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unclewaynemunson · 1 year

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'No no no Steve wait, don't throw that a...way.' The end of the sentence died on Eddie's tongue as the leftover lasagna, basically in slow-motion, tumbled out of the dish and into the bin. Eddie could almost hear a funeral march start to play over the dull thud and the sound of crushing eggshells.

'Fuck,' he said, emphatically.

'That was barely half a portion,' Steve remarked with a careless shrug while putting the empty dish back on the kitchen counter.

And Eddie groaned, tried to count to ten in his head but didn't even make it to two.

'I was gonna have that for lunch, man, add a slice of bread and an apple and I'd have a decent meal!'

There must have been something in his voice that told Steve that he wasn't just being overly dramatic but genuinely annoyed, because his face dropped and he shot a quick glance at the dish, as if that would magically summon the lasagna back into it, untouched by gross eggshells and coffee dregs.

'Seriously, that was perfectly good food, why would you throw that away?!'

'I can buy you lunch tomorrow?' Steve suggested sheepishly.

And, well, that hit a sore spot.

'That's not the fucking point!' Eddie exclaimed in frustration. 'I'm not your charity case or some shit, I can take care of my own meals – as long as you don't throw my food away!'

And again, it was like Eddie saw it happen in slow-motion: Steve flinched, took a stumbling step backwards, created as much distance between himself and Eddie as possible in the trailer’s tiny kitchen by bumping his back against the counter; something crossed his face that Eddie had never seen there before. And... shit.

All his frustration dissolved right on the spot and he immediately took another step away from Steve, even though everything inside of him wanted to cross that distance and hold him. He raised his hands in the air, cautious not to move too sudden.

'Steve, I'm not mad at you,' he said, forcing himself to sound as calm as possible despite his heart beating like crazy. 'I got annoyed, sure, but – it's okay. We're okay. You're okay. I didn't wanna hurt you, I promise.'

Steve swallowed, let his eyes dart everywhere except at Eddie's face while he tightly crossed his arms in front of his chest. The fear seemed to have disappeared from his face, replaced by something else; something expertly concealed within seconds. Anyone less well-versed than Eddie in the craft of noticing every little detail about Steve Harrington wouldn't notice; but Eddie did.

'You wanna talk about what happened there?' he asked, hesitant.

Steve didn't answer right away, his eyes still frantically darting around the trailer and his lower lip sucked between his teeth.

'What do you mean?' he finally said.

'Can I come closer?' Eddie asked. He felt like it would be so much easier to have this conversation if he could touch Steve; if he could smell him and have him in his orbit.

Steve nodded; Eddie sighed a breath of a relief and crossed the distance between them to rest his hands against Steve's sides; not quite an embrace, but something grounding for both of them nonetheless.

'I kinda recognized that look in your eyes, I guess,' Eddie quietly admitted. 'And the way you flinched. Like you were scared I was gonna do something bad.'

'I know you wouldn't –'

'I know,' Eddie was quick to reassure him. There was a beat of silence and Eddie wondered how much he should push. But he knew that he needed this conversation to happen, that it would keep gnawing at both of them if they didn't talk about it now.

'It's because of your dad, isn't it?'

Steve nodded, still looking slightly past Eddie.

'I'm sorry.' Eddie exhaled sharply, trying to keep his emotions under control; he knew that aimless anger at Steve's father wouldn't get them anywhere; not here, not right now. 'I mean, I knew he was bad, but I had no idea that it was... like that.'

He could hear Steve breathe out while he stared at some point just above Eddie's head.

'Sometimes I think all that crap is behind me now,' Steve quietly started to explain. 'But then something like this happens and it – it just catches me by surprise, is all. Like I'll never completely be free of the fear.'

Eddie nodded. 'Uncle Wayne, he... He looks a lot like my father - even though he's nothing like him. Took me years to fully trust him. He makes sure to never raise his voice, but still, sometimes when I see him make a sudden movement from the corner of my eyes, I just... freeze. Like it's some kind of instinct that’ll always stay with me.'

Steve finally looked Eddie in his eyes again, stunned and a little bit shocked.

'Your dad, too?'

Eddie nodded. 'Mhm.'

And wordlessly, Steve pulled him closer, until Eddie was enveloped in his warm arms and their chests were pressed against each other. Eddie let his eyes fall shut, breathed in Steve's familiar scent while he nestled his face in the crook of his neck and tightened his own grip around Steve's back.

