no social life to speak of.

And then Steve's out with his team - it's taken months to track this down. Steve's been supervising undercover agents, starting with a tip off about illegal drug trades that pinged Steve's radar as Omega hormones. So rather than heading in and arresting at base level, Steve, with Hopper's nod, pulls the thread.

They assumed the hormones were heat inducing - they were wrong, and what they find is horrifying. The drugs have been used on un-presented kids. Stolen kids, as young as 11, to try and force them into presenting as Omega. These kids have been abducted from everywhere, no sense to it that anyone can see - except that these kids all come from poor families. Marginalized by society - in a lot of cases, kids that haven't even been reported as missing.

To top it off - the kids are being abused. Neglected, starved, left in filthy conditions and being regularly sexually assaulted. It is by far the worst thing Steve, or even Hopper, in his long carer, has ever seen.

They go in, break up the ring, the perpetrators are either killed in the ensuing firefight or captured and brought in.

Steve sustaining only minor injuries in the altercation, continues on with his job to clear out the kids and get them to safety- in his haste to get to where the final group of kids are being held, sets off a booby trap of some sort.

Steve is badly injured- his lower left leg taking the vast majority of the damage- for the first time in his career, Steve panics. But then he has a kid with him, big brown eyes and a mop of curly hair, skin too pale and drawn, dirty fingers and bare feet. And this kid is trying to comfort Steve, obviously understanding that this is a rescue. By the time the rest of his team get to him, Steve is finding comfort in the scent of un-presented pup - the little guy curled up right against Steve.

The pup is, evidently, also finding comfort in Steve, both of them locked together, faces buried in each others scent glands.

They wont let go of each other, even in the ambulance, and it's decided pretty quickly that if they're keeping each other calm, to let them stay that way. On arrival to the hospital, they're both sedated for their own good - Steve wakes up to find he's missing his left leg from the knee down, and Hopper asleep slouched in the chair next to him.

The first thing he does is ask about the pup - Hopper tells him what he can, the kid is called Eddie, was small because he was starved and actually was thirteen years old - and he's safe and well, already reunited with his uncle.

Steve can relax. But not really. Because once his leg heals, he's in physio, and then learning to regain his mobility with a prosthetic, also dealing with the deafness the explosion left him with in his left ear, and the scarring that stretches all the way up to his left hip.

Hopper is determined not to loose Steve off his team - he basically invents a roll for him, if he wants it - Steve is too good to be wasted, so he goes back to work for Hopper in an investigative roll. He'll never work in the field again, but he becomes the brains behind a lot of successful operations.

But still, he's listless, missing the hands on aspects on his roll. He treads water for nearly two years, before he happens to have a conversation in the office break room, with one Robin Buckley.

Steve's known Robin for years, she's an Omega behaviorist, and works a lot with traumatized Omega, rehabilitating, therapy, that kind of thing. She's always been there, on the periphery of Steve's team, taking the Omega off their hands. After Steve's rescues, it's with Robin that the real work often begins. From the conversations they've had previously - Steve handing over information about conditions he'd found Omega in, likely what they've been put through, and anything else that will help Robin do her job, he's always found her sympathetic but no nonsense. He's always respected Robin.

And maybe that's why their conversation easily slips into Steve confessing his listlessness - and what prompts Robin to suggest he retrain. She's heard herself how bombproof Steve's Alpha is in the field - would he be interested in a day or two a week with her team? Positive Alpha exposure is often a vital step in the reintegration process.

Steve thinks about it. He talks about it with Hopper. Between them both, Steve figures he has nothing to loose, and Hopper agrees to release Steve a day a week to Buckley's department on a trial. Steve takes on extra training - bolstering up his Omega Studies qualifications from College. Steve loves it. it's fulfilling. It gives him the hands on aspect of his job he'd been missing.

And then Hopper lands a file on his desk - it's come to them via unorthodox means, through a local doctor, then a hospital specialist, then flagged by Buckley's team as it's an old rescue case. A closed case. And Steve opens the file to find a picture of himself, grainy, black and white, but unmistakably Steve. He's sitting on a gurney, someone desperately doing something to the mess of his leg, but in his lap, the curly haired pup he hadn't let go of that day.

The pup who, apparently had presented an Omega. Steve reads, doing the math, reading the hospital records from that day. The kid had presented basically the second he'd woken up. He'd presented, most likely, while Steve was in surgery still.

That stirs something in Steve. Something a little unfamiliar; the feeling that he hadn't been there and he should have been.

There's another picture, Edward Munson, the kids put on weight, he's grown some. Still has big brown eyes looking out of a very pretty face; and that stirs something in Steve too.

Munson basically hasn't been okay since the rescue. At first they put it down to the usual stuff, the kid had survived being abducted, drugged, sexually assaulted, physical harm, that kind of trauma can take years to work though, decades, a lifetime. But everyone is maintaining there's something a little off with this kid, something else wrong, something hindering his recovery that really shouldn't be; it's like he's mate sick.

But he doesn't have a mate.

The one time they tried to expose this kid to an Alpha, it ended so badly he became aggressive. And then someone dug deep enough to find this photo, to read this file.

Steve's standing up before Hopper gets to the end of the question, yes, he wants to see the Omega, yes, he's going to work with the Omega.

There's a frustratingly long song and dance around it - Buckley wants to follow protocol to the letter, so their first meeting is in one of the Omega work rooms, just Eddie and Steve, very calm, very controlled, with Robin and Hopper observing from the other side of a one way glass mirror.

Eddie backs away at first, is dubious of Steve, but Steve has a worn shirt with him and leaves it on a chair within reach, and once Eddie, finally scents it, he bursts into tears, "is it really you?" he sobs, and Steve confirms that it is, and Eddie is climbing into Steve's lap, still sobbing, "I thought I'd never see you again."

And they stay like that, until Robin finally breaks them up, but Eddie will not let go of Steve, not completely, and Steve doesn't want to let go of Eddie either, but he has to.

He has to make his case. He has to explain that that sixteen year old Omega, a decade Steve's junior, is without doubt Steve's mate. There's a lot of back and forth, they need the uncles blessing, which after a thirty second conversation with Eddie, Wayne doesn't hesitate.

Steve takes Eddie home, with instructions from Hopper to take all the time he needs.

This is where the real work starts, Eddie is traumatized, has been mate sick since the day he presented, and needs a hell of a lot of work. Their bond is solid, but formed in trauma, so the attachment issues become almost immediately apparent.

They put in the work - Eddie has a therapist who is not Steve, and Steve still goes to his own therapy sessions like a good boy. They deal with a lot of things, Eddie's night terrors, his awful relationship with food, his inability to settle, the panic attacks. Eddie's first heat, where nothing happens because Eddie is still terrified of sex. They work through Eddie's confused feelings; Steve falls utterly and completely in love.

Eddie slowly picks up his reading - the education he's missed - starts gently with a distance learning course. Steve goes back to work, a gentle three half days a week to start with.

They get through it all, and make a life together.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #ao3 writer #ficlet #alpha steve harrington #omega eddie munson #omegaverse #plot bunny #writer #my writing #robin buckley #jim hopper #mentions of child abuse #mentions of trauma

[herlittlel0ve]

The common room was empty only occupied by the marauders, and a couple random Gryffindors who were working on homework on a Friday night in hopes of going to Hogsmad in the morning. It was peaceful with Remus reading and Sirius leaning against his shoulder flipping the pages when he'd finish. Peter laying against the couch James was also occupying until he got up to thoroughly reenact a story.

The portrait opened up the common room breaking whatever peaceful moment that was unraveling. A boy with curly hair and gray eyes stepping through.

James eyes zoned in on him completely forgetting whatever story he was in the middle of "Hi love" his lips tugging on the corners threatening to already pull into the doppy smile he constantly carries around Regulus.

"Hmm" is all the younger boy says as he steps into his boyfriend's space. James arms automatically wrapping around his middle while his go up to hold the Gryffindors face in place and bring they're foreheads together. Recharging. It goes without saying.

"Thank you for loving me" He whispers into the small space eyes still closed and foreheads still pressed together. James doesn't respond just pulls him in closer by the waist and leans in even more kissing Regulus and humming into it. A silent continue.

When the kiss breaks apart Regulus takes soft breath before continuing. "When we were younger Sirius used to say that he wouldn't make it to 18, that our parents would kill him before then. I'd tell him to stop being a dramatic cunt because I knew if anyone was gonna get out it'd be him." It's not just James listening now Regulus has caught that attention of every marauder in the common room but he doesn't even notice because James is rubbing soft circles under his shirt easing him to continue.

"and he got out. Not unscathed but alive. When I was younger I didn't think I'd make it to 18" He takes a deep breath before continuing his sentence. "I didn't think I'd make it to 18 because I was sure I'd kill myself before then if my parents hadn't done yet." Everyone takes a sharp inhale at that. Everyone except for James who slowly breaths in through his nose and pulls Regulus impossibly closer.

"You saved Sirius he turned 18 this December. I've got two years left before my 18th birthday but that's closer than I ever thought I'd make it. Thank you for loving me because I don't think I'd be here if you didn't. You saved me." He says with a shaky breath.

"Oh baby, I didn't save you. You saved yourself." He breaks they're faces apart to kiss his forehead before pulling him to a hug Regulus goes willingly. "You have so many people in your life that helped you. Don't give me all the credit."

Regulus shakes his head before he continues talking. "They're people that I'd die for. But I want to live for you. And it's so hard and it's exhausting because my entire life I was ready to go so willingly. But now all I want to do is stand here with you because the thought of being somewhere without you is so much worse. So thank you for loving me."

"Hmm thank you for loving me too" "It's too hard not to" is the reply James gets in return which makes them both chuckle even with watery eyes. "It's easier than breathing"

#regulus black #james potter #starchaser #sunseeker #jegulus #marauders era #dead gay wizards #james x regulus #gay regulus black #regulus x james #mentions of death #mentions of child abuse

[toriafiction]

So, this is one of my early morning brain ideas that I haven't been able to shake. I will definitely write this fic at some point, but I have other works to complete first. I'm hoping that by writing this out here and posting it that, this will be enough to let me concentrate on my main projects again.

This is a DickJay Black Butler fusion fic. You DO NOT have to know anything about Black Butler to enjoy this. Please mind the tags. This is a little dark.

Jason is an abused child living in the Alley, which is a complete hellhole. But this is Jason, so he has a heart of pure gold. One day, he finds himself in a serious situation while trying to help another kid.

It is incredibly BAD.

