#tw: allusion of sa | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghostboneswrites2 · 1 month

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Safer

Summary: After the fall of the prison and a brutal assault, Daryl cares for you.

NOTE (please read): A mutual requested this a while ago. Took a long while to write, and tbh I considered turning the req down given the premise and my firm stance on writing graphic SA which you can find here. However, they explained to me that they are a victim of a violent s*xual assault, and they expressed it would be healing in a way to have a story where they were cared for by their comfort character. After some consideration, I decided to go for it. I'm sure a lot of us have been victimized by people who couldn't control their urges, or those who lacked respect for our boundaries, bodies, and consent. Myself included. So, this story is for us, to those of us that can stomach it.

DISCLAIMER: There are no scenes of graphic SA, only the aftermath. While I will not be telling any descriptive scenarios of being assaulted, I do want to clearly express that this is a generally heavy story and it may not be suitable for all audiences. Please consume responsibly.

**I will not be tagging anyone on the taglist due to the content of this story**

18+MDNI || WARNINGS: non-graphic allusions to SA, violence, mild nudity descriptions, generally heavy content so I can't say it enough: TW!!!

Banners credited on my masterlist!!

Daryl's vision was blurred as he blinked himself to consciousness. It took him some time to gather his thoughts and recognize his surroundings. His wrists and ankles were bound together, his mouth gagged with a cloth that tasted of sweat and filth. He stared up at the treetops towering over him. It was dark outside, save for the dim light of a dying campfire a few feet away. He lifted his head from the forest floor and looked down past his feet. Lumps of sleeping bodies under raggedy blankets and torn sleeping bags rested around him. His heart raced as his memories crept back in; of you, screaming his name, of him fighting off the group of men who caught him off guard, of twigs snapping and a searing pain over the side of his head. Was that why his face felt so sticky? Was it dried blood?

His eyes strained in the fading light of ember and ash. Where were you? He noticed a crumpled form at the foot of a tree. Her breathing was shallow and her clothes were torn, pants not even pulled up over her bare behind. That much, he could see. His throat tightened. His eyes watered. What the hell had he let them do to you? How could he have let this happen? He had to get you out of there, and fast. If they hadn't killed him yet, that was surely on their agenda.

He began to squirm and writhe against his restraints. Whoever tied him up had experience. Just as hopelessness began to set in and cloud his judgement with fear -- real, genuine fear -- he noticed a reflection in the leaves. Just a few feet past his boots, a man was curled up on his side, snoring lightly in the calm breeze. His back was turned to Daryl, and behind him set a grungy backpack with a blade sticking out of the smallest pocket in the front. He glanced back to you, shivering on the ground, unsure if you were awake or unconscious or simply passed out from the exhaustion of prior events.

The sight of you in your disheveled mess was all her needed to kick him into gear. Carefully and hastily, he scooted himself down toward his only chance at redeeming his status as a loyal protector of the weak and vulnerable. Ideally, he'd be able to accomplish this in silence, but he was not in an ideal situation. His circumstances were heavy, laced in sweat and angst. The leaves beneath him rustled as his back slid across the ground, twigs snapping or moving to the side as he made his way closer to the large hunting knife. He'd pause between each scoot, studying the sleeping men around him for any sign of movement or wakefulness. When he'd decide the coast was clear enough, he'd resume. It felt like an eternity, but he made it there.

His core muscles strained as he sat himself up. He realized how sore he was. He must have taken a good beating. Seemed fitting, though. He was never one to go down without a fight. He left that sort of weakness in his past.

He guided his shaky, bound hands over to the bag. He slowly slid the knife out of the front pocket. His heart raged against his ribs. He didn't dare take a single breath until it was secured.

Slow. Slowness. Slowly. He repeated every variation of the word in his mind as he positioned the knife between his palms and dragged it back and forth until the rope finally severed. A silent breath of relief escaped him as he ripped the gag from his lips and worked on the rope tied around his ankles. When he was free, he stood and counted the sleeping bodies beneath him. Excluding you, there were four.

He considered waking you up and running for the hills, but he couldn't leave any loose ends. No, he thought of it like when your t-shirt has a loose thread. You could leave it to keep unraveling, or you could burn it at the base and extend the lifetime of your clothes. He decided he needed to burn this string before it could unravel any further.

Starting with the man closest to him -- the one who so graciously left his knife in plain sight for the archer -- he krept over and crouched down, plunching the blade into the base of his skull. Then, he moved on to the next, and the next one, and the one after that, until they were all a problem of the past. Until that pesky little thread could do no further damage to the rest of the shirt.

When the dirty work was behind him, he dropped the knife and rushed over to you. Your wrists were tied like his, but you were tied to the tree so you couldn't run. He eyed you over and gulped. With your pants not fully covering you and your shirt all ripped up, he could see the finger-shaped bruises littering your skin. There was blood on your inner thighs. Your lips were swollen and cut. His blood heated until it hit a boiling point. His hands trembled as they hovered over you. Touching you felt like a crime, but he had to wake you. He had to get you out of there.

"(Y/N)." He whispered as he laid a hand on your shoulder. You were shivering in the cool air, but a thin layer of sweat blanketed your exposed flesh. He gave you a gentle shake. "((Y/N), c'mon. We gotta go." He pleaded softly.

Your body jerked and you jolted awake. You gave him no chance to explain as you scrambled to your knees and cowered away against the tree.

"(Y/N) it's me. It's Daryl." He attempted his most soothing tone of voice. "C'mon, let me get ya cleaned up."

He outstretched his arm, offering you his hand. Without making eye contact you made a move to take it, but you were stopped by the restricting force of the rope that kept you anchored to the tree trunk. He moved quickly for the knife he tossed to the side earlier and returned with it. Without the pressure of remaining silent, he had your hands free in seconds.

He wasted no time helping you to your feet and averting his gaze as he slid your pants up where they belonged. He found he had a hard time keeping his mind straight and focused as your weeping filled the quiet campsite.

"Shh.." He cooed, keeping one hand on your upper back as he ushered you along with him to gather his things and yours. A smart man would have rummaged through the belongings of the ones he killed, too, but he wasn't concerned with making a smart call at that point. He was only worried about you.

"It's alright. C'mon. Let's get ya somewhere you can rest. It's alright. C'mon." He felt useless as ever, repeating the same generic words of comfort as you limped along beside him. He never urged you to up the pace, he didn't drag you along or have you carry your own bag. He felt like the least he could do was shoulder the weight of survival on behalf of you both. He couldn't get the image out of his mind of ou laying there,caked in blood, sweat, and bruises. A girl like you should have been caked in perfume and makeup. You hair should have been done up nice for a Sunday brunch, not matted with leaves and dirt. Your clothes should have been pristine and well fitting, unlike the filthy torn clothes that were beginning to hang off your frame like tender meat falling from the bone. You didn't deserve this. You didn't deserve any of it.

Eventually he found an acceptable spot that looked like it could have been a den for a hibernating bear. It was a big shrub by a little stream, perfectly indented to give you both enough room to crouch under its foliage. He gently set you down, dropping his bow and your bags beside him. He crouched down in front of you and scanned you, worry written articulately over his features.

Your eyes remained glued to the ground. Your nose was upturned in disgust but your eyes told a different story; one of pain and despair and mourning for the person you were before that night. Your frown was deep enough to leave a scar.

"(Y/N)..." He breathed. Your eyes slowly found their way to his and welled with tears all over again. Of all things you had -- meaning, being alive and away from those men -- there was nothing you were more grateful for than his blue eyes staring back at you. You hated the way he looked at you with defeat and pity, though. You hated that he had one more thing to worry about. Still, he was there, and he was welcome. "Let's get ya cleaned up, okay?"

You nodded once, if absentmindedly. Your thoughts were elsewhere. You couldn't pinpoint their location, though. They were scrambled, swarming all around you, like gnats you couldn't swat away.

He pulled an old shirt from his bag and leaned over to the stream, getting it nice and wet before wringing it out. He turned back to you and brought it up to your cheek, gently dabbing and swiping away at the dirt, grime, sweat, and blood. He moved on to your neck and hands, then he paused. You both looked down at your jeans. You knew it needed to be taken care of, and he did too, but the question was really about which one of you would be brave enough to work on the gruesome scene between your legs.

One look at your expression and he knew it couldn't be you. But, how could it be him? He couldn't put you in such a vulnerable position. No, not him.

That's when the lightbulb went off over his head. The stream, of course.

"Here." He offered you a hand. You took it slowly and he led you to your feet. "Wanna get in the water?" He asked. You stared down at the serene flowing water, trickling just before your feet. He cleared his throat. "I don't gotta look."

You almost could have laughed. After everything that had happened, Daryl seeing you bathe wasn't really a concern. Still, you had to maintain some shred of dignity, and washing those men off of you was a much needed stride toward leaving that horrid night in your past. So, you nodded, and he turned away to start a fire where you could warm up after rinsing off.

The button was busted off of your jeans. You guessed they couldn't waste their time with something as simple as undoing a button. You let out a shaky sigh and gritted your teeth. You moved to bend over and slide your jeans down, but a searing pain shot through your insides. You whimpered. "I can't." You barely managed.