They stayed like that for minutes, maybe even a whole eternity.

'Should we make rules?' Steve finally asked, in a hesitant voice and without pulling away from their embrace.

'What kind of rules?'

'Like, things to make sure that this doesn't – that we won't get scared. I know we can't promise not to fight, but...' He trailed off; Eddie could feel him shrug his shoulders.

He started slowly stroking one hand up and down over Steve's back. 'What was the thing that got you afraid, earlier?'

'Your loud voice – and the way you stepped into my space, I guess.'

'Okay.' Eddie nodded. 'So no yelling, and we try to keep our distance when shit goes sour. Sound good?'

Steve hummed against Eddie’s neck. 'Yeah. And for you? You mentioned the sudden movements, with Wayne?'

'Yeah, no sudden movements would help,' Eddie admitted.

'Okay, I can do that.'

Eddie squeezed Steve tighter. 'Thank you.'

Steve huffed. 'You're the one who started this conversation; I should be thanking you.'

Eddie lifted his face to press a gentle kiss against Steve's cheek, and another one at the corner of his lips.

'I'm sorry for startling you.'

'That's okay, you couldn't know.'

'Can you stop doing that, please?’ Eddie said with a chuckle. ‘Let me say thank you, let me apologize. Let me take care of you.'

Steve chuckled too; never before had Eddie been so grateful to hear that sound. 'I'll try.'

'You wanna stay the night?'

Steve shuffled, pulled back a little bit so that Eddie could see his face; there was a frown between his eyebrows.

'I'm not sure if I'm in the mood, after, you know...'

'Hey,' Eddie said, softly. 'You can stay the night for other reasons, too, you know. To have some comfort. To fall asleep together. To let me make sure that you're doing alright.'

'You sure?'

'Hell yes.'

Steve's head dropped down to Eddie's shoulder again, and Eddie lifted his hand to comb through his hair.

'Yeah, I'll stay.'

#don't mind me rambling about stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #not sure if / how i should tw this so please lemme know if i should!#stranger things #fruity ficlet #tw implied abuse #tw implied child abuse

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writer-in-theory · 1 year

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berry sweet on your lips

TW: Period-typical homophobia, Some Internalized homophobia, Implied abuse (Steve's dad is a pos)

When Steve was seven, his Mama caught him in her makeup.

He was sitting up on the bathroom counter, sloppily drawn eyeliner over his eyelids and trying to apply bright cherry red lipstick to his lips without smearing. The application process required so much focus he hadn't realized when the front door opened downstairs, or when his mom called repeatedly for him to come down to dinner. He did hear the surprised little yelp from her though, and the sigh once she realized which eyeliner he'd accidentally broken.

"Honey, those aren't toys to play with." His Mama's voice was tight like she was barely containing her frustration at the lost products. Dad always made her upset, and Steve didn't want to add to it. So it didn't seem like a good time to correct her, that no, he wasn't trying to play. He'd seen how pretty makeup could make people, and he wanted it. He wanted to be pretty.

Instead, he sighed and nodded, hopping down from the counter. "Sorry, Mama."

"It's okay, baby, that stuff just isn't for kids to play with. C'mon, let's get you washed up and we can get some dinner."

It wasn't the last time he'd thought about makeup, though it took years until Steve found the courage to try again.

It happened when he was fourteen in Carol Perkins's basement. He, Tommy, and Carol spent most nights together anymore. The Perkins' always volunteered to babysit Steve when he was younger and his Mama started going on business trips with his dad, and they always let Tommy come over so he wouldn't be left out. That basement with its bright tie-dyed blankets scattered around and posters of every attractive celebrity you could imagine felt more like home than his own house.

Maybe that was why he felt so comfortable suggesting it in the first place.

"Ugh, I need more girl friends, honestly," Carol groaned, flopping back onto the pile of pillows and blankets she'd acquired.

"What now? We're not entertaining enough?" Tommy teased from where he and Steve were playing air hockey. Steve's knuckles were sure to bruise tomorrow from the speed with which they were knocking the puck at each other but they hadn't stopped laughing yet. "Need to go braid Tina's hair and talk about boys?"

"You're not boring," Carol clarified, "but it'd be nice to do someone's makeup and talk about boys every once in awhile. A girl needs some gossip."