The situation is utterly hopeless, and Jason is just so scared and righteously furious. He wants to be saved, and he wants these monsters to face justice for their cruelty and evil.

Time freezes and Dick steps out of the shadows.

He has been watching Jason for years. The boy is his. In body, and in soul.

Dick will save him.

Just as soon as he convinces him to make his deal.

———

Dick isn't Jason's butler. He is his big brother fallen guardian angel. He protects Jason and takes care of him, and if anyone crosses him, they die horribly.

Jason is someone who has spent their entire life surrounded by evil but has stayed pure. That makes him incredibly special.

Dick wants ALL of him.

As part of their contract Jason has to 'feed' Dick. To do this he has to give him some form of intimacy. Dick keeps it to small things like hugs, chaste kisses, and cuddling.

He isn't ready to corrupt Jason's purity, yet.

Bruce is a combination of a priest and a supernatural detective. He runs into Jason and tries to save him but his interference ultimately gets him killed. This means that Dick ends up failing his contract and can't collect Jason's soul.

Dick is livid. Crushed

Then, beyond anyone's explanation, Jason comes back.

No memories and completely free of his contract with Dick.

When Jason comes back, he's changed. When he comes back, he is even more mouth-wateringly delicious.

To every single supernatural creature out there.

(Dick has a shit ton of competition.)

You would think this would drive Jason to the protection Dick is offering him, right?

But Dick wants his soul?!?!

Jason thinks he might need that. So, no. Thank you for the offer, but no thank you.

Jason goes to an orphanage run by a church instead.

Holy intervention.

At this point, Jason is overwhelmed and terrified but also just so exasperated and done with this shit.

He has every nightmare creature in existence trying to torment and eat him.

Then there is Dick, the super hot demon that wants his soul...and maybe his body? He's not too clear on that. And Dick maybe wants to eat him too.

Then there is some old creep following him around, talking about how he failed Jason in a past life and how Jason is his greatest failure. It's super uncomfortable. He keeps trying to give him what looks like satanic jewelry.

He is not going to piss off the nuns and priests by wearing that.

The staff at the church has called the police on Bruce at least eleven times at this point. He has been put in jail eight of those times. He keeps getting out and going right back to the church. He won't fail Jason again.

Dick can't enter the church grounds, but he is always around. When Jason looks out a window, Dick is there. When he is outside, Dick is by the fence nearest him. When he has to leave the church grounds for whatever reason, Dick is already waiting by the gates for him and follows him until he returns to the church. Like with most of the other supernatural creatures, nobody but Jason can see or even hear Dick.

It would be creepy, like with Bruce, but Dick is never watching him or even really looking his way. He's just always there. It feels like protection. Like a guardian angel. If angels were dark and evil.

During one of his outings, something tries to attack Jason, and Dick rips it apart with his bare hands. He is covered in the creature's blood, and Jason doesn't think he's ever looked more beautiful.

It's the first time Jason wonders if maybe he doesn't belong in the church. If maybe there is something wrong with him.

And Jason is just getting so tired of living like this.

Would it really be so bad to belong to Dick?

The thing is, Jason is stubborn and unbreakably determined when he sets his mind to it. He will never just give in.

But Jason has forgotten something important. Something he learned in a past life as a young child and knew very well.

Evil isn't just supernatural monsters.

When the gang attacks, it's just for the sake of senseless violence and cruelty. There is nothing at the church or the attached orphanage worth the invasion. This is just for their sick amusement.

There are a lot of them. They aren’t just destroying the property. They are attacking the staff and the children. Jason keeps waiting for Dick to come. He has always protected him and, by extension, the people with him, but Dick isn't showing up.

Then Jason remembers. Dick can't enter the church grounds, even if he wants to.

Their violence just keeps getting worse and more and more depraved. Right as it's peaking and Jason doesn't think he can take one more moment, something in him snaps.

Jason is more than scared. He is both terror and horrified, but he is also righteously furious. He wants to be saved, and he wants these monsters to face justice for their cruelty and evil.

Something in his soul seems to resonate.

Jason calls for Dick.

Time freezes, and his unholy angel steps out of the shadows.

He is furious.

Dick crouches down in front of him. Even though Dick has never been the largest person, his presence always fills up whatever space he is in. Now isn't any different. Despite the horrors frozen in time and on display around them, Jason's eyes are riveted on Dick. He can't look away, and his entire world narrows down to just him. Somehow, Jason knows this is on purpose.

They make a deal, and it is so easy to do. Not just because it's not difficult but because it's so familiar. That familiarity makes it comfortable.

Dick seals it with a kiss, and Jason feels it in every fiber of his being.

He belongs to Dick now, and that is familiar too.

Dick manipulates the shadows, and the darkness becomes silk in his hands. He wraps the fabric around Jason's eyes and tells him to wait there for him. Then, he starts his own massacre. Jason can't see it, but he can still hear it happening. Dick isn't quick about it either. Jason can tell just by the sounds that Dick isn't just killing them. He's tormenting them, having fun as he makes them suffer.

Jason doesn't feel any pity.

Eventually, things go silent around him. There isn't any warning before it happens, but Jason doesn't even startle when Dick sweeps him up. Dick holds him tightly but gently against his chest. Like Jason is someone infinitely precious and fragile.

He still hasn't removed the blindfold, and Jason won't until he is told he can. So he trails his hands up Dick's broad chest and shoulders, up the column of his neck, until he has his face cradled between his hands. Jason kisses him. He doesn't really know how to kiss, so it's just a press of his lips to Dick's. It's unbearably sweet in its innocence. Dick makes a low sound of appreciation deep in his chest. It almost sounds like a growl.

Dick takes him home. Jason doesn't remember having a home, but Dick tells him this is where they live, and Jason believes him. Over the next several days, Jason begins to get his memories back. Once it begins, it happens quickly. He is certain that it is somehow Dick's doing. He would want Jason to remember all the time that he has belonged to him, and he would want All of Jason. Past and present.

Jason is sitting curled up on his bed. Knees pulled tight to his chest as if that will somehow protect him even when it didn't before.

"I died," Jason whispers into the dark of the early morning.

"Yes," Dick says emotionlessly. His face is a blank mask, but Jason knows him so much better now, and that blankness tells him a hundred things.

"I don't blame you. I never did," he says it like a promise, and it is one.

Dick closes his eyes, but Jason can see the pain he is trying to hide.

He stretches his arms out to the creature that has become his everything.

"Can I have a hug?" Do you want a hug?

Dick climbs up onto the bed almost tentatively. It's so strange because Jason has never known him to be unsure about anything. They stay there curled up around each other for a long time. The sun is well and truly risen, and light is pouring in through the windows by the time Dick tries to pull him up out of bed. Jason resists, instead pulling Dick back down to him.

"Our contract is different this time," Jason says. When they had made their contract the first time, Dick had stated all the rules and conditions plainly and straightforward. This last time, there was so much backtalk, and it was so utterly convoluted that Jason hadn't had a hope in hell to actually understand what he was agreeing to.

"Yes," Dick replies.

"Why?"

"Because I know so much better this time what exactly it is that I want." Dick rolls on top of him and holds his face. His gaze is intense, and Jason can't look away. His words are soft, practically soundless. “I am going to take you with me wherever the tides of time carry us, and I am going to keep you forever. Until the end of everything.”

#dick grayson #fanfic #jason todd #fusion fic #dickjay #dc fandom #jaydick #dark fic #possession #possibly triggering #demon dick grayson #mentions of child abuse #mentions of violence #possibly dead dove? #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 author #bruce wayne

[kenmakaminari]

BSD Headcanons

These are just a few headcanons I have for some of the bsd characters (though they are probably more just me pushing my own experiences onto the characters 😅).

(25 bullets long)

WARNINGS: mentions of csa, mori, slight (blink and miss it) mentions of skk and sskk, anxiety, a lot of angst

Dazai and Atsushi both hate people yelling. They have spent most of their life surrounded by angry yelling, so the sound really triggers their anxiety.

Kenji has the DIRTIEST mouth. The boy is only 14 but he already makes the other members of the ada blush with his remarks. Ranpo thinks it's the funniest things, and Kyouka has started picking up on some of his more common curses.

On the other hand, Atsushi doesn't cuss often, but when he does you know some shit is about to go down.

Atsushi is great with kids. though, it is more of a product of growing up in the orphanage.

Kunikida uses some of his "teacher tricks" on the ada members (eg. clapping his hands to get their attention, turning off the lights when people are being too loud, and saying "I'll wait" when people are talking over him). And the best part is IT WORKS

Kunikida tutors the younger members of the ada so they have more options for their future. Sometimes he ropes Dazai and Ranpo into helping when he's not sure about a certain topic.

Dazai, depending on the day, can either be amazing with kids, or a child's worst nightmare. Even so, neither Kyouka nor Kenji have ever been afraid of him.

Dazai was a victim of csa (from Mori). He's never told anyone, though Yosano, Fukuzawa, and Ranpo either already know, or have their suspicions. None of them have mentioned it though, not even to each other. Instead, they have decided to let Dazai come to them about it if he so wishes.

Chuuya knows that something was going on between Mori and Dazai, but he isn't sure what. He tried to bring it up once right before Dazai left but was shut down.

One time a lower member of the Mafia tried to make a move on Dazai right in front of Chuuya. Dazai froze when the member grabbed his arm to drag him away. Chuuya noticed and kicked them right at their temple. That member is still in a coma to this day.

Dazai makes his suicidal ideology into a joke so that its not awkward for him to come back after an unsuccessful attempt.

She hasn't put much thought into it at the moment, but when she's older Kyouka comes out as aromantic.

Yosano, Ranpo, and Dazai go to the cafe every Friday night to catch up with all the gossip that they missed through the week.

Ranpo and Yosano have a sibling relationship. They make fun of each other for everything, but the second someone else tries they go for blood.

Atsushi cries himself to sleep a lot

Dazai on the other hand, can't remember the last time he cried. It's been years at least

Dazai's psychological abuse from Mori runs so deep that sometimes he finds himself saying or doing something that reminds him of Mori.

When that happens he usually retreats into himself for the remainder of the day.

It's even worse when it's something he KNOWS he learned from Mori.

Akutagawa doesn't hold a grudge for anything Dazai did to him (even though he would have every right to)

Chuuya got Akutagawa a therapist (on his own dime) when he realized just how bad Dazai abused him

The only people who know that Gin is a girl are Akutagawa (obviously), Dazai, and Hirotsu.

Chuuya, Akutagawa, and Gin try to have a family dinner at least once a week

Later on Dazai and Atsushi join them

Kunikida is secretly protective of Dazai. Although Dazai has never spoken about his past, it isn't hard to see that he has faced some type of abuse. Especially for someone who had to go through seminars for spotting it.