"Huh?" He asked over his shoulder.

"I can't." You spoke up with a tremble. "I can't get them off. It hurts."

His throat tightened up. Had they really been so cruel to you?

"Ya want me to..." He trailed off.

"Please." You whispered and shut your eyes. He stood beside you and pulled your pants down to your ankles, kneeling down as he did so.

"Grab my shoulder." He instructed softly. You did. "Left leg." He said. You pulled it out. "Now the right."

With your jeans off, he stood up and looked down at your face, which you his from him, avoiding his gaze.

"Your -- Uh.." He glanced down at your underwear. You nodded, not needing to see what he meant. He followed the same process with those and turned away as soon as he was done. You cleared your throat.

"Can you help me sit?" You whispered. He sucked in a breath. It wasn't that you were annoying him. Anything but that, actually. He was glad to help you in any way you needed. It was the simple fact that you needed the help that was eating him alive. The thought that those guys could hurt you in this way, to this extent, was infuriating and heartbreaking.

He turned back to you and hovered behind you, placing a hand under each arm to support you while you lowered yourself down into the water. Once you were sitting on the creek bed, you adjusted yourself and sighed.

"Just, uh, watch for snakes, okay?" Was all he could say before turning his attention back to the fire finally.

Your frown deepened as you stared down at your bloodied thighs. A plop beside you startled you before realizing it was just the old shirt he was using to clean you up.

"Figured ya might need it." He mumbled.

You gripped the cloth in your hand and stared at it. Blood and filth stained it. Your lip quivered as you ran it over your inner thighs, scrubbing your own dried blood away and watching it disappear in the gentle current. You hissed and winced as you cleaned yourself where you were really injured.

When you were done, you peered over your shoulder, where Daryl stared at the small flame. He felt your eyes on him and he looked up at you.

"Need some clothes?" He asked.

"Please." You replied. He nodded once and rummaged through your bag. He could only find a semi-clean shirt, but no more pants. He pulled his own bag forward and searched for the new two-pack of boxers he'd scavenged awhile back.

"I, uh, didn't see no more pants, but... You can have those." He said, holding your shirt and the fresh boxers out to you.

"Thanks." You pressed your lips into a thin attempt at a friendly smile.

He turned away again so you could change your shirt, but you needed his help with the boxers, which he did without you needing to ask, and without a single peek at you.

He helped you back over to the den where you could warm up by the fire. You kept the blanket in your bag, so he made sure to wrap it around your shoulders while you sat.

"Ain't got no food." He broke the silence after a little while. You nodded.

"Not hungry anyways."

"Mm." He hummed. "Get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

----

By midday, you were on the move again, trailing right behind him as he stomped slowly over the underbrush so you could keep his pace. He'd stop every now and then, and though he didn't say it, you knew it was because he didn't want to overwork you.

By late afternoon, the sun was on the far end of the sky, casting an orange glow over the woods.

Daryl had barely been able to look at you, and you couldn't exactly claim any different. You two had taken a break again, sipping water and scanning around for any game or edible plants.

"I want ya to know.." He cleared his throat, shattering the thick silence that glazed over you both all day. "I want ya to know I didn't see it. None of it."

"I know you weren't looking." You deadpanned.

"Nah, not at the stream. I meant -- I didn't see none of it." He clarified. He had a sneaking suspicion the reason you couldn't bare to look at him might have been the possibility of him seeing what had happened to you. He, however, just hated seeing you look so broken, knowing had he been more vigilant yesterday, none of those guys would have been able to sneak up on him. You looked at him finally.

"I know. They hit you over the head 'cause you were fighting them."

"Mm." He nodded. "I just... I need to tell ya I'm sorry." His voice cracked as he looked down at his hands and back up to you. His leg was bouncing anxiously and his gums must have bled from how hard he chewed at them.

"Why?" You pushed your eyebrows together.

"I shoulda been lookin' out. Shoulda protected ya. Shoulda--"

"You were. You have been." You cut him off. "You've looked out for me every day since the prison. You've been protecting me since the quarry. You protect everyone. That wasn't your fault." You insisted. He just looked back down at his hands and sniffled, blinking back tears. He scolded himself for being the one to cry, when you were the one who got hurt. "Hey." You pressed on. "Listen to me. You got us out of there. You took care of them. You saved me. Then, you still took care of me. If we were still back there, they would have killed you and robbed you by now. And, if they hadn't killed me yet, I'd be wishing I was dead. I wouldn't be here without you. I would have never survived even before last night without you, and I wouldn't be sitting here telling you that today if it weren't for you."

He looked you in the eyes as you spoke every word. It was a great relief to him that you weren't angry with him -- that you didn't blame him. Still, he felt so uneasy.

"Can we camp here?" You asked suddenly. He shrugged.

"Yeah. We can." He agreed. His voice was still broken.

"Can I sit with you?" You asked. He looked confused but he still nodded, even if he was unsure what you meant.

Ignoring the aches all over your body, you crawled over to him and sat in front of him, between his legs, leaning your back against his torso. He was stiff, unused to being so close to someone, but he didn't resist. As you settled in and got comfortable, he rested his arms by your sides.

"You didn't fail me, Daryl. Nobody makes me feel safer."

Join the taglist || Masterlist

#tw: implied abuse #tw: implied sa #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl x female reader #daryl x you #daryl x y/n

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imagine-darksiders · 3 months

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Thank you to the marvellous @humboltsquid for commissioning a fanfic with pregnant Reader attempting to hide said pregnancy from the Horsemen because she fears they'll buy into the social rhetoric surrounding single mothers who don't know who the father is.

TW: Vomiting, morning sickness, drinking, Pregnancy, briefest allusion to sa, no actual sa took place, everything was consensual, both parties were drunk, Reader remembers most of the night except the guy's face and name. Horsemen are predictably angry about someone touching their little sister.

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Porcelain, cold and consolidated, bites into the sensitive skin of your palms as you grip the edge of the bathroom sink, your arms locked like overheated pistons just to keep yourself standing upright in defiance of how your legs seem determined to collapse out from underneath your weight.

To your right, the loo gurgles noisily, flushing away any traces of the meal you’d spewed up into it only moments ago. At least the sound helps to drown out a voice thundering at you from the other side of the door.

“Let us in!”

Fumbling with the tap for a moment, you bend down, spooning a palmful of fresh, cooling water into your mouth. As you do so, you spare a baleful glance down at the loo again, and the food lost to its pipes… Perfectly good rations… all gone to waste.

Five years on from the Great Resurrection and Earth’s agricultural efforts are finally on a steady incline. While the food situation isn’t anywhere near as desperate as it was when Humanity woke up to a world without excess, that doesn’t mean you’re particularly pleased to see precious rations wasted because you couldn’t hold them down.

And now that you’re supposed to be eating for two…

Groaning, your expression twists into a look of remorse, and you place one hand gently on your stomach, roaming a palm over the bump that lays hidden beneath the baggiest jumper you could find. You’re only too aware that it won’t be so easy to hide the swell in another couple of months.

You barely manage to bite back another miserable groan as a colossal fist hammers against the door so viciously, you almost wonder if the wood will splinter and break, which starts to seem more likely when seconds later, a familiar voice booms out, “If you don’t open this door, I’m tearing it from its frame!”

Ah… That’ll be War; youngest of the Four Horsemen, an armoured, muscle-bound colossus who also just so happens to be one of your very dearest friends.

A friend who has been growing rightfully suspicious of you over these last couple of months…

There are only so many excuses you can fall back on to explain away your frequent and unexpected dashes for the nearest bathroom. You can only thank the Creator that neither of the Four seem all that well-versed on the more delicate biological functions of humans.

Swiping a wrist over the back of your mouth, you lean away from the sink and assess yourself in the mirror, doing your best to ignore the taste of vomit still sitting like a layer of fuzz on the roof of your mouth.

‘How long are you going to keep this up?’ you pose to your reflection, her sleep-stained eyes bearing back into yours as if she too has had the same question.

It’s been like this for a few weeks now, ever since the dreaded Morning Sickness wrapped its hands around your guts and wrung them with a relentlessness that leaves you scrambling for the closest bathroom at least twice a day.

It wasn’t this bad in the first trimester… Now entering your second, things are getting a Hell of a lot harder to manage. To hide.

Slowly letting your eyes slip shut, you exhale through your nostrils in exasperation as a different voice accompanies the first. “Kid? I uh… I think he means it. We just wanna make sure you haven’t drowned in there.”

Strife… The humour he tries to inject into his quip is overshadowed by his hand rattling at the doorknob. He’s worried. They all are. You wouldn’t have thought it possible, if you didn’t know them personally, though each Horseman will swear up and down they don’t ever feel such trivial, human emotions.

Actions, however, speak louder than words.