Tommy laughed, so Steve laughed too because it seemed the right thing to do. But really...it didn't sound so bad, did it? So when the laughter died down, he spoke up. "You could put makeup on me, I don't care," Steve shrugged.

He did. He did care so much. Even the thought of it made his heart flutter, threatening to fly away at any second.

"Really?" Carol raise one eyebrow, sitting all the way up and twisting around to face him. "You'd let me put makeup on you? The whole thing, I don't do boring makeup."

"C'mon, man, don't let her do that to you," Tommy groaned, but Steve just shrugged again and abandoned the air hockey table, coming over to sit down on the floor with Carol.

"It washes off, right?" As if he hadn't known how easy it was to swipe off red lipstick, though it would always leave a deep tint to his lips like he'd been eating berries. "It can't hurt."

It at least made Carol happy, and seeing her smile as she rushed off to retrieve her makeup bag made Tommy's grumbles about ditching the game worth it.

And you know, it was fun. Carol was actually gentle, and seemed to know what she was doing. Steve had his eyes closed most of the time while she brushed powder and liner on them, as she swiped mascara on and tried to perfect whatever glamorous look she'd seen in her latest magazine. She did talk about boys too, all about which girl had crushes on each boy that they knew, and why Eric Thompson was the most crushed on boy in Hawkins Middle.

"Eric Thompson? Get a grip, Perkins, you can do so much better than him," Steve told her, laughing at her indignant shout.

"Seriously. The guy's a total meathead," Tommy called from where he was sprawled out across one of the couches, idly watching whatever movie the Perkins' decided to rent for the night.

"You're a total meathead," Carol shot back in return. "Not Stevie here, though. No, I think after I tell all the girls about what a good guy you are, you'll be the new king of Hawkins Middle."

"Screw Hawkins Middle, I better be king of Hawkins High for this," Steve laughed, only because he had no idea how to thank her for it. By the time he'd left the Perkins' house the next morning, the bright eyeshadow and tacky lip gloss had been washed away but the feeling of pure peace it had brought him persisted.

Steve hadn't dared try again, not until he was sixteen and saw a guy wearing nail polish. It was one of the Seniors, the one who wore all black and who the whole basketball team called The Freak. And maybe he was a freak, Steve didn't really ever have a reason to talk to him and find out, but the sight of the swath of black over his nails left Steve breathless.

"You taking photography this semester, Harrington?" The guy—something Munson, Steve thinks—asked when Steve hadn't stopped staring in the hallway.

"Huh?" Steve startled, looking down both sides of the hallway as if to check if any of his friends were seeing who he was talking to. "No?"

"Shame," Munson let out a little 'tsk' noise, the way Steve's dad always did when he was disappointed. "You could've taken a picture and made it last longer."

Oh, oh. Steve's face flushed red, and the second he saw a flash of another green and orange letterman he panicked. They would know, oh God they'd see him with The Freak and it would all be over, they would figure out that he wanted to paint his nails too and—

Steve wasn't proud of the words spoken after that. They lingered far after he'd said them, swirling in his head until it sounded a little more like his dad was repeating them over and over again, reminding Steve of just what kind of person he was to stay clear away from.

It was that guilt that finally convinced him to go to Melvald's, where the kind woman at the counter didn't question why he was buying the cheapest makeup products he could find. He didn't even know if any of it would look good together, he just knew he needed it. He needed a way to see himself like this before he messed up again where someone could see, where someone could figure him out.

And so began the careful ritual. Every night he'd rush home from practice, lock his bedroom door even though he knew his parents were away on another trip, and swipe the makeup over his eyes, cheeks, lips. He got better at it with every attempt, until the liner wasn't shaky and his lipstick didn't look like it had already been kissed off (and now, wasn't that a thought).

Except that was the trouble with secrets, wasn't it? They couldn't stay buried for long, not when Hawkins was so small and this felt so much larger than the town, than the state, than anything Steve had ever been apart of.

It was only a matter of time until his dad found out.

That night he'd been sloppy, unprepared for his parents to come home early. The light in the upstairs bathroom had gone out and instead of changing it he'd moved downstairs, where the lights had already been switched out to a cooler white that made it easier to see what colors he was painting his skin with.

Steve Harrington was pretty sure he would die that night, all over deep red lipstick and perfectly-drawn eyeliner.