THAT'S ALL FOR NOW!! THANK YOU FOR READING :)

#bungou stray dogs #bsd headcanons #dazai angst #angst #dazai x chuuya #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #atsushi headcanons #atsushi nakajima #bsd akutagawa #akutagawa ryuunosuke #gin akutagawa #kenji bsd #bungou stray dogs kyouka #bsd angst #kunikida doppo #bungou stray dogs yosano #bsd ranpo #slight psychology #mentions of child abuse #mentions of noncon #mentions of mori #mori bashing #bsd

[insomniacwriter17]

Saved from the Flames - Chapter One

“When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not.” --Richard Kadrey

Billy Hargrove is 9 years old. He tries his best to be the son his father wants him to be - quiet, respectful, and obedient. But Neil just pushes harder and harder, all in the name of raising a "strong man". When Billy is removed from his father's custody and placed in foster care, it takes some time for him to realize his world is no longer burning around him. New experiences, new people, new opportunities all make Billy realize there's a whole lot more to life than respect and responsibility.

AKA: The story of how Bob Newby became a real life superhero for one little boy who needed saving.

Inspired by this post I saw from @connordax

read on ao3

CW: Descriptions of physical/mental/emotional abuse

It was a warm Monday night in the Hargrove home. Billy had come home from school to an empty house, and he’d managed to get his chores done before his dad had come home from work. While his dad cooked, Billy had sat down at the table with his math worksheet to start his homework. Now the nine-year-old was sitting in front of a plate of spaghetti, his dad next to him. It was silent at the table, tense and uncomfortable. There was a knock on the door and Neil stood up, pointing to Billy’s plate. “Eat up, you have homework to do.” 

Billy nodded, casting a glance down at the plate. He hated tomatoes, but he knew his dad didn’t want to hear that. So instead, Billy took the opportunity of being alone to pour more of the powdered parmesan cheese on his noodles, hoping to mask the tomato flavor. 

He’d only gotten a few bites swallowed before his dad came back into the room, an odd look on his face. “Billy and I just sat down to dinner. He’s right here.” Billy didn’t understand, were they having company? Usually when there was company, Neil would force Billy into a nicer outfit. And his dad was using his public voice. The one that didn’t sound so angry, so disappointed all the time. Neil stepped out of the doorway and a lady with pretty blonde hair and a briefcase walked in, a smile on her face. 

“Hi, Billy. My name’s Gabby. How are you?” she asked. Billy’s mouth was full of food, so he didn’t dare answer, not with his dad shooting daggers at him over Gabby’s shoulder. So instead, he held up his hand with a thumbs up, nodding at her. “Can I sit down with you for a minute?” she continued, pointing to Neil’s abandoned chair. 

Billy’s gaze fell to his father again, searching for some sort of understanding that didn’t come. “I brought some work home with me,” Neil interrupted, reaching for his plate. Billy was becoming more and more uncomfortable – his dad seemed scared. That wasn’t normal. “I’ll go eat and knock it out while Gabby keeps you company, okay?” His voice was too kind for home, Billy noted. This was the voice he used around teachers and doctors. 

Billy only nodded.

And then Neil left the room and Gabby sat down beside Billy, offering him a gentle smile. “How’s your dinner, Billy?” 

Billy shrugged. “It’s fine,” he murmured, pushing the noodles around his plate with the fork. “How do you know my dad?” 

Gabby set the briefcase at her feet and then leaned forward so she was leaning against the table, looking at Billy with gentle eyes. “I actually haven’t met your dad before right now. Billy, have you ever heard of a social worker?” 

“No ma’am,” Billy replied. Better be polite so she doesn’t tell my dad I was rude, he thought. 

“Well, my job is to go around Hawkins and check in on kids to make sure they’re safe,” she explained. “You can keep eating if you want to, but I have some questions for you to answer, if you feel up to that?” 

Billy shrugged but made no move to continue eating. In fact, he put his fork down. “It’s okay, I don’t like tomatoes anyway,” he told her. She seemed nice enough. “What questions?” Something about this made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t know why. It felt almost like a trap. 

“Just simple questions about your life,” Gabby promised. “I just want to get to know you a little bit. Like…your dad told me you were nine years old. When’s your birthday?” 

Billy relaxed a bit at the ease of the question, especially when he heard it was questions that Neil had fielded before they’d gotten to Billy. “March 29,” he replied, sitting up straighter in his chair. 

Gabby asked a lot more questions, ranging from questions about Billy’s day at school, what things he liked to do when he was home, and a lot of questions about his dad. Billy tried to answer them as best he could, but sometimes Gabby looked like she didn’t like his answer or something was making her sad. 

“You seem like a really sweet kid, Billy. Do you ever get in trouble? Like at school or at home?” 

“Sometimes,” Billy mumbled, shrugging. “I guess.” 

“When you get in trouble, what happens?” Gabby’s voice had gotten more serious, and Billy’s tummy was churning. He felt like he was going to throw up. He knew this question. The school counselor had asked him that question a few days ago, and she hadn’t liked his answer. She’d gotten serious and quiet and asked a lot more questions, but Billy had clammed up and refused to answer anything else.

So Billy changed his answer. “Um, nothing. Sometimes Dad gets mad and yells.” 

“That’s it?” Gabby pushed, leaning in a little closer to Billy, like she was really trying to listen to him. Billy nodded. “He never gets too mad and accidentally hits you?” 

Well, accidents happen sometimes. That’s not bad. “Maybe on accident,” Billy whispered, looking at his plate. His spaghetti would be cold by now, which would make it even grosser. Maybe if he answered Gabby’s questions and he could get her to leave, his dad would put it in the microwave and warm it back up. 

But Gabby wasn’t done. “Can you show me your room, Billy? Do you have any cool toys?” 

Billy bit his lip but shrugged, sliding off the chair and heading toward the living room. Gabby followed behind him, and Billy froze when he caught sight of his dad on the sofa. The man’s face was unreadable to Billy, which was never a good sign. His lips were pursed tightly and he was stiff where he sat. “How’s it going, kiddo?” he asked evenly. 

“She wants to see my room,” Billy kicked at the carpet nervously and didn’t look at his dad. “Sir,” he added quickly. 

Neil froze, silent for a moment. “That’s fine,” he replied curtly, standing with his half-finished plate. “I’ll start cleaning up the kitchen.” Billy nodded, swallowing thickly before leading Gabby down the hallway to his room. 

“What is this, Billy?” Gabby asked as they approached his room, reaching for the lock up toward the top of the door. The outside of the door. 

“It keeps the monsters out,” Billy told her. “Dad locks it at night when I go to bed. Or if he’s not going to be home to watch me.” 

Oh no. He definitely shouldn’t have said that, he realized. Gabby stopped, casting a look to the blonde boy in front of her. “How often does that happen?” 

Billy shrugged, clamping his mouth shut. Oh, his dad was going to kill him. “Billy, honey, you can talk to me,” Gabby promised, kneeling in front of him. Her face was more serious than it had been before. “Does he do that a lot? Leave you here alone?” 

Billy stared back at her, unyielding. But his eyes were wide, and that was enough of an answer for Gabby. “Okay, how about those toys then?” He didn’t have the courage to say he didn’t have any, so instead Billy just walked into his room and stood there, waiting for Gabby to come in and take a look around. 

Gabby realized quickly that Billy wasn’t going to say anything else, but that was fine. She had what she needed, though it would take a few days to get it all together. She looked around the bare bedroom, her heart sinking for the young boy in front of her. She wished nothing more than to be able to scoop him up and take him now, but they had to wait until the judge gave the okay. 

“Alright, Billy, thank you for being so helpful!” she smiled cheerfully at the boy. “I’ll let you and your dad finish your dinner now.” She led him back to the living room and then into the kitchen where Billy could hear Neil cleaning the dishes. 

“Mr. Hargrove, I think we’re all done here. Thank you for being so helpful,” she smiled over Billy’s head, nudging him toward the table. Billy settled himself in front of the cold pasta, trying hard not to pull a face. 

“Thanks for swinging by,” Neil’s voice was tight. “Hey, Billy?” The boy stiffened in his chair, looking to his dad immediately. 

“Yes, sir?” His voice was meek, shaky. 

“Why don’t you walk Miss Gabby to the door, tell her thank you, and I’ll heat your dinner back up for you?” Neil offered, drying his hands on his jeans and heading to the table. Billy looked like a deer caught in headlights as he scrambled off the dining room chair, nodding quickly. 

“Yes, sir,” he repeated before looking up at Gabby. The blonde woman smiled reassuringly and let BIlly lead the way to the front door. 

“Thank you again for being so helpful, Billy. Now, I’m going to give you this,” she explained, handing him a small, rectangular piece of paper. “This has my phone number on it. If you’re ever scared or in danger, you can call me and I’ll come find you, okay?” 

Billy nodded quickly, shoving the paper in his pocket without hardly looking at it. “Thank you,” he mumbled under his breath, and Gabby ruffled his hair before she walked out the door and Billy was able to close it behind her. 

Feeling like his feet were way too heavy, Billy shuffled back into the kitchen, where Neil was pulling a plate of spaghetti out of the microwave. “You better put your ass in that seat and eat this food,” the man ordered, and Billy scrambled to obey. “Who in the hell did you talk to?!” 

The plate slammed down onto the placemat in front of Billy, causing the smaller boy to flinch. “N-nobody!” he insisted tearfully. He shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth, ignoring the way the sauce burned every inch of his mouth from being too hot. 

“You better hope she doesn’t come back,” Neil huffed as he moved back to clean the kitchen, slamming dishes too hard into the sink. “You won’t like it if she does.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy whispered, blinking tears out of his eyes. He continued to eat his dinner, knowing the faster his plate was clean, the sooner Billy could get out from under his father’s burning glare. 

When Billy finally made his way to the bathroom to shower that night, Billy pulled the piece of paper Gabby had given him out of his pocket, staring at it for a minute. He knew if his dad found it, he’d be in way more trouble, so Billy ripped it up into little tiny pieces, flushing it down the toilet. 

And it was a good thing he did, too. Because as soon as Billy came out of the bathroom, Neil was grabbing Billy’s dirty clothes from his arms, searching the pockets for anything he could find. The searched clothes were tossed to the floor, and Neil growled, “Pick ‘em up. Get in bed.” 

It was too early for bed, Billy wanted to argue. He still had math homework! But before he could open his mouth, a smack to the shoulder sent pain radiating through Billy’s body. “Boy, I told you to do something!” 