Their sister, Fury, has hardly left your side ever since Mrs Gaffe tutted at you from across the hallway and you immediately retreated into your apartment, leant back against the door and wept into your hands. She didn’t know… She didn’t know Mrs Gaffe who lives on your floor is also a chemist, and she’s also the very woman who sold you your pregnancy test… and the subsequent tests you went back for when the first came up positive. You’d spent over an hour convincing Fury that, no, she doesn’t need to defend your honour by besting old Mrs Gaffe in combat. Though you let her know you appreciated the gesture.

You try to think the best of your neighbours. And you certainly didn’t like to think of Mrs Gaffe being a gossip, but judging by the curious and frequently disdainful glances other people in the building sent your way, you soon came to realise your secret was not such a secret after all.

You’re pregnant. And the father is nowhere to be found.

You only hope word doesn’t get back to the Horsemen somehow. You don’t think you could bear it if their gazes turned sharp and pointed as well.

Outside the bathroom door, you hear War grunt at Strife to move aside, and at last, you decide you’ve stalled enough.

Shoving yourself off the sink, you spin around on a hell, regretting the action as a wave of dizziness threatens to knock you back down to Earth, but it’s soon dispelled with a deep breath and a second to gather yourself, calling, “Okay, okay, I’m coming out.”

Someone – Strife, you think – grumbles, “Finally.”

Grabbing the handle, you pull the door towards yourself and tilt your head back, blinking up at the two, immense shapes blocking the entire width of your hallway. If it weren’t for the space between your bedroom and bathroom being meagre at best, you imagine you’d have the remaining two behemoths cramped in there as well.

“When did you guys get to be so clingy.”

War’s ice-blue eyes glare down at you from beneath a crimson hood.

You start to edge past them, feeling like a fish trying to squeeze between a pair of grizzlies. Just as you make it past and put your back to them entirely, you hear Strife announce, “All right. That’s it.”

“What’s it?” you ask hesitantly as he advances on you, his heavy, metal boots thudding on the carpet. Before you can react, the Horseman suddenly slings a bulky arm around your waist and hoists you off your feet, tucking you into his side. You’re forced to fold almost in half, bent over Strife’s uncomfortable gauntlet with most of the pressure bearing down on your stomach.

“STRIFE!” you exclaim, horrified.

“I’m not lettin’ you go until you tell us what’s been goin’ on with you,” he huffs, clomping into the living room with War bringing up the rear. By the window, Death twists his bone-mask towards the commotion, his shoulders flattening, unimpressed. “Brother…” he warns.

Fury too, tosses Strife her own disparaging glare from the sofa and barks, “Is it truly necessary to manhandle the human?”

You, however, hardly pay attention to a word they exchange. Your mind is utterly and wholly on the point of your stomach that’s digging into the Horseman’s gauntlet. You can cope with the discomfort, but it isn’t just you anymore.

There’s no thought to the cry you let out, just a plea borne of a desire to protect the little life growing inside you, by any means necessary. “Strife!” you exclaim, smacking your palms against his armoured thigh in a bid to relieve some of the pressure around your gut. “Put me down! The baby-!”

No sooner has the word left your lips than you find the arm restraining you springing open, letting you tumble to the floor. A jolt shoots through you as your hands and knees strike the carpet, but all you can celebrate in that moment is that the strength of a Horseman is no longer curled around your vulnerable stomach.

You don’t look up at the Horsemen until you’ve pushed yourself back to your feet, patting down your jumper. When you do happen to glance up, your face immediately falls.

Death has shifted from his position by the window and now stands several, jarring feet closer, he and Fury both, in fact. The latter has somehow leapt from her seat on the sofa in the time it took you to gather yourself up off the floor.

But more disconcertingly, they’re still. Utterly motionless as if they’ve been caught in a pocket of frozen time.

Gulping, you tentatively twist your head over a shoulder, only to find War and Strife are in much the same state.

Strife has backed up to stand next to his brother, his liquid-gold eyes round beneath his visor, neither one of them twitching so much as a single muscle. It’s… eerie. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them so still before. Death, maybe, but not the other three.

It only occurs to you then that you might have let something slip.

Then, at last, just as you wet your lips to call out to one of them…

“What did you say?” Fury breathes, cutting neatly through the heavy blanket of silence draped over the room.

Blinking owlishly, you turn back to face her, your mind scrambling for an adequate response.

“What… what do you mean, ‘what did I say?’”

Feigning ignorance it is.

You actually leap several inches off the ground when the Horseman suddenly explodes back into motion, storming forwards in your direction and exclaiming, “What baby?!”

“B-baby?” you double down, backing away from her until your spine collides with a solid torso – War. “Who said anything about a baby?”

“You just did!”

“Did I?”

“Y/n…” Death utters in a slow and cautious tone as though he’s afraid you’ll bolt at the slightest provocation - Hell, given the furtive glances you keep swinging around his side at the door to your apartment, he might be in the ballpark. His voice alone carries enough authority to silence his sister, and more than enough to make you clamp your jaws shut painfully tight. “You’re with child?”

It’s strange, but despite the inflection on his last word, you get the impression he isn’t asking you if you’re pregnant, but merely whether you’re ready to admit to the fact.

The hopelessness of it all dawns on you when you meet his enduring, gilded stare.

He knows.

And if Death knows, there’s little point in continuing your efforts of duping the other three. In spite of outward appearances and their frequent, often frightening disagreements, the Four Horsemen have a bond stronger than tungsten. So, with a head that suddenly feels weighed down by months of secrecy and deflection, you lower your gaze to the floor near his boots and give a slow, sombre nod.

It’s as though your little confirmation is all that they needed to lift the veil on any and all doubts.

The shadows they cast on your carpet suddenly start to tremble as an overhead light flickers, strobing on and off until it sputters weakly back to life and holds steady, albeit dimmer than it had been before.

The Horsemen seem to grow in size, muscled shoulders bulge like raised hackles and four sets of eyes flare with an ethereal light as they shift their weight, bearing down on you like toppling monoliths.

“I’m gonna kill ‘em,” Strife mutters venomously under his breath, “I’m gonna kill whatever bastard laid a finger on-”

“-W h o t o u c h e d y o u?” the eldest Horseman’s growl cuts him off. It’s guttural and animalistic, so much so that you can’t withhold a flinch. You could count on one hand the number of times Death has outwardly lost his temper, which makes it all the more alarming to witness.

Stumbling over your words for a beat, you keep your eyes fixed to the floor as the Old One stalks across the meagre living space towards you, his ominous shadow growing along the carpet to swallow you whole. When it seems he’s right on top of you, you finally blurt out, “N-Nobody!”

In hindsight, that wasn’t the most logical answer.

Fury – her vibrant hair whipping behind her like angry, coiling snakes - scoffs, tucking her arms firmly across her chest. “Nobody?” she parrots, “I’m no expert, but don’t these things usually involve two parties?”

“Great! Now she’s lying to us,” Strife barks, pacing back and forth behind you and throwing a hand up to rake the fingers of his metal gauntlet through his stiff, black hair, “I don’t believe this, we go off world for two weeks-!”

“Were you hurt?” War’s voice, though less jagged than Death’s, is pitched low enough to rumble through you until it resounds inside your chest. You can feel his presence behind you, too close for comfort, the living embodiment of rage and violence.

You suddenly fear for the man whose face and name you can’t recall.

“I… no,” you protest, hugging your elbows close, “It wasn’t anything like… like that. It was an accident! We were out drinking, and I-“

“DRINKING!?”

Your mouth snaps shut as Death lurches towards you, and you’re finally forced to tear your eyes off the carpet when his sinewy fingers slide around your biceps and he hauls you a foot off the ground, holding you up to his mask and subjecting you a shout that’s rife with unparalleled urgency. “You know what that does to a human’s inhibitions!” he demands.

His hands are gentle, neither hurting nor bruising the delicate skin on your bare arms, but the power behind even his gentlest grasp is frustratingly insurmountable.

You’ve never liked how easily he can manhandle you. “Yes, Death! I know what alcohol does!” you snap back, kicking your legs and trying to twist out of his grip, “I’m not a kid anymore, stop treating me like one! And put me down!”

You’re aware that your point is all a matter of perspective. For the Horsemen, there’ll always be some small part of them that continues to see you as a youngling. You’re human, after all. A hundred years wouldn’t even see a Nephilim out of adolescence. Not to mention that the Horsemen have all but declared you as one of them… One of theirs - an unconventional, human sibling they’ve taken into their fold.

It's not so easy for them to simply stop seeing you as their little sister, no matter how much you might wish they would sometimes.

As your retort fades into silence, Death blinks, recoiling his head slightly with wider eyes, and it will only occur to you later just how rare it is to make Death falter.

The other three, although their bodies still quiver with barely contained adrenaline, have fallen quiet whilst you stare down their eldest until at last, he lowers you gingerly to the floor, setting you safely on the carpet once again and retrieving his hands.

You’d never dare to say it aloud, but in that moment, something like shame flashes over the dark sockets of his mask.

“Why didn’t you tell us, kid?” Strife asks, the crux of his question tinged by badly concealed hurt.