He didn't know where he was running to, all he knew was that he couldn't stay in Loch Nora. He ran until he was near the edge of town, nothing but trees and the one road leading out surrounded him. Steve hadn't had his car keys on him, and there was no way he could go back for them without facing his dad's righteous anger. Steve let out a painful cry, finding nothing left to do but lay down on the pavement and stare at the stars. He was barely eighteen, no car, no money except whatever bills were stuffed in his pocket, no plan. Just himself and that damned red lipstick still lingering like berry-stained evidence on his lips.

He didn't move for anything. Not when the night grew chilly enough to freeze his joints and prick up goosebumps on his arms. Not when the rumble of an old car engine came roaring in the distance, or for the subsequent squeal of brakes and a loud horn.

"Shit, Harrington, I know you have air for a brain but what the fuck are you do—" The person cut themselves off, like from seeing the state of him. They'd probably hit him too, kick at him while he was down because why the fuck did he think he could get away with this shit in the middle of nowhere Indiana?

"Shit, Harrington," the voice hissed again, sounding as pained as Steve thought he should feel.

"Get on with it," Steve voiced, voice rough with tears and the violent yells his dad had hit out of him.

"Get on with what?"

Steve rolled his eyes, turning his head to meet Eddie Munson's gaze. He wondered if he still painted his nails. He wondered if it even mattered, because even Eddie Munson didn't do what Steve did. "I'm tired, man. If you're gonna get your revenge on me make it quick."

That startled Eddie, reminding Steve of just how expressive the guy was. It was almost humorous, the way his head reeled back and his eyes widened impossibly far.

"Get in the van, Harrington."

Right, if Eddie was gonna murder him he couldn't do it out in the open, not where anyone could be driving by.

So Steve picked himself up from the ground, not bothering to brush off his jeans before sliding into the passenger seat. They didn't talk the whole drive. No music played. They just sat in complete and total silence, punctuated only by the nervous taps of Eddie's hand on the steering wheel.

Eddie Munson must be stupider than he was. Most murderers wouldn't drive their victim to their own trailer before finishing the job. Though, Steve supposed all Eddie had to say was that he saw Steve Harrington wearing lipstick and it'd all be waved away. Upstanding citizen, that Eddie Munson was.

"Shower's back there, there's a first aid kit on the shelf," Eddie spoke, unable to stand still once they got inside the trailer.

And that, well that was just downright weird. Steve tilted his head to the side, eyeing the little hallway Eddie waved his hand at like it might jump at him. "What's happening?"

"What do you mean?" Eddie sounded tired, like he hadn't slept in weeks. Steve felt like he'd never slept at all, like he might never again.

"You...aren't you gonna...?"

"I mean, I could if you think you're gonna fall," Eddie said nervously, eyes also watching the hallway. "Just tryin' to protect your modesty, man."

"What?" Nothing was making sense, and Steve was beginning to wonder if maybe his head had hit the tile floor one too many times because this was supposed to be simple, cut and dry.

"Can you just go clean up, Harrington?"

"Why?"

"Because I hate seeing all that damn blood on you, okay?" Eddie snapped out, voice raising in pitch the more worked up he got. "I don't know what the hell happened, but I hate it."

Oh.

"You're not...you're not gonna...?" Steve repeated, including a lackluster air punch.

That seemed to make everything click in place for Eddie. He sucked in a breath and both hands flew to the top of his head, scraping through his unruly curls. "Shit, you think? Nah, man, I'm not a piece of shit like whoever did that to you. C'mon."

Eddie started walking down the hallway, and honestly this all felt so vaguely dreamlike Steve couldn't do anything but follow, wordlessly sitting on the toilet lid where Eddie waved for him to be. The other man was knelt between his legs, wiping off his face with a wet washcloth. His touch was gentle, experienced as he wiped away the blood and set to work rubbing antibiotic onto each open cut.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Steve whispered out, eyes focused on the barest hint of eyeliner on Eddie's eyes. The other man clearly wasn't wearing it to be pretty though. No, this was drawn on with intentional haste, and made Eddie look so fucking badass that Steve didn't know what to do about it. "I sucked in school. I was awful to you."

Eddie's hands didn't stop, brown eyes focused on Steve's lips as he wiped at the split in the lower one. He could see the breath hitch in the other man's chest though, a quick collapse of Eddie's chest before his breath restarted at a normal rhythm. "You did suck, but that doesn't mean you deserve this."