“Yes, sir,” Billy whispered, scrambling to pick up his jeans before running into his room. Neil followed after him, lecturing about respect and responsibility, while Billy tried to dodge his father’s swinging hands unsuccessfully. 

By the time Neil left Billy’s bedroom, Billy was crying. His torso and thighs were pounding where his dad had hit him, and the threats Neil had given him echoed in Billy’s mind as he laid himself down in his bed. “If that woman shows up here again because of something you said, you’re not gonna be able to talk for a week.” 

For a woman whose job was to make kids in Hawkins safe, her showing up really didn’t help Billy feel safe. He hoped he never had to see her again. 

#stranger things #billy hargrove #bob newby #neil hargrove #neil hargrove is an asshole #foster care au #no upside down #billy deserved better #bob deserved better #mentions of child abuse #cw: abuse #ao3 #insomniacwriter17

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

When Steve is out of the house running errands all day one afternoon and Eddie is home hosting a D&D campaign, things get a little tense when they’re both under the roof again later that evening.

The guys, bless their hearts, keep chatting and joking amongst themselves while Steve leans over the back of the couch. Sets a firm hand on Eddie’s shoulder and squeezes, pressing him into the back of the couch as he bends down right next to his ear.

It would almost be sexy if there wasn’t a chill shooting up Eddie’s spine.

“I’m going to make another trip outside to get the rest of the groceries,” Steve whispers. “And if he isn’t in here sitting on this couch with you by the time I come back, Munson, I can tell you right now that I won’t be happy.”

Eddie nods. He’s certain that his face must be ghost-white, especially when the grip on his shoulder loosens. Steve pads to the front door and lets it close hard behind him. Eddie shoots up out of his seat.

“What was that about?” Jeff muses.

“Yeah,” Gareth adds with a snicker. “Trouble in paradise?”

Eddie wrings his hands together as he steps around the couch. Glances out the window and spies Steve heading down the walkway towards his car parked in the street.

“I didn’t check on Billy.”

That seems to stump the guys. Grant raises an eyebrow.

“Why does that matter?” he asks. “Hargrove’s a big boy, I’m sure he’ll be alright.”

Steve dips into the back seat. Eddie fights the urge to gnaw on his nails, and shakes his head. Grant mirrors the movement with a question on his face.

“He used to get locked in his room,” Eddie breathes. “For days, sometimes without food. And I didn’t go let him know it was okay to come out.”

He knows how insane he probably sounds — Billy is usually out and about when Eddie’s friends come over. Usually in the garage or out in the yard making himself busy.

But what they don’t know is he has to be coaxed out of the bedroom when people are over, typically by Steve.

It’s been abundantly clear for years now that Billy has debilitating anxiety. He can’t make phone calls even if they’re important, and he can never stay out in public for too long before he starts to get worked up. All of this, of course, Dr. Owens has tried to help mitigate.

He’s prescribed different meds, tried to talk Billy into seeing a therapist, but nothing has been the answer so far.

The best Eddie and Steve can do is support him.

And right now, it really seems like Steve’s way of supporting him is going to be tearing Eddie limb from limb with his bare hands.

I asked you to do one thing, Eddie can already hear him saying. Make sure he’s comfortable and that he gets something to eat, because you know how much he struggles with that.

The worst part is that Eddie does know how much Billy struggles with that. And he still didn’t fucking check on him.

“Well, better late than never?” Gareth says. He groans and rolls his eyes when Eddie casts him a look of offense. “Dude, just go check on him!”

Eddie steals another glance outside before he stalks down the short length of the hallway, stopping just outside the bedroom door. He sighs to himself. Gently raps his knuckles against the wood before he twists the handle.

Inside is dark. The light from the kitchen pours in, showing a sliver of the bed, and he sees movement inside.

“Hey, Billzebub,” Eddie coos. Steps fully into the room. “How’re you feeling? You hungry?”

From somewhere in the darkness, there’s a sniffle. Eddie’s heart shatters into a million pieces as he nears the bed and takes a seat on the edge. Finds Billy’s silhouette underneath the covers and sets a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Towards the front of the house, Eddie can hear the front door open and close, and the silence that persists after.

He can’t really make himself fear Steve’s wrath right now, though.

His mind is elsewhere.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Leans over and hugs his partner despite the awkward angle, lying on top of him more than anything else. “This room is for sleeping and being naked in. Not for being alone all day.”

Billy huffs a sad laugh at that, but then a little sob hiccups out of him and cuts the sound off.

“It’s okay,” he manages.

His voice is raw and broken. Makes Eddie want to lie down in the middle of a freeway.

“It’s not. We’ve talked about it and you’ve expressed your needs, y’know? I promised that I’d be there for you and I wasn’t.”

“I’m just being a fuckin’ baby,” Billy whimpers.

Eddie squeezes him.

“You’re not a baby for having emotions. You’re not a baby for expressing them, even when it feels like it. Okay?”

A beat of silence persists before Billy swallows thickly and nods. His breaths are stuttered when he inhales, but they eventually even out when Eddie smooths a heavy palm over his back.

It almost makes the brunet tear up thinking about how this wouldn’t be happening right now if he had just been a decent boyfriend. If he had been there when he was needed. He knows that Billy isn’t mad, and that Steve’s anger will pass, but the guilt weighs heavy on his shoulders nevertheless.

Once Billy seems decently melted into the mattress, Eddie hums.

“You wanna get something to eat? We can order out whatever you want, or I can even cook.”

Billy huffs a laugh and Eddie grins.

“No offense, but I think your cooking would just make me cry again.”

“Oh, so the crybaby has jokes, huh?” Eddie muses. Crawls up until he finds the blond’s head poking out of the blankets. “C’mere, I’ll give you something to cry about.”

He starts pressing kisses all over his face, completely pressing him into the bed all the while, and Billy snorts. He writhes when Eddie reaches his neck and blows a raspberry against his skin, encouraging a laugh to rattle out of his chest.

Eddie only stops when there’s a polite knock on the doorframe. Glances up but keeps Billy sufficiently pinned down while he lets him catch his breath.

Steve is standing there, merely a silhouette. Eddie can tell that he’s smiling.

“Everything okay in here?”

Even though it’s still mostly shadowy, Eddie finds Billy’s face again easily when he looks back down. Admires the giddy little expression on his face and doesn’t stop for a second to mourn the one that it’s replaced.

“Yeah,” he says. “Everything’s perfect.”

#harringroveson #billy hargrove #steve harington #eddie munson #fluff #mentions of eating disorders #mentions of child abuse #Billy has anxiety #steve loves both of his boys but he is a mama bear about Billy #Eddie is definitely sleeping on the couch #my writing #ficlet #not edited

[popcorn-plots]

Stephen Vincent Strange was a minority. An outcast in his family, town, and school – or praised endlessly, put on display for everyone to see. When his earliest memory was not his own, his parents took him to the doctor, and then to the news station. He was frontline news the next day: LOCAL BOY HAS RARE SOUL MARKING – BLUE AND BROWN EYED WONDER

Stephen hated it.

His earliest memory was looking up at a man he didn't know, small, olive-toned hands holding up a toy. There were glimpses of a boy in the mirror, older than him, his dark brown hair tousled, one eye a brilliant blue – like Stephen’s – and one a dark, chocolate brown. Both eyes sad. His second memory was a flash of pain as the man he didn’t know hit him, sending a flash of pain down his spine. Stephen wasn’t old enough to understand why.

His third memory was looking in the mirror and seeing those same eyes reflected back – one a brilliant blue, like his mom’s, and the other a soft, chocolate brown. His next memories consisted of the news station, cameras at his house, flashing in his eyes as he cried.

Growing up, he lived what felt like a double life. He had dreams, flashes, visions, assaulting him throughout the week of a life he didn’t recognize. They happened at least once a day, and if it was bad enough, he would react physically. Once the boy’s father slapped the boy’s cheek and Stephen cried out, cowering under invisible blows.

A year after Stephen made the front page, all the fuss about his eyes and his soulmate (Stephen wouldn’t understand until around 2nd grade) began to die down. He continued life on the family farm, Playing in the yard with the family dog, Bats, and watching in awe as his parents came home with his little brother when he was seven and Donna was five. 

He was homeschooled up until middle school.

#guys i'm writing a new fic #it might be a while until i publish it #but look #stephen strange #tony stark #little kid stephen strange #little kid tony stark #mentions of child abuse #growing up #heterochromia #fanfic #soulmate au #based off a fic I wrote for febuwhump lol #ideas #fic ideas #ideas for future references

[thegoblinboy]

Desire

Ao3 Link

Tw; Mentions of drug use/addiction, implied child abuse, strong themes of mental issues, mention of vomit (but not in detail)

Words; 6k

Summary; Eddie Munson finds himself under the influence and alone in Steve Harrington's bathroom. Not alone for the first time, but being in Steve Harrington's bathroom was definitely a first. Dabbling in his stash he comes to the realization that he doesn't want to become his father or go down the same path as him. Only eighteen, he's scared of disappointment and failing his uncle who has saved him from himself time after time again. Feeling like he is the only one who seems to not be mentally okay, Steve Harrington decides to stumble into his bathroom proving that there are others out there like him falling apart at the seams and barely keeping it together. He finds himself not only being comforted in his struggles he also finds himself comforting Steve who seems to be dealing with something far worse than Daddy issues.

Eddie doesn't mean to. One second he's in the thick of it, the center of the party as he hands out little baggies of drugs out to anyone who would sneak a crumpled up twenty in his hand. The next he finds himself in the bathroom, the wallpaper so ugly it hurts his eyes to the point he believes that's the reason he's throwing up. Not because of the drugs that were slowly pumping through his veins, causing his head to begin spinning in a bad way as the rush hits him.

He was unsure when he decided it would be a good idea to dabble in his own stash. Before, it had always been his number one rule not to finding any other drug dealer who did foolish. Now he was a hypocrite that craved for more then the drug. The hidden desire to be like the teenagers that had been swarming around him outside of this small bathroom. He wanted to be carefree not having to worry about bills, helping his uncle keep food on the table, or for one of these drug deals to suddenly go wrong and all that his uncle had been working for, for the past decade gone down the drain.

Eddie was still young, eighteen and finally in his senior year. Almost out of this hellhole known as Hawkins. He still had a chance to turn his life around, stop selling drugs or "experimenting" and get a more stable footing. He knows that Wayne would gladly get him a spot to work at in the factory but Eddie didn't want that life. He wanted something bigger. Something out of this world. He wanted to be like Ozzy, Dio, Tommy Lee, and Gene Simmons. Not like his father. Who could barely scrape enough money to keep a roof over their heads, and apart of Eddie understands that Al Munson needed to break the law to survive. Sell stolen cars for food. What Al Munson didn't have to do though was beat the shit out of Eddie whenever anything went wrong.