“This, Strife,” you sigh, throwing your arms out towards he and his siblings, exasperated. Fury with her face set into a thunderous scowl. War’s metal gauntlets curled into bludgeoning fists. Even Strife is idly tracing a finger on the stock of Redemption in its holster, and Death – especially Death – whose ancient magics are still causing the lamps in your room to fade in and out…

Heaving another, immense sigh, you continue, “This is why I didn’t tell you.” Well. It’s one of the reasons, but at this point, it’s a fairly vital one. “I mean, look at you!”

Each Horseman shares a glance with one another.

“You’re all raring to go on a manhunt to find a guy who didn’t even do anything wrong!”

“Didn’t do anything wrong?” War grunts, teeth still bared despite following the lead of Death and reeling in his temper, if only slightly, “He mated with you-“

“Oh, hell, War, don’t say it like that,” Strife complains, grimacing under his visor.

“-and now you carry his child, and he has abandoned you both?”

Biting at the soft flesh inside your cheek, you withhold a frustrated groan and remind yourself that War’s sense of Honour is vastly inflated. The ‘father’ of your child’s ignorance won’t excuse his absence, not in War’s eyes.

Even so, you try to dissuade any ideas of retribution before they can gain traction.

“He didn’t abandon us, War. He probably doesn’t even remember I exist! Goodness knows I can hardly remember that night…” You trail off, lowering your gaze to the floor.

Death’s eyes are suddenly the hardest to meet. You recall your first introduction to Lilith; the self-proclaimed mother of all Nephilim, and subsequently the Horsemen themselves. You know of the demoness’s… reputation. You also know firsthand how much the Eldest Horseman despises her. You’re terrified Death will see something of Lilith in you, that you’d be so liberal with your own body as to end up with a child.

The inside of your eyelids start to burn. “And now everyone is gonna think I’m just some skank who went and got knocked-up by a stranger and… and-… They’re always gonna look at my kid and wonder who the father is. I don’t even know who the father is.”

There are tears prickling at your eyelashes, but you force your hands into fists at your sides, refusing to wipe them away lest your draw attention to them. The Horsemen see anyway.

Light blooms back to its full power across your apartment, your lamps stop trembling, and a pale finger crooks beneath your chin, tilting your head back until you’re peering up at a stoic mask of bone.

Death’s ebony hair falls in curtains around his face as he bends a little to speak to you in a hushed yet urgent tone. “He didn’t…” Hesitating, he draws in an unnecessary breath to fill dead lungs and alters his trajectory. “You were not forced…?”

You wish you didn’t know why that question is so important to Death, why the concept of consent means more to him than it might the others.

“No,” you reiterate miserably, “That’s one thing I do remember. I wanted, uh… it, at the time, a-and so did he. He didn’t know this would happen any more than I did.” You pause to lay a hand over your stomach, furrowing your brow as you give it a pensive stare and missing the way Death’s shoulders slump with relief. After a second or two, you hesitantly raise your chin to look him in the eye again, hoping that what little determination you can inject into your voice will hold strong. “… Look, I’m not proud of it, but it happened. I can’t change things… and… I’m keeping them. I’m sorry, but I’m keeping this baby.”

You hold your breath, expecting arguments, expecting a rebuttal or perhaps even a scoff or two.

“Why would you be sorry for that?” Strife pipes up instead.

It throws you off kilter. Pulling away from Death, you swivel around to frown uncertainly at War and his brother, fiddling with the hem of your jumper’s sleeve. “Well… I mean… I-I’m having the baby…“

When you don’t say anything further, War raises a hand and pulls down his hood, exposing the full extent of his wispy, white hair. “Yes?” he prompts, the unspoken ‘and?’ ringing clear as a bell.

“I’m having the… baby of a… of a man I don’t… know?” you finish slowly, glancing at each of them in turn.

“Big deal!” Strife announces so abruptly, you have to do a double-take, “You don’t need him to help you raise a little human! You’ve got us!”

Nodding her head, Fury adds, “Far be it from me to agree with Strife, but… in this case, he may be right.”

War grunts his own agreement, and when you throw an incredulous look at Death, you’re floored to see him dipping his head in concurrence as well.

“You’re…” Darting your tongue out to wet your dry lips, you squint at the eldest Horseman, asking, “You’re not angry?”

He’s quiet for some time, contemplative even as his gaze roves lower until it comes to a stop on your torso. Then, gently, he replies, “The only qualm I have is that you’ve been trying to bear this weight on your own two shoulders. And while I wish you had told us sooner, at least now we know how to help you.”

“Help me?” you utter, voice cracking.

Death’s eyes dance with a sudden fondness. “Well,” he replies, “As I’m sure Strife has told you repeatedly-“

“- you’re one of us,” said brother butts in, expertly finishing Death’s sentence and stepping up beside you to lay a heavy palm on your shoulder, “We take care of our own. Same goes for your kid.”

You’re too late to stop a choked noise from escaping the base of your throat, but before you can say anything, War steps forwards, towering over you as he pounds a solid, metal fist against his chest, directly over his heart in a show of allegiance.

“You and yours will always have the protection of the Four,” he proclaims.

“You… you don’t have to, you know,” you sniff, swiping a few fingers beneath your eyes, “I signed up for this baby, you guys didn’t. It’s okay if you don’t want to get involved because -“

“-Oh, don’t talk such nonsense,” Fury gruffly interjects, “You’re sorely mistaken if you think either one of us will be leaving your side for the foreseeable future.”

“Fury,” you laugh wetly, aiming a wobbly smile at her, “You mean that?”

The surly Horseman’s lip curls but she merely shrugs and retorts, “I may not care much for children, but someone will have to stick around to teach our youngling how to fight.”

Our youngling…

Your heart squeezes appreciatively, even if she might not have noticed the slip.

“That’s just her way of sayin’ she cares about children if it’s yours,” Strife’s voice murmurs in your ear, and with a gentle nudge at the small of your back, he pushes you towards the sofa his sister has vacated. If Fury hears him, she doesn’t dispute his words.

As you’re herded to sit down, War, ever the more practical of his siblings, is busy casting a rather dissatisfied look around your apartment, making a quick mental note to ramp up fortifications. He’ll have to schedule watches between himself and his siblings too…

“I can’t believe it,” you mutter, half to yourself, half to the Horsemen, sinking down among the cushions of your sofa and shaking your head, “I’ve been so worried about telling you guys I’m pregnant, and you’re just… okay with it.”

“As if we’d be anything else,” Death sighs, roving a quick look over you from head to toe. Squinting slightly, he adds, “Hmm… I’m not, however, okay that you can’t seem to keep food down lately. I take it that’s why you’ve been disappearing so suddenly of late?”

Giving him a sheepish nod, you shuffle to one side, allowing Strife to flop heavily onto the sofa next to you, his enormous thigh squashing you up against the arm rest. “I’ll go for more rations in a bit,” he announces, eager to provide.

“I can go,” you say, “They are for me, after all.”

Burly shoulders bristle in a display of faux authority as Strife instantly argues, “Nuh uh. You’re stayin’ right here where it’s safe.” He grumbles a nonsensical sound, then begrudgingly admits, “Hate you leavin’ at the best of times…”

Despite the niggle of exasperation that begs you to remind them you’re not helpless, just pregnant, you offer him a warm grin and bump your shoulder against his side, saying, “You’re going to make a great uncle, Strife.”

To say the Horseman’s mask almost flies off as he whips his torso around to face you would be an understatement.

You have to lean back, as though pushed away by the sheer intensity of his blazing stare. “What’d you say?” he breathes.

“I… oh, I, er…” Realising you may have overstepped, you swiftly attempt to backtrack. “I mean, that’s not what you have to be called, I was just-“

“-Uncle... That’s the brother of a human’s parent…” His eyes shine like the sun as they bore into you across the sofa. “Right?”

Uncertain, you quirk a brow at him. “Uh, yeah?”

He contemplates that for a second before he asks in a far smaller voice that almost doesn’t sound as if it belongs to the boisterous Horseman you know, “I’m your brother?”

“Of… course?” you blink, surprised that he’d need to even ask that question, “Of course you are. You said it yourself, I’m one of you. Sorry to say it, but that goes both ways. You’re my brother Strife. A-and if you’re okay with it… I’d like you to be this baby’s uncle.” Tearing your eyes off the sharpshooter whilst he none-too subtly coming apart at your side, you send a tentative look up at War, peering at him from under your lashes. “You too, big guy. But! Only if that’s okay with you? I just… want them to grow up knowing who their family is…”

War coughs into a mighty fist, hoping to hide the tiny smile that’s trying to bloom at the sides of his mouth, “In that case, it would be an honour to be acknowledged as the child’s ‘Uncle,’ until my dying breath.”

Always so serious. Giving your head a fond shake, you flash their sister a knowing look and call, “What about Aunt Fury? You on board?”

“Hmph, well,” she shrugs one shoulder, turning to glare at the wall, “It… has a nice ring to it, I suppose.”

You’re not fooled. The way she’s keeps having to wrestle the corners of her lips back into a terse line speaks volumes.