Steve didn't say anything else, couldn't really. Not when the lump in his throat grew until he was sure he would never be able to breathe again, and the tears began to spill without inhibition. And Eddie, well Eddie let him. He just kept patching him up, never saying anything, never berating him or looking disgusted by the tears. He just sat with Steve while he let it out, eyes looking to Steve's every so often as if to check he was okay.

"I think something's wrong with me." The whisper sounded so loud in the tiny bathroom, echoing around and around and smacking into Steve's chest repeatedly.

"No." It was the first time Eddie seemed bothered by anything Steve said all night, fingers gripping tightly around the corner of the counter he was holding to keep himself steady. "There's nothing wrong with you."

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but Eddie cut him off. He looked Steve right in the eyes, a kind of fire lighting up in those dark brown eyes of his. "Steve Harrington, there is nothing wrong or broken or shameful about you. So you like to wear makeup, lots of guys do."

"I've never met anyone who does."

"Because you're in Bumfuck, Indiana," Eddie continued on, never sounding more passionate than he did now. It was intense, sure, but Steve had longed for someone, anyone, to say what Eddie was now. And of course it was the guy with the painted nails he'd been enraptured by years before. "Just you wait, pretty boy, there's a whole world out there with people like us."

Like us. Like us.

"C'mon, you need some sleep. We can figure out the details in the morning."

"Wait...what?"

Eddie laughed a little, shattering the heavy moment with a burst of pure warmth. He stood up and offered a ringed hand out to help Steve up despite him not needing it. Eddie's hand was cold in his own, but it felt right there.

"Try to keep up, Harrington," he teased. "If you don't mind sharing a bed, you can stay here. Us freaks have to stick together, right?"

"I mean...your uncle won't...?"

"Nah, Wayne'll love pissin' Robert Harrington off," Eddie answered coolly, "And he's cool with...everything."

And despite Steve's skepticism, he was. Wayne Munson was pretty much the greatest support anyone could ever have. His face had flashed dangerously when Steve admitted what happened, saying the world had no place for men who hit their boys (Steve wondered only briefly why the topic seemed to pain Wayne so much). And living with Eddie Munson, well, it was great. The trailer was small and Eddie kicked in his sleep, but Eddie also smiled from the second he was awake and the no place had ever quite felt like home in the way the Munson trailer did.

And the next time Steve found the courage to sit and do his makeup, it came with bright smiles instead of that old, lingering fear.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #kinda #they'll get there #stranger things #steve x eddie #canon divergence #au no upside down #tw homophobia #tw implied abuse #jay writes in theory #this is totally unedited sorry you get it as is #steddie headcanon #steddie ficlet

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traumasurvivors · 1 month

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It’s okay to not love them for what they did to you. You aren’t wrong, or bad if you don’t love someone society thinks you should (a sibling, parent, other family, etc).

It’s also okay if you do love them despite what they did to you. This doesn’t mean you asked for it, deserved it or aren’t allowed to be traumatized or have other feelings.

It’s also okay if what you feel is neither, a mixture of both or even something else entirely.

Feelings are complicated, and yours are valid.

#my post #tw implied abuse

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mistyriousness · 3 months

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A Different Kind of Deal

((Aka: What if Husk made a few more bad gambles and ended up under contract as the eternal lapcat to a less merciful Overlord?))

#digital art #my art #fanart #hazbin hotel #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin valentino #hazbin art #tw body modification #tw implied abuse #cw implied abuse #cw body modification #look I just long to watch my skrunkly suffer #I love him I promise #please don’t judge me #hazbin hotel au

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livingdeadhorse · 5 months

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A COMPLEXITY THAT CAN ONLY BE UNDERSTOOD AS “BROTHERHOOD”

[poem by @/octaviafleurr on Tiktok]

#have this weird experimental thing #that I didn’t feel like cleaning up #do I main tag this. iddkkk #sure why not #mondo owada #daiya owada #drthh #horse_art #long post #tw implied abuse #danganronpa

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the-oracles-maw · 1 month

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hesitancy

totally self indulgent trash

tw: implied past abusive relationship, power imbalance, this relationship isn't very healthy gang

Simon “ghost” riley x reader

"Simon? Are you ready to go?"

Your fiancé briefly pauses from typing away at the home office laptop. He was totally engrossed in finalizing paperwork, you paid little mind to the details. You squeeze your arm, nervously, shuffling in the gown you've picked out for the night. Simon's old military buddies had invited you both to a charity event. Something for veterans. Your gown was a tank-sleeve, somewhat form fitting number, that cascaded down to your ankles. It was a deep, dark teal color, and from the sleeves, a sheer, sparkly black split "cape" cascaded down your back, past your feet and onto the floor.