Drugs.

Drugs were the most stable thing in Eddie's life. Sure, Wayne was consistent but drugs have always been there since Eddie could remember. On the counters, in his pockets as he helped his father smuggle bags across neighborhoods, and even in his own system when things didn't feel right. Feel a bit down, people tell you to smoke weed. Solve all your issues. For a while it did. It helped Eddie float by on his own little cloud up until it didn't.

The longer Eddie listened to those people the more he realized that drugs were becoming the issue. Consuming him in ways that he's only heard from those who came to talk at school. This, this was going to be the last time. Eddie was determined on that. Though he had said that the last couple of times he's been like this. He needed help and he didn't know where to go. There was of course always Wayne, but he didn't want the man to look at him like he did his father. With pity, shame, and a lot of disappointment because Eddie should know better. Especially after what happened to his father.

He should but yet here he was, groaning he lifts his head up from the bowl. His eyes stay closed as he gags a bit more when the smell of toilet water hits his nostrils again. Throwing himself back from the stench, his head hits the wall. A soft thump, loud enough to gather attention if anyone was paying attention. That was unlikely as everyone was pretty drunk right now. Letting his head slack to the side a bit he lets his vision swim around him like a horoscope. He wondered if this was how flies saw the world. If so, he doesn't understand how they weren't constantly throwing up. Then again they did eat literal shit, so tunnel vision was most likely the least of their worries.

Squirming a bit, he fidgets with himself as he tilts his head back to look up at the light. His hair falls past his shoulders as he blinks lucidly, not processing the brightness of the bulb hurting his eyes as he giggles gently feeling the high set in. The warm feeling wraps itself around him like angel wings, protecting him from the darkness that lives inside of him. Numbing him enough for him to forget that he was currently at a party. In the bathroom of Steve Harringtons' house as he blacks in and out of reality. Fighting for control for a few minutes before giving in with a soft sigh. His body going lax as he gives up.

Time was always wonky when he was like this. Five minutes felt like an hour, a minute felt like twelve, and so on and on. So, he could not tell you how long he was in there for. Barely reacting when the door opens, not a surprise as he was too busy trying to hold his vomit in to remember on locking the door behind him. His reactions slow as he blinks startled as he sees an exhausted Steve Harrington walking in. Looking just as alarmed as Eddie felt.

Looking confused Steve hesitates. Not saying anything for a second as he stares at the other dumbly, like a deer in headlights. Before he flees into action, "Parties over, need to get out Munson." he says dully. The bags under his eyes were noticeable to Eddie who frowns as he tries to process what was going on. Moving he fights to stand up, unable to do so as he makes a soft whining noise. Eyes filling with irritation and embarrassment. The first crack in the dam of the great Munson flood. Everything starts to seep out uncontrollably as he tries to hold it in, save it for later. But it's too late as his body gives in to his needs and he's sobbing uncontrollably.

The high was not worth it anymore. It used to make him feel good far longer than this, and now he felt like shit. His hands shaking as he couldn't control his body. His brain streams a spew of anxious thoughts through his head. Wayne was going to kick him out if he found out. Eddies crying, and he doesn't even know the reason why. There had been so many instances when he kept his emotions bottled that he was not sure which one finally made him snap. Made him go crazy enough to cry like a little bitch in front of Steve Harrington.

He doesn't know what's happening and that's making everything seem far scarier than what it really was. He felt the other boy, who was only a year younger than him staring at him intently. Eddie felt like he was really living up to his nickname, a freak. A freak who was currently putting a complete stranger through a very uncomfortable encounter. Eddie was supposed to be an adult, yet here he was breaking down in front of someone that was legally still a child. For some reason that thought only makes him cry more. Eddie was barely a full year older than the other and he has yet to view himself as a child. The reality that his childhood was taken away from him because of drugs setting in as tears started to run down his cheeks. His eyelashes stick to his skin as he struggles to open his eyes from feeling so out of it and from crying so hard.

Time was fucking with him again, In the back of his head he knew that the whole encounter that was happening between him and the other boy was only a few seconds long. But the drugs were telling him it was much longer than that. He's pretty sure he was going through a mid-life crisis or something. He loses himself in his thoughts more as he realizes he's no better than his father. Selling drugs to those who have perfect lives is something that should be cherished but is only going to be destroyed by Eddie's doing. He's having a come to Jesus moment, as with in the next few seconds he makes the decision to no longer sell drugs to high schoolers. It's all going by so fast in his brain that he's not sure he's going to remember his promise in the morning.

Clap!

He blinks confused as two hands slap together in front of his face, a soft buzz clogging his ears from hearing anything but the muffled slap of skin. His eyes begin to regain focus as they stare back at Steve who is still staring at him carefully. As if he was on the verge of calling nine one one at any moment. Oh, God. Why did Eddie have the worst luck that always led him into situations like these. Covered in snot, tears, and possibly puke in front of the most popular boy of Hawkins?

"Hey... hey Munson." The boy's voice seeps through the fog. It barely does but it makes itself through, penetrating Eddie's brain enough for him to finally react to the other. Who looks like he's been trying to gather his attention for a minute now. Steve's eyebrows are furrowed up in concern as his hands stay at a safe distance from the other, but stays in Eddie's personal bubble just in case. In case of what Eddie wasn't sure.

Eddie blinks at the other, barely there as he frowns a bit as he feels his body moving up, almost on its own with Steve's help. Being led to the bathtub as Steve easily moves his legs in one by one. Moving and forcing him to sit down as Steve handles him with such care that he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"What-" He slurs a little bit, blinking as he tries to talk but it felt like peanut butter was in his mouth, preventing him from doing such a task. "What are you doing?" His words come together, creating one but the other seems to understand what he was trying to ask as Steve smiles sadly at him, revealing a crack in his well pieced together image. Revealing his true nature to Eddie who was broken and drowning in his own mess in this tub.

Eddies high. Eddie is plastered, not in reality but he can tell when someone is like him. Broken. Barely holding on with a fake smile that was far different then someone who had it together. Relief hits him as he realizes he's not the only one out there. Then guilt as he felt greedy for feeling relief at the sign of the other man's pain.

"Helping you man, don't want you to die in my bathroom," Steve says bluntly in an attempt to put that image back up that he didn't care about Eddie, but it was to late it had started to shatter a little. A glimpse of something dark seeping through that Eddie caught and wanted to see more of. And he didn't want to see the pieces that Steve has horribly glued together, not the image that has been up for years now. Seemingly destroyed out of nowhere.

Whatever it was that came through those cracks was dark, dark enough to trigger a morbid curiosity in Eddie. What could have possibly happened to Steve Harrington that made him mentally age up so fast? So fast that it gave Eddie whiplash as he could of sworn that just last month the other was looking down at people like him. Shoving teenagers against lockers and calling them queer for just being true to their authentic selfs. Now he was helping out one of those "queers" and it seemed to be a total one eighty personality wise. It just didn't make any sense. Someone didn't just change out of nowhere without something happening and Eddie wanted to know what that something was.

Eddie furrows his eyebrows a bit, confused as he wonders if he was misreading what the other was doing. The other genuinely seemed more worried about him then his bathroom, even if he was trying to make it not seem that way. Was Steve Harrington actually a decent human being? Something that Eddie had deemed unbelievable as his mouth opens trying to say something. Before he can say anything Steve is starting to move into action. Deciding it better to ignore Eddie from now on as his hands move to tug at the vest and leather coat that was wrapped around his body. Not giving the other enough time to protest.

Eddie makes some incomprehensible noise from the back of his throat as he hesitantly starts to let the other slide his clothes off his body. Leaving him in his shorts and his pants as Steve crouches down to his knees. Face scrunched up on a mission as he helps the other to the best of his ability. Only contradicting his goal of making Eddie think he didn't care.

"What are you doing?" Eddie asks, feeling dumb. He felt so out of control, he hated every second of it but another apart of him was enjoying every gentle touch the other gave him. Treating him as something that needed to be protected, not something that needed to be tough-end up like his father had. His body goes limp without his permission under the others hands, secretly blaming it on the drugs as he tilts his head back a little. A dopey smile on his face as he decides to just ride the high of being touched, something that didn't come often. "If you wanted to get me to strip so bad Harrington, just had to ask." He giggles gently under his breath trying to lighten the mood a bit. Blinking a few times as well, eyelids closing a few seconds to long causing him to miss the soft laugh coming from the other boys throat. Who thankfully found him amusing instead of annoying or worst disgusting.

"Well, I didn't think you would want to sleep in your own vomit and my concious would not feel right letting you go to bed like this." Steve admits as he leans over the tub like hes done this countless times. Possibly he has, with Tommy Hagan being his best friend Eddie wouldn't be to surprised. The way Steve handles himself and the vomit covered clothes only proves Eddie's hypothesis that he has done this before. The other barely even reacts to the smell or anything as he throws Eddie's Black Sabbath shirt off to the side. Leaving the metalhead shirtless and slouching forward a bit, looking at Steve with shocked adoration the longer he sits there.

Steves hands don't go any lower then his stomach, head tilting up and to the side to look at Eddie with a soft smile. Still a bit forced but more tired then anything as he asks. "Mind pulling your pants off for me? Don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

Steves face is now a soft pink as he begins to lean against the side of the tub. Sleep obviously working its way into his body, the sight making Eddie feel bad about keeping him up later then what he had to.

Eddie doesn't argue and forces himself to focus on the task at hand, and lifts his hips up awkwardly and begins to shimmy his pants down. Groaning as he does, revealing his checkered boxers as he tries not to get any vomit on his skin. Holding the bunched up pants together once he's done and looks over at Steve for directions. Letting the other carefully take them from him, setting it on top of his shirt as he moves and stands up again. Moving to the shower and quickly turning it on cold, all of it spraying and soaking Eddie up immediately.

"Son of a Bitch!" Eddie's voice cracks as he yelps out. Hands flying up to shield his face a bit as he feels his curls stick to his skin, along with his boxers. One hand quickly moving down to shield his crotch just in case the cloth was see through. He shakes his head a bit, water going all over as he whines loudly. Struggling to get away from the freezing water. "Harrington! I thought we had something going on here!" He yelps out as he slides around the tub like a fish out of water. Faintly hearing Steve scolding him for getting water all over the place while also laughing a little.