“Of course, I haven’t forgotten about you, Death,” you say, at last addressing the Reaper who is watching the proceeding with a calm, reserved expression. At least until he catches the little smirk lifting your cheeks. “Or should I say, Grandpa Death.”

At once, the Nephilim’s expression flattens, unimpressed. “If you introduce me to that child as ‘Grandpa Death,’ perhaps I won’t be sticking around.”

“Ah, you love it, Gramps, don’t try to deny it,” Strife teases, leaning in to stage-whisper in your ear, “Look at him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the miserable bastard this happy.”

You have to stifle a snicker for Death’s sake. True to form though, while his eldest brother’s fearsome scowl persists when it lingers on Strife, it soon grows soft again upon turning back to you.

And in that one look, shared between a human and the eldest surviving Nephilim, you realise categorically that Death is with you. All of them are. They aren’t worried about your reputation. They won’t concern themselves with the idle gossip of your neighbours.

They’re family, as is the small spark of life steadily growing inside your stomach.

And father or no, your child is still going to grow up under the watchful eye of the Universe's most diligent and protective guardians.

#Darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #commission #found family #pregnant reader #hiding pregnancy #fluff #hurt/comfort #protective horsemen #allusions to SA

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archivalofsins · 8 months

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The Re-traumatization of Amane Momose

Today, I'll be discussing Amane Momose's case with @apatchworkstar. (Hi, it's Star! I hope you enjoy this post; or at the very least, find it informative!)

Specifically we'll be discussing the ties it has to trauma and retraumatization. This is a two-part post that covers the entirety of Amane's case. Part two will be added when it is completed.

Over the course of these posts, I set out to prove that Amane Momose’s previous verdict has caused long-term mental distress, anguish, and mixed with the actions of other prisoners has served to retraumatize her. Then highlight how due to these upsetting events and environmental triggers Amane Momose has fallen back on the teachings of her mother for a sense of security, safety, and allusion of control.

Leading to the tangible regression we see throughout Purge March. Along the way we'll be highlighting how the audience's previous choices were responsible for eliciting this trauma response and the danger each prisoner within Milgram poses to others there including Amane Momose herself.

1. Re-traumatization

Firstly, let’s talk about retraumatization,

What is it?

“Retraumatization is reliving stress reactions experienced as a result of a traumatic event when faced with a new, similar incident. However, as the result of the passing of time many people do not realize the stress they are experiencing is related to an earlier trauma in their lives. A current experience is subconsciously associated with the original trauma, reawakening memories and reactions, which can be distressing. This type of reaction is common and survivors should realize there are steps that can be taken to manage or relieve symptoms.”

“Survivors typically cope with retraumatization by employing avoidant coping strategies originally developed during childhood to cope with the original abuse. The experience of retraumatization appears to lower survivors’ threshold for future retraumatization by confirming survivors’ view of healthcare as a threatening experience. Without intervention, retraumatization can result in unhealthy outcomes due to the negative effects of stress on survivors’ mental and physical health along with interruptions in healthcare caused by avoidant coping.” - “A number of reports suggest that mental health patients may experience exacerbation of post-traumatic symptoms due to encounters in the mental health system, such as violence by other clients or forcible restraint by male attendants (Center for Mental Health Services & Human Resource Association of the Northeast, 1995; Geanellos, 2003; Jennings & Ralph, 1997; Smith, 1995). A Massachusetts task force investigating the effect of restraints on abused populations reported that research indicates at least half of all women treated in psychiatric settings have a history of physical or sexual abuse. The task force found that the use of restraints on people who have been previously abused often results in the reactivation of trauma symptoms and can cause setbacks in treatment (Carmen et al., 1996). The task force developed a specific set of guidelines for assessing clients’ trauma history and recommended altering restraint and seclusion policies to reduce risk of retraumatization.”

X- (TW: For mentions of childhood SA. Because it's a study on the retraumatization process in survivors of that.)

(Star, here! A clear example of Amane employing one such avoidant coping mechanism is shown through this image.

The umbrella is represented as both her shield and her weapon. A perfect visualization of how Amane views her faith. Not only as a shield from persecutions or a justification of her behaviors as we see in her first voice drama,

"The standards that judge my sins are somewhere else – in my heart, my blood, my entire body, they are firmly rooted in all those places!" And within those standards, your murder was not a sin? "Exactly!" "I see." "Ah, I am looking forward to it! Seeing whether your judgement will align with that of these higher standards! If that is the case, maybe Milgram would be the right world for us to live in, rather than the outside world! Milgram relies on your judgement, isn’t that right? In that case, you could become the mediator for a far more righteous world!!" And if my judgement is not in your favor, what will you do? "I will refuse your judgement."

This shows that Amane falls back on the teachings of her cult to regain a sense of autonomy during stressful or traumatic situations. Possibly a coping mechanism she developed during her time under her family's care. It was a mentality that likely shielded her from some of the rougher emotional impact that kind of abuse can have on someone simultaneously giving her a sense of control and possibly hope that things may improve. It did not remain just a shield though.

Over time, this became an offensive weapon to fight back against injustice or the incorrectness in the world that was befalling her. Something displayed by the umbrella being represented as a scepter within her mental space.

All of this comes together to display how Amane uses her religious teachings as a coping mechanism to hold onto some form of autonomy and as something to use to fight against perceived threats.

This is not only displayed through these visuals but these lines from her song as well,

Magic

``Even I can say "I'm sorry". Even I have hope. I swear! I'm going to be a good girl now! That's it!" - "Not meaning to brag, but I’m pretty happy; I’ve made up my mind so they don’t make that face at me again. But it’s not scary at all, because it’s love! I can really think it’s great. See, isn’t it a great thing?"- "I won’t say “I’ve had enough”; Will you laugh with me and forgive me?"

Purge March

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! It’s the beginning of a most wonderful day! However, there are blasphemers and silent bystanders, who would have it otherwise. We must not give into them; they are the ones that should be judged! With pure, unsullied body and soul, let us preach all that is true and right." - "I disavow you, eyes corrupted must be crushed."

Amane uses her faith how one actively chooses to use an umbrella as a shield against rain. Relying on it to help see her way through bad weather. Using it as support during difficult or distressing times.

Rain is something that can be thought of by some as "good" in small doses, but eventually you need to get out something to stop yourself from getting drenched and falling ill.

In Purge March, rain is heavily associated with the abuse that Amane faced growing up in her household. It is also consistently present within her mindscape; specifically, as confetti when she isn't being directly punished. This shows that Amane is aware of her abuse's omnipresence and is hypervigilant to what may trigger a flare up in punishment.

The fact that it is usually confetti alludes to her softening what it is until it gets so bad, she can't ignore it anymore. Something that we briefly see her attempt to do before the confetti turns colorful and her eyes change,

Before breaking into colorful confetti, we see Amane look up to the sky through her umbrella as it begins to rain. As though searching for a reason, a silver lining or any justification of what has just occurred. A way that she can think of this as a great thing before realizing she can't. Not just because it simply isn't a great thing, but because someone (more than likely her mother) has broken a promise to her somehow (more than likely by killing the cat because it's very common for abusive parents to go of if you just do one thing or take this punishment nothing else will happen I'll never bring it up again actually just to not do that.). Something illustrated through these lyrics in Purge March,

"I don’t need it any more, if you’re going to break your vow."

The color in the confetti illustrates the change from being the punished to the punisher. As they march forward from beneath that endless white.)

Things that may cause retraumatization and the signs of it.

Negative thoughts. Feeling on edge very anxious tense or easily startled. Intense feelings of guilt, anger, fear, anxiety, horror, sadness, shame, or despair.

22/04/19 (Futa’s Birthday)

Futa: Ahh...... I'm not wrong...... I wasn't doing anything wrong...... Shut up, why are you going on and on about something so minor...... It has nothing to do with you...... Aaahhh......

Amane: Oh, were you talking to yourself, Futa-san? Or maybe there’s something there you’re able to see?

Futa: ……! O-oh, it’s just you. It’s nothing. ……but well, on that note. Hey- Don’t you have anything happening too? Since being in here, just suddenly getting anxious. Feeling as though loads of people are all there condemning you, telling you- You were wrong.

Amane: ……I’m fine. I don’t know what you’ve done or what it is you’re worried about- But I think if there’s something you believe in, you should stay true to it. It’s not something that should waver just because other people said something. I personally don’t plan on changing my own beliefs even if I’m told I’m wrong either…… …today is your birthday, correct? I’ll pray for God to keep you under his care.

"It’s so hot, so hard to breath, there’s no solace for my heart."

"Or maybe there's something there you're able to see?"

Backdraft

"Don’t get cocky, you in that cypher." - "The fight’s up here! Come up to the ring and face me!"- "You and you, throwing around rules for fun, hoisting up morality and feeling good. Should I succumb, make your wish come true? Full of yourselves, are you?"

Dissociation. Experiencing strong reactions to triggers. Social withdrawal and isolation. Avoidance of people, places, or situations related to the traumatic event.

22/10/24 (Shidou’s Birthday)

Amane: ……Kirisaki Shidou. How long do you plan on continuing this foolish behaviour?