"Mn... in a minute." Simon's response was blunt. Not even looking up from the computer screen, sending a pang in your stomach. Perhaps he was very, very focused. And you must've disturbed him.

Shaking out the dress shirt he's picked out for the evening, you lay it over the back of the chair, daring to speak up again. "We've gotta leave in about a half hour."

"Mn..." His grunt became a little louder, as if he was annoyed. Or, at the very least, aware of your presence, fingers flying away across the keyboard.

"Um...." You speak up, your voice barely above a whisper. "Do... do you want me to call John?" Wondering if perhaps Simon didn't want to go to the charity. He wasn't exactly a people-person, as you knew. Perhaps offering him an out would please him? You always did your best to please your stoic man. "I... I can tell him you're not feeling well and-"

"Nah," he responded, still not looking at you. "I'll be done soon."

With each passing moments, your posture grew more tense, your body language growing more demure, submissive. A defense mechanism you've picked up in the past, especially regarding the men in your life. If you read their minds, you thought, if you bent over backwards to please them, then...

Simon, on the other hand, had a decent idea of what he was doing to you, as you meekly muttered that you were going to wait for him in the living room. A surge of adrenaline rushes through him hearing your meek voice, a tingling that starts in his chest, and creeps into his loins. A power imbalance he doesn't exactly relish, but didn't do anything to put a stop to either, under the assumption that this was just how you were.

There was a time, that, perhaps, Simon was amused of how easily you submitted to him. A ghost (lol) of a smile curling up his lips, he finishes up the paperwork on the laptop, and closes it. Grabbing the dress jacket you left on the computer chair for him, he makes his way into the living room, where you waited.

You were still curled into yourself. Did Simon not like the dress? Was it too revealing? You'd pulled over a big, fluffy jacket over it. Your shoulders drawn to each other, pinching the bit of visible tummy from your dress. Simon's lack of comment or attention has clearly done a blow on your self-esteem.

Simon looked on, despite his massive size, entirely silent. Flickers of compassion watch over him as he watches your pick yourself apart. He's grown to expect your complete submission, but now without having complicated feelings for it. The man couldn't deny that there was something sickeningly endearing the way you modified your behavior on a whim just to please him.

Simon knows exactly why you cast aside your gaze whenever he enters the room, when he's anything less than beaming with happiness. He knows exactly why you pick at your tummy, why you scrunch your shoulders. He knows very well, that you're irrationally terrified of the man. "You alright?" Simon, aware of your anguished state, lowers his voice as he approaches you.

You straighten up as he approaches. Furiously rubbing your tear stained eyes and cheeks, you rise to meet him. "I'm okay, Si. I'm okay." The man isn't convinced, but he allows you to adjust the collar of his dress jacket and shirt.

"You sure?" Simon was starting to grow concerned. This power, he was used to it. The assumption that this was just how you were... Well... to say he wasn't beginning to crow a little concerned was an understatement. Did he do something to cause this? Did something frighten you?

He sadly, was disappointed, but not al ass surprised, when he placed his hands over yours to fix his collar himself, and you flinched.

He backs up, raising his hands in surrender, also raising an inquisitive brow at this extreme reaction. His eyes soften at your spluttering following words:

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry, I-"

"You're trembling." His deep, accented voice rumbled. It was softer than it had been all night. His hands hovered over yours, not quite touching them, but they just, barely graved over yours as they shook. Violently.

"Come, let's talk about this. Come sit, luv." He made sure to watch his tone. With your anguished mental state, you would certainly get the wrong idea if he asked you to do something for him. He sits next to you and begins. "Now, what's going on, huh? You scared of me?"

You don't answer.

It was answer enough.

That did anger him. but for your sake, that anger only simmered inside him. He's exploited people being afraid of him for so long. Came with being a master interrogator, of course. But to see his significant other shy away from him like this? Did you think the man was made of stone?

"Easy... easy..." His hands hover over your shoulders and chest as you pull yourself tightly together. Simon thought his ego would be thoroughly fed by the way you were acting. Perhaps, at one time. At one time. Not now.

"Just... breathe... alright? Breathe... Relax... Don't look at me like I'm about to strike you, luv. I'm not. You hear me?"