When the water is finally shut off Eddie feels like he has more control over himself. Still not completely as he squirms around shivering, arms crossing over his chest as he tries to curl up in himself to regain some body heat. Melting when he feels Steves much warmer hand land on his shoulder, gathering his attention as he looks up with loose tears slipping from his eyes. Making his eyes seem bigger then what they were as he looks up seeing Steve standing above him holding a glass of water that seemed to be pulled out of thin air.

No words are said as Eddies hands shakily reach out and takes the glass from him. He carefully drinks half the glass before his wet hands slip and dumps the rest all over his chest. The more sober he becomes, the more embarrassed he feels as more tears form in his eyes. Close to crying again, only refraining when he feels Steves looming presence over his shoulders. One hand carefully holding his back as the other moves down and takes the glass from him before he can hurt himself anymore. Then proceeding to set the glass down on the edge of the tub, eyes never moving from Eddie.

"I'm going to go get you some warmer clothes to wear okay?" Steve says gently, moving and pulling a fuzzy blue towel off from a rack and moves to gently wrap it around Eddie like a blanket. Eddie nods dumbly as he relaxes back into the tub. Feeling the lasting effects of whatever he has in his system dwindling and exhaustion start to take over. Causing him to melt impossibly more into the tub. Waiting as minutes slowly start to feel like minutes again as he hears shuffling coming from the other room.

His head stays tilted to the side as he smiles gently when Steve stumbles in with a pile of clothes in his arms. Who was unable to choose something for Eddie. Sweaters, shirts, boxers and sweatpants in his arms as he quickly drops to his knees with a soft thud. Looking over at Eddie with wide hazel eyes that were full of anxiety. Like he was afraid of doing something wrong.

Eddie sniffles a little as he smiles brightly, "Give me the Harrington special." He says without much thought. "Whats the most comfortable thing to wear in that jock mess of yours?" He teases as he moves struggling to sit up. Wanting to catch what the other has chosen to bring him he notices a blue striped polo along with pair of normal grey sweatpants hidden in the mess of dark colors. He could see other comfy looking sweaters and pants but the polo and grey sweats stuck out to him the most.

Steve sets the other clothes off to the side, far as possible from the vomit covered ones as he gets the new ones situated on the toilet cover. As he moves them Eddie can see a brand new pair of boxers that still had the size sticker on them.

Steve then continues and moves forward to offer Eddie a hand, who takes it happily and pulls himself up a bit wobbly. Eddie felt frozen as small little cold chills race through him, forcing his body to shake even more.

There's a brief pause as they both hold each others hand, Steve wanting to make sure Eddie doesn't fall on his face. Who then pulls his hand from Steves to move it under his armpit. Crossing his arms as he begins to feel a bit self conscious about everything. About this situation that he's forced Steve to be in to the fact that he was currently shirtless in one of the most jacked athletes in Hawkins.

His eyes begins to go hazy, drifting away from reality for a moment. Regaining focus after a moment, coming back to to see that he was staring a hole into the others floor. After a moment of breathing, questions start to fill his brain again. Trying to understand what the others goal was here.

"Why... why are you helping me?" He asks again. Still bewildered as he lets his eyes move to look back up at the other with confusion. This time Steve's eyes aren't meeting his and Eddie feels like there was more going on here. Never moving his eyes away from the others short movements, not missing the way the other seemed to be forcing himself to do everything. Like he didn't even want to be moving at all. Joints seemingly stiff as his limbs move, and if Eddie would have to guess they were probably like that from exhaustion. The bags under the others eyes a strong give away to Eddie's deductive reasoning.

"Like I said, I don't want you to die in my bathroom." Steve answers a bit shakily. Now holding onto another towel as he puts on a fake smile for Eddie, who frowns more. Not believing the other, well he did. He didn't think the other actually wanted him to die but there was some other hidden reason in there as well. One that Steve seemed desperate to not share.

Now realizing that the towel he recieved before was now crumpled up at the bottom of the tub Eddie takes the towel from the other. Beginning to dry his hair first before slowly rubbing at his skin, careful to not agitate his skin like the towels at home did.

"Don't do that." Eddie bitterly snips at the other as he casually bends over a bit to dry his legs. He doesn't mean to, but he was currently at his lowest and he doesn't want Steve to pretend to be any better then Eddie mentally. Strangely that hurt more then when  the other acted better then him just because he was a jock and had more money. It was obvious to him that the other was not okay.

"What?" Steve asks confused, eyebrows knitting together to express a simple emotion that seemed to have so much effort on his part. Mouth falling open a bit as he squints at the other as if he was struggling to see and for all Eddie knew he was. Something he quickly takes note of, for what he was unsure.

"Pretend... pretending to be doing better then me. You look like you are also on your last thread and I think its bullshit. Bullshit, that youre trying to act like this whole situation is normal when it isn't. Its painfully obvious that I'm not okay and just looking at you it seems like you aren't either so stop. Stop pretending man," Eddies eyes are filling with tears again as his words slur together. Hands moving out a bit and aimlessly pointing at the other. Never poking him in the chest as he sways on his feet a little. Shaky breathes falling from his mouth as he finds that the longer he stands there the harder it was to keep his eyes open.

Steve's reaction is unreadable as he silently hands Eddie the blue polo once he seems to be done drying himself. Eddie takes the shirt and pulls it over his head. Looking down at his wet briefs and back up at Steve who was now looking away not saying a word, holding a dry pair of boxers in his left hand. Dangling between his fingers waiting for Eddie to take them.

His silence could easily be mistaken as him being pissed at Eddie, thats what Eddie thinks at first before he realizes this was who the other was when he wasn't pretending. Shoulders sagged, head hanging to look down at the floor as he no longer puts any effort in his movement. Like he was now floating, in a similar way Eddie was. No longer fighting to stay grounded where he was as Eddie gets changed. No more words are exchanged as Eddie steps out of the tub to slip the sweat pants chosen on. Nearly stumbling and falling on his face from the lack of control over his limbs.

Smiling a bit tense as Steve is quick to catch him. Well Eddie wouldn't describe it as catching, the other wasn't putting much effort into holding him. Just allowing him to lean against him as both stay impossibly close. The contact making both of them stiffen up and back up away from each other a little. Both of them stumbling over their own feet as their eyes lift up and hesitantly meet. A conversation beginning with no words. Both of them to exhausted to speak. A different exhaustion then being physically tired.

Steve moves his head a bit, slides his feet out of the bathroom once he opens the door. Eddie follows along, no longer looking at the other for guidance. Instead he floats along with the other as they both silently walk down the dark halls of the now very silent house. Eddie was unable to see Steve that well anymore so he wasn't able to see him react to the silence or the mess that seemed to explode all over the house. Not just downstairs.

He tags along as Steve enters a room, looking over at his shoulder at Eddie who moves in with him. Confusion written all over his face as he realizes that this ugly room was Steve's. Turning his head he looks over at Steve with questions behind his eyes. Questions that couldn't be answered nonverbally as Steve begins to stutter out words. The effort of talking seemed to make him more uncomfortable then the idea of having a complete stranger share a room with him.

"I- I thought it would be better if you sleep in here with me. I don't want you falling down the stairs because I put you in the guest room that's next to the stairs and you try going to the bathroom and whoops, you've broken your neck." Steve's starting to ramble anxiously now. "and the two other guest rooms are a mess. I haven't gotten a chance to clean them so theres stuff on the floors in there and I don't want you tripping when you are like this. Plus I don't want to leave you alone when you are not sober just in case you accidentally overdose or something."

The words are pooling out and swimming around Eddies head. None of the very obvious excuses sticking as Eddie simply nods deciding not to question the other anymore or else he was going to get a headache. Lets the other live behind another image as he moves and flops himself down on the bed. Letting the silence fall over them again as he accepts his fate of sharing a bed with Steve Harrington, who seems eager to have someone else with him.

Eddie turns his head a bit and watches the other curiously, the other starting his bed time routine when he realizes that Eddie was no longer going to question him. Steves shoulders have grown tense as he pins his curtains up against the wall allowing the moonlight to fall in and brighten the room up. Casting more shadows along the room that the other seemed to hate a lot as he turns a light on to see better. Moving and taking what seems to be a starwars night light and plugging it in. If it hadn't seem to be to much effort, Eddie might have laughed. But as he looks at the other more, really looks at him he decides that if he could laugh he wouldn't.

There was something very wrong with the boy and Eddie couldn't place what. His first guess was that the other was afraid of the dark. Watching intently as Steve moves around the room, avoiding any dark area that the light didn't meet. Now closer to his closet as his hands move and shut the doors, right before he is running a hand through his hair. A nervous fidget possibly. Now if Eddie wasn't high, and thinking logically he probably wouldn't want to share a room with the other. Actually he would be home right now.

Though apart of him was happy he was here as he notices that Steve seems to have grown frozen. Body stiff as he stares down at the floor, eyes glazed over again. He doesn't look like he's here in reality anymore and he was the sober one. Which now that Eddie thinks about it, is a smidge weird considering the fact the other had been the host of the party.

Eddie doesn't say anything, let's the other be until his concern starts to grow. The other could possibly be having a seizure, he has seen someone have one similar to this. Just staring off with out realizing it. Eddie wouldn't be shocked if the other had them, after being hit in the head so many times between sports, Jonathan Byers and Billy Hargroves fists.

Eddie forces his body up off the bed, hearing the loud creak of the bed that seems to trigger Steve back into the real world leading to a very understandable anxiety attack. Steve's body shakes, hands squeezed into pale fists and chest heaving forward and back as he struggles to breathe. Head tilted and looking over at Eddie like he wasn't real. Stepping back as his back hits the wall. He doesn't seem like hes fully there as Eddie moves closer.

Steves hands fly up in the air as he starts to plead something. Eddies gut drops as this wasn't normal for a seventeen year old to be doing. There was something terribly wrong and Eddie doesn't know if he can help.

"Steve, Steve!" He yells trying to get him to come back to him. The others tears were overwhelming Eddie and it was making Eddie uncomfortable. Watching someone who has been perfect his entire highschool career seemingly snapping. "Its me, Its Munson. We are in your room about to go to bed man." Eddie is trying his hardest not to yell again. Not enjoying the way the other flinches back. Reminding him of himself when he first moved in with Wayne.

Something was off and Eddie wasn't sure if he wanted to know what if it made the other look like that.

So afraid and lost.