Shidou: I wonder what you might be referring to there. I’m just doing what I need to do. If anything, I’d be happy if you would lend me a hand.

Amane: I warned you. I can no longer turn a blind eye to this wickedness taking place right in front of us. You’re bringing ruin unto yourself. Do you understand?

Shidou: No, I don’t understand. It’s my job as an adult to teach you that throwing a temper tantrum isn’t going to make everything go your way. If it’s a test of endurance you want, I’m happy to oblige, Amane.

"No, I don't understand."- "And furthermore- This may be outside of profession, but her mental health is deteriorating as well."

It is outside of his profession and that is perfectly illustrated by the fact that he only highlights Mahiru's deteriorating mental health and says nothing about the others.

23/01/17 (Mahiru’s Birthday)

Amane: Happy birthday. Mahiru-san. How is your body feeling?

Mahiru: ……ah, Amane-chan. Thank you. Yeah, I’m fine. Now I can move around if I use a wheelchair…… It’s all thanks to Shidou-san looking after me……

Amane: I’ll give you one warning. The two of you are dabbling in something tabooed. If you continue to go against the way of nature like this, you’ll just bring an early death upon yourself. Think hard about this.

Mahiru: Amane-chan……? Are you really Amane-chan……?

"You’ll just bring an early death upon yourself."

Q.10 Which of the other prisoners do you get along with?

Kazui: Shidou-kun, Mikoto and me all smoke together, so I think we get along well.

Amane: If I had to pick someone, then Yuno-san and Mahiru-san.

Amane's Second Voice Drama

Amane. Don’t think you’ll be able to lead the conversation with that total change in attitude. Is it the result of the judgment that you’ve ended up like this?

"“Like this”?"

The dazed look in your eyes. The atmosphere around you. The way you speak. In comparison to the first trial, it’s like you’re a different person.

"Hm."

Everyone who was unforgiven told me they heard voices judging their sins. They’re experiencing a lot of emotional stress as a result. Were your changes influenced by that as well?

"Hah? Those stupid voices, huh? Yeah. I have heard them as well. However, such things do not pose a major problem."

What?

"We have firm teachings. We have a clear and noble faith. No matter what kinds of things other people might say, these things cannot be shaken."

21/10/06 (Mikoto’s Birthday)

Mikoto: ……ah, Futa? What’s up? Did you come to celebrate my birthday?

Futa: Hah!? Like I care about your birthday. ……what’s up with you, though, you’re usually a lot more excited. I thought you were the sort of idiot who’d make a big deal over your birthday.

Mikoto: Yeah, usually that’d be the case. ……I think I must be getting tired. It’s like I’m anxious over something but I can’t really explain what it is…… Like, the feeling that I’ve been totally wrong about something. Haha, but it’s not like talking to you about it is gonna do anything.

Futa: Yeah, yeah, just like you say. Talking to me about it isn’t gonna help. ……but, it’s not like I don’t get what you’re saying. Or rather, I understand exactly what you mean. And if it’s the same thing as I’ve been feeling, then it will just get stronger as time goes on…..probably.

22/10/06 (Mikoto’s Birthday)

Haruka: Mikoto-san. Um, are you ok……?

Mikoto: Ah, Haru-kun. It’s been a while since we last talked, huh. Yeah, I’m fine. Are you doing ok……?

Haruka: Ah, I’m fine. I’ve been enjoying myself, a lot. Um, I’m sorry, for avoiding you. I was a bit scared. Of you, honestly……

Mikoto: Ahhh, yeah. I’ve been lashing out whenever I go to sleep, right? ……it’s fine. Even I think you’re right to be scared. You know, I kinda just hate that I don’t even know what’s going on myself…… haha. Ah, but despite all that you still came and talked to me because it’s my birthday, right? Thank you, you’ve grown into a good man.

Q.07 Are there any prisoners you get along with?

Shidou: Kayano-kun has become like that, and I can’t spend my time smoking at the moment, so the smoking trio has disbanded, which is a bit lonely.

Mahiru: I talk to Shidou-san a lot now, since he’s looking at my injuries. Also, Yuno-chan.

"I should have saved you, but why are you crying? Rely on me, praise with your song, I am your savior."

Practice your spiritual beliefs or reach out to a Faith Leader for support,

"Hm. Is that so? Are the prisoners who weren’t forgiven feeling lost right now? Maybe they need our faith as well."

23/04/19 (Futa’s Birthday)

Futa: ……! Oi, is it just you. Don’t scare me like that. You shouldn’t just stand there saying nothing. Hah, what? Did you just come to laugh at me for being weak? Dumb brat.

Amane: No. I just came to observe. To see what people are thinking. To see who is being corrupted. What about you, Kajiyama Futa?

Futa: I understand even less of what you're saying than I did before. Brat, you're on the side who weren't forgiven too, right? ......So, why can you still stand? Don't- you can hear it too? The voices blaming us. ......I don't have the energy to do anything like this.

Amane: It goes without saying. Because there’s something far more important than the voices of people we can’t even see. People are able to get back up again. As long as there’s something to guide them. Kajiyama Futa, by coincidence today happens to be your birthday, correct? Don’t you think it’s a good opportunity to be reborn? If, right now, you could shake off those around you trying to drag you down to depravity, and could change––

23/06/27 (Amane’s Birthday)

Amane: What is it…… Kashiki Yuno. Don’t sit so close to me. Go away.

Yuno: Sorry for barging in when you’re getting into your worldview thing. But Mahiru-san’s finally managed to get to sleep. Humour me with some small talk while I take a break. By the way, Amane. Have you ever wished you were never born? I’ve thankfully lived a pretty fun life so far, so haven’t really. But you seem to be struggling with something. So I kinda wondered if you thought like that.

Amane: ……I don’t think that. Being born into this world is the first miracle any person experiences and is something to celebrate. Even if after birth I was put through trial after trial, the value of that will never disappear.

Yuno: Hmm. Ok. ……happy birthday, then. It’s good that you were brought into the world, I guess.

23/07/05 (Mu’s Birthday)

Futa: Oi, you. Is he ok? He’s not even left his room lately.

Mu: You mean Haruka-kun? Hmm. Yeah, probably. I’ve been bringing all his meals to him so he should be fine. Isn’t that great of me?

Futa: Hah? Who the hell says that sort of thing about themself. ……ah, no, well, right now I understand a bit. When you’re feeling down, it’s nice to have someone who relies on you and accepts you. The rest of us can’t really understand you from where we’re standing. But well, if you’re Haruka’s “salvation” then I guess it really is great.

Mu: Salvation……? I don’t know what you mean. Futa-kun, you don’t sound like yourself. Did you hit your head or something? Oh, wait, you actually did, didn’t you. Ahaha. Ah, putting that aside though, did you know it’s my birthday today?

"Then I guess it really is great."

Magic

"I can actually think of it as a good thing, see isn’t it a great thing?"- "I can really think it’s great. See isn’t it a great thing?"

Backdraft

"Is it all ok if I offer penance? No helping it, out of the question."

"Pressure, pressure! Falling head down- Pressure, pressure! Whatever you do, you’re still last in line- Pressure, pressure! Applause receding far away- Me, the result of blame-shifting, no, can’t find that funny- With just one mistake and I’m out of chances Bless me, please, with one more chance- It’s not even my fault, not even slightly."

"Pick up your mouth-piece Grind your teeth and strike a pose Just like O2, burn yourselves into oblivion."

"Oblivion and the River Lethe Oblivion asks forgetfulness of us in both its meaning and etymology. The word’s Latin source, oblīvīscī, means “to forget; to put out of mind,” and since its 14th century adoption into English, oblivion has hewed close to meanings having to do with forgetting. The word has also long had an association with the River Lethe, which according to Greek myth flowed through the Underworld and caused anyone who drank its water to forget their past; 17th century poet John Milton wrote about “Lethe the River of Oblivion” in Paradise Lost. The adjective oblivious (“lacking remembrance, memory, or mindful attention”) followed oblivion a century later, but not into oblivion—both words have proved obdurate against the erosive currents of time."

Synonyms: Forgetfulness, Nirvana, Obliviousness.

"Burn yourselves into oblivion- Burn, burn! Open this door and check if you want to I’ll deign to hear your last words if you want, a vanishing FIRE."

Eternal Oblivion- A philosophical, scientific, religious concept stating that's one consciousness ceases forever upon death. This concept is commonly tied to religious skepticism, secular humanism, nihilism, and atheism.

"'Tis ordained, thou shall follow thine destiny. 'Tis ordained, thou shall discard vulgarity. 'Tis ordained, thou shall deliver unto those thou believest in. 'Tis ordained, thou shall stay thine course, then perish."

Q.12 What is the meaning of life?

Kazui: Who knows. If you ever find out, let me know.

Amane: I think it’s something you first understand when you reach the end of your life and look back on it. I’m doing my best to live in a way that I won’t regret when that time comes.

"Being born into this world is the first miracle any person experiences and is something to celebrate. Even if after birth I was put through trial after trial, the value of that will never disappear."