His tone is gentle, but firm. His hands hover over your face now, as if he wants to wipe away your tears, but doesn't. As if touching your face would drive you over the edge. His voice continues to whisper to you, enveloping your senses like a great blanket, until you've sufficiently calmed down. Giving you a small smile, Simon shed his jacket.

"Look, I'm not... liking what I'm seeing..." he motioned his hand in a circle around you. "here." He reaches over, making sure to touch the jacket and not you, pulling it off.

"Well won't you look at that... A sight for sore eyes, luv." You swear you saw him lick his lips. "Just makin' sure you know it ain't about the dress." He even gave you a small smile.

"Look..." he began. "I know I can be... well, fuck it, intense but..." A long sigh. "You? You're my partner. Not my fucking squamates." He was still whispering. "I don't want to have to come home to someone who looks like a tick about to fucking pop whenever they're around me."

You avert your gaze.

"No, come on, luvie, look at me." This time, he did touch you, the tips of his big fingers tilting your chin. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"I..." you start, your voice barely audible. "I don't know... why..."

"You know, just cause I'm military, don't mean I'm gonna smack you around, got me?"

"I know, I... I really don't know why I'm like this... I don't know why you scare me."

You cover your mouth as Simon gives you a slow nod. "I see. Don't say anything, luv." He reaches out his hand, unfurled, wanting you to take it. "Looks like we've got a little something to work on, yeah?"

He was right. This was something that was only going to worsen the more it was ignored. Instead of taking Simon's hand, you withdraw. Simon closes it and gives a proud nod. You needed to learn and shake the idea that due to your fiancé's career, that he had no intention to hurt you.

And Simon needed to swallow his pride, and read you better. Having you cater to every whims down to the way he breathes, is only going to brew fear and resentment, not love and respect.

"I think we should call it off, yeah?" Simon scoots in closer to you. Your sides were touching. "I don't think you're in any state to mingle about a bunch of people."

You agreed.

"Why don't you put on something cozy, I'll give John and the shrink a call, yeah?"

You were going to work on this. You weren't going to be mindlessly flighty around your man. And he was willing to put in the work himself to show you had nothing to fear? You were touched. Beyond touched.

Your face lights up, ever so slightly, and you speak, the clearest as you have that night. "Okay. Simon?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

~the-oracles-maw~

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weird-an · 9 months

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Billy hides and waits.

His dad is angry and he's under the bed, waiting for Neil to fall asleep.

He's scared and he hates it.

His mom leaves and he's waiting, hidden behind his dad's anger and the poison he spits, for her to come back, to take him with her.

He's got a big wound inside him, always hurting.

His dad drags him to Hawkins, far away from all the place where he can be himself. He's always hiding. Behind a bright smile and the howl of the Camaro's engine.

He waits for school to finish, to get a chance, a new horizon. He's afraid Neil will make sure he never reaches it. Billy hides.

Steve Harrington is the first person to find him. When Billy is a mess, way too drunk, on a Wednesday night at the quarry. Billy wants to leave.

"I don't think you should drive, Hargrove."

He ends up on a couch that is only designed to look good in a catalogue and a torture to sit on, no sleep in sight. He promises himself to never go back to the Harrington's house full of awful wallpapers and the prettiest boy.

It doesn't work. Once Steve found him, they hide together. Under the bleachers smoking. At Steve's pool, with a laugh and Steve's mom's favourite champagne.

"Two months," Steve says, sipping from the champagne like he has always . "Two months and we can leave."

We. Billy stares at him, all warm. The pool feels like The Mariana Trench, filled with endless possibilities.

"Cheers to that, Harrington."

"It's Steve, Hargrove." Steve rolls his eyes. Billy's heart skips a beat.

Billy isn't scared. He leans over. Kisses Steve, because with Steve he doesn't need to hide. Steve kisses back, tasting like champagne bubbles and chlorine and himself.

Billy hides with Steve. In his bed, under the covers, clinging to each other at night.

"Two weeks," Steve says, digging through his dad's endless collection of ties and bowties, looking for a matching one for graduation day.

Billy finds that hiding with Steve isn't too bad. Not when they are waiting together. To pack their bags. To drive away.

"Two weeks," he agrees.

#don't swim and drink peeps #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #harringrove ficlet #steve x billy #tw implied abuse

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hoglinz · 8 months

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exile selfie ! !