Eddie doesn't move much closer to the other, staying in the spot he stood to afraid to trigger the other more. Steves body is spasming awkwardly as his eyes stay glossed over, the bags underr them growing bigger right under Eddies concerned watch. The other was shaking, breathing coming in gasps before Eddie says fuck it and stumbles forward. Regretting his decision of getting high. But if he hadn't he wouldn't be here right now. Moving and pulling the other into a hug.

They were both two complete strangers, gripping onto each other once they realized that this was something they both needed. Steves still shaking as he hides his face in Eddies shoulder. Eddie is melting and not trying to put armor up to toughen up for the other. Instead he melts, and gives in as they become a puddle of tears. Both not okay as they stay like that for who knows how long.

Steve pulling back as his eyes grow wide, he seems to be there more then what he had been. "I am so sorry." He stutters out.

Eddie smiles tightly at the other, trying to act cool. Trying to be the rock of whatever fucked up situation they were in. But after a moment of trying he decides to follow his advice from earlier and not pretend as his smile quickly drops. "No don't me." He says gently. On his knees now as his eyes look at the other with curiosity.

He was watching in real time as the other starts to rebuild his walls. Starts to pull back from Eddie, literally and figuratively as he stands. Looking anywhere but Eddie as he sniffles, rubbing his eyes a bit. Eddie's mouth opens to ask the other questions, a light noise leaving his throat before he snaps his mouth back shut when his eyes meet the others cold, dull eyes. If this wasn't a messed up situation Eddie possibly would have made a joke about being on his knees in front of Steve. But instead he forces himself up, letting the other drag him along whatever cloud that he has been living on all by himself. Blinking and one second he's standing at the closet, the next he is laying back in the others bed.

Ignoring the way the others body shake and it wasn't from being cold. The room was hotter then Texas's balls, Eddie could barely have the others sheets wrapped around him because of it. The lights now all off, with the exception of the night light. But by the others actions Eddie wouldn't be to surprised if the other didn't leave his lamp light on also most nights. From the way he was taking shaky breathes to the way he squirmed around uncomfortably Steve Harrington was afraid. Of what, was the unknown part to Eddie. A mystery.

Eddie was high trailer trash who couldn't even help his father when he needed him most, or himself as he drowns in emotions. How was he supposed to help Steve Harrington? He's lost in his thoughts for what seems like forever. He could slowly feel the effects of what he took dwindling, eyes growing heavy. He knew the other was still awake, his body was still shaking and he tapping his fingers against the sheets like the rhythm calmed him.

Eddie would blame it on the drugs in the morning when they wake up tangled together. But for now he doesn't care as he carefully shifts over to the left side of the bed. Feeling pity for the other and wanting to stop the bed from shaking so much. He gently wraps his arms around the other, moving before any reasonable thought could stop him and hides his face in the back of the others neck.

Steve doesn't say anything. He's seemed to be nonverbal again, but his body does stop shaking after a minute. Barely two as soft snores start to fall from the back of his throat. And apart of Eddie is relieved that he could help the other the way he helped him in the bathroom. Taking the moment to ground himself once more as he takes in the smell of cedar and smoke. Probably the others cologne.

Eddie feels like he's walking on thin ice as he moves his legs forward a bit. Letting himself relax knowing the other wasn't going to push him away. Wrapping his leg around his hip as he melts into the other more. Even though it was to hot for cuddling. In the back of his head he couldn't help but wonder what scared Steve Harrington so much he couldn't go to bed without shaking? Wondered if the boys kindness from earlier was a one hit wonder?

So many questions and concerns. Along with the anxious thoughts about telling Wayne about his not so little drug problem he begins to doze off. Breathing in and out as he passes out. Having the best night's sleep that he has had in a long time.

Authors Note; I am not going to lie this one shot took a lot out of me to write and is probably one of my proudest works. I purposely try not to write a whole lot about drugs because of personal issues but this one shot seemed like something I needed to write. And even though this isn't the most angstiest one shot that I could have written it was personally draining as I have felt a lot of what Eddie has in this oneshot. Apart of me wants to write more for this au but another part of me doesn't so I'm going to leave this up to the response I get from you guys :)

#steddie #tw; mentions of drugs #tw; mental health #mentions of child abuse #hurt/comfort #hurt/angst #drug dealer eddie munson #Steve is recovering from season 2 #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #bxb #steveharrington #eddie stranger things #steve and eddie #they share a bed #one bed trope #eddie wears steves clothes #my boys are going through it #I wrote this and I don't know what to do witth myself #I really hope this was okay #angst #deppresion #anxiety #I wish I could hug both my boys #they deserve hugs #Steve has head trauma in thus #implied seizure #They don't know each other but they already know each other better than everyone else

[soba-riri]

Parenting isn't always perfect. Peter’s only reference to being a dad is a baby killing egomaniac and an abusive but decent enough space pirate.

Most of the time, he's takes after his mother, empathetic, loves singing and dancing, and has a great sense of humor.

But on some days, with nerves fraying, Peter can't deal with Teenage Groot's attitude. "Git to yer room, boy!" He snaps, hands twitching at his side to hit something.

For a second, very momentary, he imagines slapping Groot. But as quick as that thought comes, it burns away with the guilt and shame.

Unaware of any of this, Groot mutters something darkly before stomping his way to his room.

Peter falls into the captain seat, running a hand down his face. As much as he cares for Yondu, he'll admit the way he raised Peter leaves much to be desired. He doesn't want that for Groot. Peter still wants to be a cool dad, but without all the terror and hatred that young Peter went through.

He stares at his hands and wonders if he's even a good dad.

Thankful, he's not fucking up alone.

Rocket yells when he's frustrated, Drax sometimes forgets that Groot is not a fucking tank (and he shouldn't indulge the kid by letting him dangle outside the ship, mid-battle). Nebula never sugarcoat things and Mantis knocks Groot out to avoid dealing with his temper tantrums. Gamora raised her voice at Groot once and then never again.

But years later, Peter will look at Groot, taking in how he treats the refugees, how he cares and worries, how wide his smile is when he gets his new game boy. Just joyous, infectious love in his eyes.

And Peter thinks, huh, they didn't do so bad, after all.

#gotg #peter quill #groot #sobari thoughts #parenting is hard #especially when you suffered from abused for years abd trying not to fall into the same footsteps #but it always works out in the end #guardians of the galaxy #mentions of child abuse

[love-minor-poltergeist]

Skinship

Word Count: 938

Warnings: Canon-typical Violence, mentions of Child Abuse/Neglect, and Character Death

A/N: Howdy, all. We interrupt your usual Cuphead course with some Dead by Daylight! I know this a hard tonal shift from usual works, but I promised myself that I'll write more self-indulgent stuff this year. And as someone who struggles with serious motivation issues, this was a triumph in my books!

Thank you for giving my little fic a chance!!

╔══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╗

“Soft” wasn’t a word Max got to use very often. Nor was it one he usually felt. 

Softness was reserved for the monochromatic world he saw on his pa’s television. The old-fashioned sitcoms with loving families, pearly white smiles, and the joyous laughter of children. The world where parents held their children tight while he watched from his cell, alone in the dark. 

It was reserved for the freshly laundered clothes Ma folded while she sat on the couch, ignoring the occasional rattle of her son’s chains in the other room. Her hands, milk-white with long, stick-thin fingers, always looked so small from his peephole. Easily swallowed up by pa’s shirts like a bunch of snakes wrapped in a blanket. Max had often wondered if it was as comfy as it looked; all wrapped up in clean, warm clothes. 

Not that he ever got to know. 

Then he finally broke free. 

Blood had coated his hands like hot, viscous paint as he trudged home– body heavy yet his heart alight. He silently passed the bodies of slaughtered police officers, hardly sparing them a glance as limped his way home. 

Max had found Pa closest to the porch. Mouth agape and eyes blank. Pa’s hair, once a shiny strawberry blonde, was matted with dirt, blood, and broken bits of bone. The sight was enough to bring Max to a brief pause. Then, with a low whuff through his nose, Max turned away. 

Calmly, Max limped inside– leaving the crows to caw and peck at what remained of Pa’s head.

He had been happy that he had the home to himself now. That no one was around to hurt him, insult him, or starve him like his family. That he could finally watch the TV in the living room as freely as he wanted. He no longer had to survive off scraps. 

He could finally sleep in a bed.

Time went by. The high of freedom fades away like the scent of fresh flowers; gone before he could truly savor it. He’s left behind with a house filled with bad memories. Awful, awful memories that refused to go away. 

Anger soon dug and burrowed into the squishy meat of his grey matter, consuming every moment with agony until all he could do was cry and wail. Wail and wail until broken furniture piled up around him. 

Even Pa’s old tv wasn’t enough to distract him from years of stolen childhood. The actors behind the screen with their gleaming smiles and pristine skin– were utterly free of the hell he had been forced into since birth. 

Max had shattered the screen without a second thought. Glass shards had bit and torn into his hands. He had felt blood– hot and wet– ooze out of the marred flesh of his knuckle; every movement, every twitch of his finger accompanied by a sharp sting. 

For a moment, the world was silent. 

Then a cry– shrill and high– broke the man from his stupor. A pig’s squeal. 

Max snapped. 

By the time he had come to, Max was standing over a dead hog and holding a bloodied hammer. 

He stared at the pig’s lifeless eyes, brain matter smattered against the ground. 

No. Soft isn’t a word befitting of him. Far from it. 

You, on the other hand… You were everything he wasn’t. 

Smooth, plump, and rounded cheeks that looked as soft as a peach. Eyes befitting of a baby doe, thick lashes and all. And your hands, unblemished and uncalloused, always seemed to remain clean despite the blood and grime of the fog. You reminded him faintly of the lace doilies Ma would occasionally use– delicate and pretty. 

Truly, you had no business being anywhere near him.

Yet here Max was– nestled under the sheets of his parent’s old bed (well, a copy of it at least) with you beside him. His hands nervously fist the thick quilts beneath him, pulse skipping a beat as you rest your head against his shoulder.

The pads of your fingers were feather-soft as you absentmindedly drew circles into his stomach. Each brush and stroke was slow and gentle as they quietly explored the twisted flesh beneath; curious yet tentative. All Max could do was lay as still as possible. 

He’s highly aware of his heavy, ragged breaths, a side-effect of his birth defects, and how painfully loud they were in the tiny room; of the dirt and grime that always seemed to coat his skin, as he could never wash them off thoroughly by himself; of the strange webbing of flesh between his fingers and toes. By all means, you should be disgusted by him. Not handling him as if he were made of glass–

A sudden brush against the side of his stomach startles him, pulling out a surprised, rumbly noise from his lips as he flinches. You stiffen beside him, lifting your hand as you look up at him with concerned eyes. 