@doctorbunny Also reminded me that Futa's second voice drama is literally called, "Baptism by Fire" as well. Yeah, trial two is shaping up to be the cult-gram prelude whether Amane is Innocent or not. So, have fun with that everybody. Oh, and it'd be super nice if people stop deluding themselves into believing the outcome of this trial is going to stop something that has already occurred/has been occurring thanks.

Now back to the topic at hand-

All of these are signs of retraumatization not just in Amane but two other prisoners as well. Yet, if that's not enough- What else shows us that Amane has been retraumatized?

Well, Purge March visualizes perfectly that these circumstances have retraumatized Amane. Especially if one were to take the visuals from Magic and her most recent mv and compare them. Something many people outside of myself have done.

People have pointed out that in Magic we see Amane riding on top of a cloud. However, the entire set that Amane is standing on is a Heaven on Earth of sorts where she takes center stage.

The white cloud-like structures around the rainbow stepped pedestal with the old symbol of the cult firmly behind it as Amane turns away from it at the start of the song.

Before the clouds cover up her face and fade us into this,

Amane bursting up from beneath the cloud, appearing to sit on top of it in confusion and shock. She holds this confused and shocked expression until all the others float around and then she's by herself again at which point she smiles.

It's only when they are shown not to visibly be around (it's implied they're still around just not directly near her) does she smile- After this the mascots circle beside her again. In a familiar way at this point- Well in a way I feel should be familiar considering how much Purga March has been viewed over the past few days-

The cloud displaying the title of Amane's first song resembling the symbol on the flag that we see in Purge March. The mascots circling the symbol with Amane around her song's title. A song and title that like with the other prisoners is something uniquely hers. So, I find it curious that instead of using the symbol associated with the cult the double clouds- Something again she displays prominently at the beginning she instead puts her song title on a singular cloud and has these mascots circling it.

Creating a vague visual illustration of the symbol on the flag they carry at the end. Something unique to them that she created all on her own.

The cycle of punishment displayed throughout the song also only begins after Amane and the mascots have fallen from on top of the clouds as well. Going under them. Purge March follows up on this by visually illustrating again that punishment is represented not only by being submerged in water but overshadowed or smothered by any sort of force. Be it the clouds or her mother's shadow or hand.

Something is always above Amane when she is getting punished.

"After you cry, repent, and kneel, it’s now your turn to say that hopeless “I’m sorry”." - "I'm sorry! Sorry! I'm sorry for breaking the rules..."

"Remember MY cries, MY repents, MY words of “I’m sorry” that I said to you?"

This is something that is further displayed through the imagery used to end off Purge March and the way it mirrors how Magic ends,

No longer is Amane beneath these clouds but in front of them once again as Magic started. Amane is now able to act on her own beliefs at her own discretion. It's even more telling that she goes from standing with Yuri and Riyone to by herself and pointing her wand at someone.

What we can tell from the use of clouds, and shadows over the course of Magic and Purge March- Is that when Amane is beneath them it is a sign of her not having control of the situation and being subject to the whims or beliefs of others. This is why we believe the fact that Amane remains beneath clouds throughout most of Purge March is indicative of her declining mental health and a sign that this experience has retraumatized her.

2. Reactive Abuse

Star here. I would also like to touch upon the concept of "reactive abuse" and how it may play a factor in both the prisoners and Milgram as a whole.

Reactive Abuse, is a term used to describe when a victim reacts in a volatile manner (that could be perceived as abusive to those uninvolved or uninformed about the situation) in response to their abuse. This term is not meant to be used in a way to blame the victim or shift any of the responsibility for the abuse onto them but describe in further depth the multitude of responses individuals can have while undergoing abuse.

How a victim responds to their abuse/abuser does not immediately turn them into an abuser themselves. The lack of knowledge around this phenomenon and the various ways people can respond to abuse has created a situation where the victim's response to the abuse can be viewed as abusive. Especially when the way the victim responds is viewed as socially unacceptable or abusive itself.

This makes it appear as though the actions of a victim trying to defend themselves are on the same level as an abuser harming their victim. Sometimes causing it to appear that there are two abusers in the relationship when there is only one. This is made even worse by the fact that sometimes abusive individuals count on their victim responding in this way or goad them into responding in that way to make themselves appear better or their behavior seem more justified in the eyes of outsiders.

A prime example of this would be intentionally acting in a way that the abusive party knows will elicit this sort of response from the victim- So the abuser can record the victim’s behaviour and claim that how the victim behaved was worse.

A side note, but it's a fair possibility that this happened to Mikoto, hence his hypervigilance regarding being filmed without knowledge.

20/05/25

Mikoto: ……I’ve really got caught up in some trouble, huh. What even is this place? It’s probably a TV reality show or something. ……but to think someone in this day and age would try to do a project that could land them in so much trouble. Uh…… Mahiru: Ah…… I’m Shina Mahiru! You can just call me Mahiru. And you are……? Mikoto: Kayano Mikoto. I’m fine with just Mikoto too. Ahh, I’m glad there’s someone here who’s easy to talk to…… It’s nice to meet you, Mappy. Mahiru: ………………Mappy???

20/05/31

Mu: Hey, Mikoto-kun, aren’t you scared of this place……? You can’t think of any reason you ended up here, right……? Mikoto: Ahh, yeah. Of course, it’s not like I’m not scared at all. But just between you and me…… I still haven’t dropped the thought that this could all just be a TV show. I mean, I really haven’t ever murdered anyone.……and if that is the case, we’re definitely being monitored. For like a prank setup or something. Wouldn’t it be super uncool and embarrassing to get angry or lash out and have it shown on prime time? Mu: Is that what you think……? A prank, huh…… I hope that’s all it is…… Mikoto: Ah! If that is the case, then you’ll probably be super popular since you’re so cute, Mucchan! There’s a lot of girls out there who make their big break coming off reality shows like that!

20/06/15

Mikoto: Hey, it’s kinda a bother having you be so angry and tense all the time. You should stop trying to get everyone to pay attention to you. You’re a uni student, right? You can’t act like that once you start working properly. Futa: Huh!? Shut up. Not like I care what you say. Even though we’re in this shitty situation, you’re just chatting away, it’s stupid. Aren’t you the one who’s acting out of place here?……also the fact you give everyone nicknames is just gross. Mikoto: *sigh* It’s more stupid to be taking this all so seriously. I mean, it’s definitely just a reality TV program. There’s no way a real prison exists that’s this lax. Also, I don’t give nicknames to everyone. I don’t give them to young kids like Amane, or to the hard-to-approach types like Shidou-san. I mean, I’m not giving you one, right? Futa: ……oi, which group are you trying to say I am?

First trial website voice line

“Ah, I got it! This must be some sort of reality show. There’s no way it’s broadcasted, so maybe an online program?”

John Doe

Your name and age? "Uh… Mikoto Kayano, 23. Wait, no! I've been wanting to talk to you this whole time, guard-kun!" What is it? Make it short. "Alright… when is this whole thing going to end?" Huh? "No, it's obvious, isn't it?! Suddenly being dragged to a place like this, being told all this weird stuff about killers and all that– is this some kind of comedy? A reality TV show? One of those monitoring things? I've been holding on to that thought this whole time, and that was also the reason I tried to get along with the others! Y'know – because that'll look better on a TV show, right?! But look, this is stretching out for way too long…! What's up with this?" ......You really still believe that? That MILGRAM is some kind of joke? "I do! Of course I do! I mean… I really don't remember. Even if you talk about sins or murderers– I don't know about any of that! I'm just a normal worker at a company…"

This is a concept shown very well in Purge March. The way Purge March ends is with Amane proclaiming that she’ll punish her abuser in the same way they abused her.

“Here and now, it’s my turn to tear you apart. So there is no second time, I’ll give back the judgment that you gave to me.”

You will see that is exactly what she did. She waterboards her abuser, likely tases them and then beats them- to death in this case. Though given the size of the bruise on Amane, it seems as though she just gave as good as she got.

One could argue that this is happening within Milgram too. Es intentionally pushes Amane, Fuuta and Mikoto to their mental limit within Milgram, provoking a (rightfully upset) reaction.

For Amane, in both Apostle and Death and Of Blessedness and Punishment, Es goads her into reacting in a volatile manner by repeatedly throwing her wish to not be treated like a child in her face, dismissive of her ideals and belief system at best, though mocking would be a better descriptor. When she does reach her limit and react, they make fun of her. The only exception to this is in Of Blessedness and Punishment, where Amane pushes Es’ sore spot. That being a fragmented identity. She then proceeds to mock them right back, asking them if they are alright before saying to get better by themselves as this is a trial from god.

With Fuuta, Es takes overt advantage of how quickly Fuuta is to react to others’ input and how he takes people at face value. This happens in both trials in different ways. In Braze You, it was Es making the active decision to tease Fuuta since he acted the most stereotypical to being put in this situation. In Baptism of Fire, they give Fuuta a small glimpse of hope about being voted innocent before turning around and saying that they’ll judge no matter how much their “comrades” cry. When Fuuta lashes out at this, saying that he'll kill Es if they don’t vote him innocent, they dismiss him. They state that if they truly are the same, then they’ll get whats coming to them at some point anyways.