#dream smp fanart #dream smp #tommyinnit #tommyinnit fanart #c!tommy #c!tommy fanart #c!dream #c!dream fanart #c!primeboys #c!discduo #c!discduo fanart #tw implied abuse #cw eye contact #i love drawing them together w/ cdream being like Little Brother Accquired while ctommys dissociating hard enough 2 see atoms. My skrunglys #gGreen boys not doing an evil face on purpouse here he jsut looks like tjgat. and tmmy jus wasnt feeling th e vibe #&featuring my hc that they subconsciously mimicked eachothers appearance(shapeshifter thing Slahs neg)

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waywardsunlight · 2 years

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#The Owl House #toh fanart #hunter wittebane #emperor belos #belos #toh #the owl house comic #tw implied abuse #but it's also just funny #well not the art on the back of the paper but #wayward sunlight art

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tornoleander · 7 months

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Jay’s been through it

CW: Sexual assault Implications brief discussion of sexual predators + lotta swearing

(Please let me know if I missed any content warnings and Check if you are ok to hear this theory before reading. This type content has potential to help or hurt you depending on who you are as is the nature of problematic themes. Safety over curiosity.)

This is cannon compliment. Uhh kids show?! Yeah I know shouldn’t really have these themes but they’re there hear me out. Spoilers for season 6/8 I guess.

I’m bothered by this scene and how It connect to certain events so I’ll cautiously share

Sons of Garmadon Episode 7:

Here is the clip

Kelo asks “Where’s the green Ninja”

WHAT THE FUCK! Dude the double take I had when first watching this.

So he looked at Kelo’s… lower half and basically said ‘Cole shut up that man’s crotch is too close’. And not in Jay joking tone, he’s like dead serious and stressed. (The scene just cuts away after)

Jay you ok? Why is it implied some guy might have tried something?! Why else would he say that?! Who the FUCK touched my boi? What even is this scene?!

The fact it’s Jay that said it out of everyone is bad because it’s been implied to him before.

So let’s talk about the darkest Ninjago theory that’s been quietly circulating for a while in fan content. For simplicity I’ll call it captains quarters theory, If you’re unfamiliar I’ll explain.

Basically some speculation happened because of a certain villain that displayed subtle ongoing predatory behavior. And a part when Jay was his prisoner that caused people to worry what happened before the scene started.

As some of you have caught on It’s the scene where Cole rescues Jay from Misfortunes Keep.

He didn’t find Jay in his cell where he should have.

Cole found him beaten as ninjago has ever depicted except when literally dying.

Alone

no explanation given.

In the corner of Captains Quarters.

Nadakhan’s room.

Dude :(

And his concern afterwards.

And thinking he didn’t deserve saving.

“Thank you for trying to save me,-

It’s Just a lot.

Doing awful things to make Jay wish it all away is terrifyingly in Nadakhan’s character. Not just the sadistic torture part.

Nadakhan has many behaviors similar to a sexual predator. I’ll go over it briefly but see my last post for a detailed analysis.

He Seeks out vulnerable people for victims. The Ninja are teens and he waits till or makes them emotionally vulnerable. The way he talks about gifting his wishes and giving his victims anything they desire can be read as grooming behavior. His secrecy in getting all the ninja alone and doesn’t even talk to his crew about his plans. Manipulative and Controlling obviously.

And the most glaring issues he’s WAY tooo fucking touchy all the time. Like watch his body language during Skybound and see how uncomfortable it is

“Too slow junkyard boy”

Not to mention how explicitly he doesn’t care about consent….

And “If you don’t come willingly Nya, I will take you regardless” followed by a forced marriage.

Side note he doesn’t refers to Jay with his name and the things he calls him…uggh “What lies is our little canary whistling now, hmm?”

So… It’s cannon compliant that something was attempted or happened to Jay. Bruh wtf.

Well if you feel like you resonate with this or it may help there a few great fanworks that explore this I can recommend if interested. Mmm comfort angst.

(Note don’t bother anyone for enjoying Nadakhan as a character. It’s fiction and it hurts no one)

#captain’s quarters theory #ninjago #ninjago jay #ninjago ninja #ninjago nadakhan #ninjago nya #ninjago thoughts #ninjago theory #ninjago angst #tw sex abuse #cw swearing #tw predator #tw implied abuse #cw sa implied #cw language #ninjago skybound #Oli speaks #Oli’s Skybound insanity #skybound slander

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