“Sorry, hun. Did that hurt?” you ask. 

“No. Far from it”, Max wanted to say. It felt... Nice. He didn’t even know he could be ticklish. 

Instead, he settles for a garbled, inarticulate noise and a shake of his head. And thankfully, that’s enough for you. A smile settles on your lips. 

“Thank god. Lemme know if I ever hurt you, okay? Especially out of trials.” 

You resume your idle skinship, nuzzling into his shoulder. All Max could do is stiffly nod and let out a ragged chuff. A blanket of silence envelops the two of you once again. 

No. Soft isn’t in his routine. But he’ll fight tooth and nail if it means he gets to keep the one shred of warmth he’s ever had. 

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

#my writing #dead by daylight #dead by daylight x reader #mentions of child abuse #tw child neglect #max thompson jr #the hillbilly #dbd #dbd hillbilly #Max thompson jr/reader #Hillbilly/reader #gender neutral reader #hurt/comfort #fluff #slashers #slasher fucker

[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.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #slytherin harry potter #basilisk #eli fics #sleep deprivation #panic attacks #past child abuse #mentions of child abuse #parselmouth #parseltongue #cormac mclaggen #Cormac mclaggen is a douche #severitus #slytherin

[xxcherrycherixx]

Shits gone wack guys we are currently dealing with a lost child???

Little boy showed up at our door in just an adults dressing gown and adult sliders, doesnt speak anymore than basic words like dog and sit and mostly makes sounds

Police are here and now they are at the place we think is his home, but i can hear him screaming and my mom whos over there says hes having a meltdown

Weird ass situation

Hope they dont just pass the child to the family, shits shady that he looks older than my little brother and he can barely speak, hes trying to get into peoples homes.

Update while writing: kids in that home now, apparently he tried to go back with my mom. I dont trust that family now even though i have never met them and im honestly a bit pissed the police just let them take him. The kid was fucking screaming terrified there meanwhile he had been mostly happy while sitting with us (complete strangers remind you) at ours while we waited for police.

The families excuse was that he “slipped out while they were sleeping” mate he got here at like 11pm and according to my mom the rest of the big ass family were all still dressed in their day clothes. and why the fuck would the child just randomly wander off to the neighbours house in barely anything and be absolutely terrified to go back home?? The kids also apparently severely autistic, which just raises even more flags because i know how terrible families can treat disabled kids.

Anyway shits weird, even the police came and said they were going to keep an eye on it because it raised some flags. if i find out theres child abuse happening at that house then im going there and getting a criminal record and a life sentence. I dont like children, sure i will be nice to any when i see them and i care for my nieces and nephews, but i will never voluntarily want to be around any child. But even though i don’t like children, i cant stand shit like that happening to them, especially disabled kids. Idk im feeling kinda anxious and pissed about it, i just don’t trust the care that kids been left in.

#real life post #rant #mentions of child abuse

[kingwuko]

i hc wu as left handed but his teacher always told him to write with his right or shed smack him so he learned to be ambidextrous. maybe left-handedness is looked down upon in the earth kingdom

For such a silly guy, Wu sure does get a lot of sad backstory hc, doesn't he?

Unfortunately this is very possible, in the real world throughout history and across cultures there has been bias against left-handedness; and left-handed children have been forced to use their right hands through all kinds of unpleasant and abusive means.

#prince wu #king wu #answered ask #anonymous #mentions of child abuse #cw child abuse

[violetthistle1]

“Dumbledore’s not the only one who wants to keep you safe, and what we are saying is he hasn’t been doing a very good job of it. There are a multitude of things I agree with Dumbledore on. We both agree that blood purity is ridiculous, and Voldemort should be defeated for good, we both love books and knowledge and sweets. But there are things we disagree on too, and that’s okay. The world isn’t made up of good people and death-eaters. There is light and dark in all of us, what matters is the part we choose to act on. Dumbledore and I disagree on the best way to protect you, but that’s a little bigger than a disagreement over what the best flavor of jelly bean is. It’s too important a disagreement not to act on. Dumbledore and I have talked and he refused to help us, so we are acting without his help, but that doesn’t mean what we are doing is wrong. Dumbledore isn’t a saint, he makes mistakes too.” Sirius explained. 

****

Dignity be Damned, chapter 30: A Conversation with Harry, excerpt (1)

Completed fic is available on Ao3 now!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50555698/chapters/133093636

#wolfstar #remus lupin/sirius black #harry potter #fanfic #marauders #found family #cannon divergence #learning to trust again #chronic pain in fanfic #whump #hurt/comfort #mentions of child abuse #dignity be damned

[cleverclovers]

An explanation of what I'm going through right now. The following contains discussions of traumatic brain injury (tbi), abuse, adoption via coercion, child sexual assault (CSA), child prostitution, grief, and self deletion of a family member/previous manual exit ideations of the self, as well as lesser issues that don't require a warning as such. Please read below the cut at your own risk. You are under no obligation to read, this is a glorified vent post.

A year and a half ago, my mother was in a horrible car accident, with my niece in the car. Their lives were saved only by the fact that her car was packed to the gills with camping equipment. My niece walked away with long term aches and pains. My mother suffered a severe TBI that has lasting effects, messing with her emotional regulation and perception of time.

Four months ago my older brother, the victim of long term CSA, and child prostitution, took his own life, following the revelation that my grandmother had bullied my mother into giving him up to her, for adoption... that my mother had been put in a Solomon's Choice situation, and she thought that giving him to her mother was really the best option, to her it was that, or watch her son spiral out and die at nine. My mother hadn't known that my grandmother was pimping him out to grandmother's ex husband. She didn't know grandmother was doing the same to me, later. (Grandmother claims it was the only way to get her alimony. Guess she never heard of lawyers)(For the curious, yes we reported it to the police. Neither party faced legal penalties because neither party confessed properly, but the monster died of a heart attack after being interviewed by the police, and was found two weeks later dead face down in his apartment)

"She should have known" Yeah, probably, but she didn't have many other people to lean on, I can't blame her for not knowing. Not when we were bribed not to tell... it's amazing what candy and a treasure troll can buy from a traumatized five year old when that shit's been normalized, not when I was told the alternative was never seeing my brothers again.

My brother only recently remembered, and his remembering pulled that time from the realm of 'probably just a bad, really vivid dream' into reality. For the last three years my brother and I had been mutually dealing with the realization that our grandmother cared more about her bank account than her grand children's safety. My brother had, up to that point, thought my mother had simply discarded him and started a new family. He didn't remember trying to protect me from the monster until three years ago, being an eleven year old protecting a toddler from a man easily more than six feet tall with nothing but a kitchen knife and a snarl. He didn't remember dragging me and our little brother to the other side of the park when grandmother and the monster started yelling, or fervently defending our baby brother's carseat from that man's line of sight. And an argument with grandmother brought it all back to the surface.

While I was able to deal with it, having been in therapy already, and on medication, able to discuss it with people openly, having been used to it already following my own emotional breakdown and near suicide, my older brother didn't have the same kind of familiarity and comfort with those resources. It's just not done, among the witnesses. It's like admitting weakness and a lack of faith in Jehovah.

Three years of grappling with all of that trauma that suddenly rushed in without any framework to deal with it ate at him. He was afraid he was going to do that to his own sons. He was sleeping with a knife under his bed so he could just off himself rather than harm his children, because he'd heard Abused People Abuse People. He was desperately googling ways to be a better spouse and parent, and trying so hard to find solutions in hobbies, doctors, lifestyle changes, new habits. Ultimately, it became too much for him, and my brother took his life.

Because of her TBI, my mother has been reliving this revelation more vividly than most would. For a year she'd been starting the same conversation with me, about a job she was no longer at, and I'd have to remind her of that. We had this conversation, mom. Can you write down that we've had this conversation, so you can talk to your doctor about it? Over and over, for a year, the same handful of conversations. It was horrifying, to have her go from new concepts and ideas all the time, to a skipping record player. She'd been getting better, little by little. Progress. I was relieved. And then my brother committed suicide, and it's new, every few days she calls to talk about it, almost like it's fresh. It tears the wound in my chest open, every time.

My brother, my hero, my defender, the pre adolescent who fought off The Monster with a kitchen knife, the teen who tossed coins into the pool for me to fetch so I'd learn to dive and hold my breath under water, the man who showed up at my house when my father was beating the shit out of me, who held me together when I found out my best friend died, who, in spite of his religion, accepted me as I am to the best of his ability, is dead now. And I get to feel it fresh every three or so days, because my mother feels it fresh, and has to talk to someone about it.

and while all of that is going on, I'm struggling to keep my household floating. I went from only paying half the bills and rent with a roommate, so I had some money left over for groceries and household needs and my cats, to paying everything myself, and having nothing. I went from occasionally needing to ask for help, to begging for comms and donos because I can't work. I went from having almost no seizures to having them regularly again. I could probably light up an EEG pretty easily right now.

and all the while the world outside is burning. There's a genocide in Gaza, but I can't even look at it for more than a few moments because I have to figure out how I'm going to feed my cats. I have to keep working, keep going, find ways to feed myself so I can take my meds. Rest because if I don't I'm going to seize and I won't be able to work. Gently remind my mother that we had that conversation, I'm sad too, I'm hurting too. Attend therapy because if I don't, I'm pretty sure I won't be able to hold on until the fire behind my ribs dies down, and my mother can't take more heartbreak, my cats can't live without me, my friends still need me.

I'm falling apart at the seams, suffering intense grief and the depression and lethargy that comes with it, as well as overwork, intense anxiety, and the gnawing guilt that I'm not doing enough for my family, or the world outside. It feels like I'm burning up every second I stop to take a breath or read a headline.

so. please excuse me if I don't post enough about current events, if I don't express displeasure that a friend is being cruel online, or if I ask for help like I'm drowning without it, because I am. I recognize that I'm privileged enough to have internet access, to not be presently persecuted for my ethnicity or religion or identity, to live near resources that I could hypothetically access. In that sense, I'm blessed. In every other sense? I'm trying to desperately grab a life raft somewhere because I really need the help.

so. give me the grace of not bringing more trouble to my inbox. I'll stop commenting on things that might turn people's attention to me, and strangers... will hopefully let me be.

And to anyone who comes into my ask box telling me to get a job? Pay my medical bills, then we'll talk.

#traumatic brain injury #car accident mention #sewer slide #csa mention #csa survivor #csa tw #child abuse tw #coercive adoption #mentions of sa #mentions of child abuse #mentions of death #death tw #how do I tag sewer slide without getting my post black listed? #vent post #personal vent