As for Mikoto, in John Doe, Es repeatedly pushes on the idea that Mikoto killed someone but forgot. This is despite the fact that Mikoto is in clear distress about the concept. They also mimic how he speaks when doing so, using speech mannerisms such as “it’s only natural to think that, right?” and “That’s the only logical conclusion”. This pushes Mikoto to switch, his other personality doing his best to shut Es up and prevent more mental harm. This is the only reaction to throw Es off, but even then, they continue to egg on the other personality. This results in the other personality laying into Es harder until Kotoko intervenes.

Es also attempts this with Haruka, though to varying degrees of success. In The Writhing of the Weak, Es attempts to get a volatile reaction from Haruka, by acting as a stereotypical “bad cop”. They are instead blindsided by how subservient he comes across, and how easily he accepts any form of attention. It doesn’t matter if it’s framed in a negative or positive light, Haruka’s just happy to have someone look at him. In Metamorphosis of the Weak, however, Es manages to draw out a response by stating the fact that Haruka isn’t out of the woods yet. Haruka reacts in three different ways here.

One, stating that Es is weird and mean for taking back their acceptance after voting him innocent (likely due to Muu’s influence, as that’s a complaint that she’d have).

Two, stating that he can kill anything smaller than him (presumably a train of logic that lead to his murder).

Three, saying that Es wasn’t his mother and only Muu was, before threatening violence against Es if Muu wasn’t voted innocent. When they remind him that the prisoners can’t attack the guard, he switches tacks and says he’ll die if she isn’t voted innocent, before bragging that he can learn. When Es calls him a dumb ass for this, he replies that he was born one.

Es is also aided by the fact that they are within a position of power compared to the prisoners with their status as “warden”. It doesn’t seem to occur to Es that this nebulous position could be ripped away from them at any time by Jackalope.

Es is put in a position where the audience would want to sympathize with them, due to factors such as age, lack of memories and being pushed into a position of heavy judgements without prior preparation. There’s also the fact that they are a stand in for us. This means the audience are more likely to excuse or defend their behaviour. Adding all this together, if the prisoner reacts in a way that’s considered “unsuitable” the audience is predisposed to be on Es’ side. Saying things such as “the prisoners are being unreasonable” and that “if they were truly sorry, they wouldn’t be reacting like that”.

3. Why was Amane retraumatized by her verdict and Milgram?

So, with all that out of the way... We've explained a few things.

Firstly we've explained what retraumatization is and how it may be impacting multiple prisoners. Secondly, we explained the reasoning behind our belief that Amane has been retraumatized by her previous verdict. Then thirdly we explained reactive abuse and how that may play a factor in some of the prisoners' mannerisms.

However, we haven't touched on why exactly Amane was retraumatized by her verdict. She states that she doesn't really mind the voices because something like that can't shake her beliefs.

Plus, she even takes it a step further stating she's already been told these sorts of things before,

Amane Second Voice Drama

"Aren’t we the same? Me and Warden-san. You know, I’m aware that I’m out of the ordinary. That my environment was peculiar, and that everyone [else] is normal."

Amane…

"In fact, there have been people who said that to me. I’ve been told things like, “You’re being deceived.” “You can still make it right now.” “You’re crazy.”."

…

"You are treating me as a child after all. Because I’m a child, you believe that I must have been brainwashed. It’s not like that. I, too— children, too, understand everything! Please don’t just decide that people must be unhappy."

…

"I’m happy that I was born to my parents! It was a bit difficult, and it could feel restrictive sometimes, but I’m really happy that I could grow up on such beautiful teachings! I want to live this way!"

However, she states this in terms of her religious beliefs. Something she's only fallen back on after her retraumatization. The core request within Magic was never please say my cult is good but Amane asking if it was alright for her to act in her own self-interest,

"Dear wise one, Am I worthy? Is it ok to spoil myself?" - "Is it ok to be weak sometimes?"

So, what was denied by the audience was Amane's right to make decisions for herself, not the cult's doctrines. Making it no surprise in retrospect that she would fall back on these teachings to reinforce her worldview. Add onto that the punishment Milgram gave is literally one of the forms of abuse she underwent constantly hearing voices berating you-

Amane Trial 1 Voice Drama

I've kept you waiting, Amane.

"Yes, you did. You're late."

Alright, let us start the interrogation.

"I don't want to."

Hah?

"I won't acknowledge it."

What do you mean?

"It is your duty to apologize to me first."

Uh-huh...

"Nh...Do you understand?!"

...?

"It is vital to always be on time for things. When you do something wrong, you need to apologize. These are both my personal rules and the rules of society."

Are you done? I would like to start the interrogation.

"No, I am not done talking. I need to make sure you are aware of your mistake."

Sigh...

"Why are you making a face like that? Is there something you want to say?"

I'm not in the mood to play around with you... Listen, Amane.

"What is it?"

Don't get the wrong idea. You are an inmate, and I am the warden. That's our dynamic. I have no intention of letting you order me around.

"Hm... But if you're the warden, as you say you are- Shouldn't you take the prisoners' opinions into consideration?"

Don't make me laugh. I'm not your teacher at school; it isn't my goal to teach you things or guide you on the right path. Milgram's goal isn't to turn you back into decent human beings and get you back into normal society. What's needed here are firm honest judgements and decisions.

"Judgements and decisions..."

All that is needed is a decision on whether your crimes are forgivable or not. I don't have any responsibility beyond that. And I have no intention of letting myself be fooled by the impression you are just a little kid.

"I see. Is that so..."

It is. Now let's get to the interroga-

"Then, please apologize to me not as the warden but as yourself."

...As myself?

"Yes. It is only natural for a person to apologize to another for breaking a promise."

...

"Why are you looking so doubtful? Are you not human?"

No, I'm sure you're right. ... I apologize.

"Okay! I'm kind, so I shall forgive you. That's nice, isn't it? If my parents were in my place you would have been lectured for another hour."

I'm glad I wasn't born into your family.

"...Is that so? Alright, we're running late. So, let's start the interrogation!"

(I think it's important to note that Amane has parents here meaning both of them would have lectured here for another hour. Not just her mom.)

And what is hearing these voices but constant lecturing and berating with no end? Not even the freedom of thought she used to have in order to cope with these things. It's a new sort of sound torture where someone isn't even safe in their own mind.

Also, I thought it'd be fun to point out this other similarity in thinking between Futa and Amane,

Q.01 What do friends mean to you?

Futa: People who get excited about the same things as you.

Bring It On

"You apologize if you do something wrong, you learn that even before words, don’t you?" - "When you do something wrong, you need to apologize. These are both my personal rules and the rules of society."/ "Yes. It is only natural for a person to apologize to another for breaking a promise."

This part of her first interrogation may also be why they say this in their second,

"But we are generous. For now, let us make some time for a conversation with you. After all, our history is one that is built on dialogue."

Next time in part two- (Also known as next time on my declining mental health and Star's increasing sleep deprivation!)

#milgram #amane momose #tw cults #tw child abuse #tw abuse

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aurorawritestoescape · 8 months

Text

A Villain’s Monologue

Pairing: serial killer!Joel Miller x f!reader

18+ DEAD DOVE!!! Heed the warnings!

Tw: dead dove, non-con, allusions to smut, mentions of SA, mentions of death, bondage, gagging, swearing

Word count: 650

A/n: if you’re sensitive to any of the warnings, do not read the fic! I don’t condone the actions of the character. It is all fictional!

——————————————————————————

Silly girl… You really thought you’d be the one to get me? Have some balls on you; I’ll give you that. Sneakin’ into my home like that... snoopin’ around. What were you tryin’ to find, Nancy Drew? Some kind of evidence—an earring, a set of teeth?? Haha... I’d never keep anythin’ like that. I’m not dumb! Been doing it for what now? Hmm, 7 years? Haven’t been caught. Not even suspected…

Oh! A cop came over once to ask about that girl. What was her name? Melissa, Melody? Fuck it, doesn’t matter. Real pretty, gave it to her good. She was beggin’ me to fuck her. Yeah, choke me, daddy! She’d been enjoying herself, for sure. Well… until…

And that cop...See, I’m Joel fuckin’ Miller! A single dad, thanks to that bitch! A workin’ man, always charmin’, nice. I showed all my concern! No, officer, I haven’t seen her around. Yes, of course I’ll join the search party. Damn it was fun being the only one to know we’d never find her in those woods.

And you, baby. Ugh! How long have you been suspecting me? Sorry, forgot you’re gagged. I bet it’s since that night. Did you hear her scream? Right? Nod if I’m right, slut?! Yeah, that bitch was loud. It’s a pity you couldn’t just forget about it. Look the other way. Began stalking me, got so fuckin’ close! I’m the one who stalks, sweetheart.

Remember that night when I caught you in the alley behind the bar. Were you followin’ me and that chick? Did you think I was gonna…? Nah, she had similar hair to Her, but… somethin’ was off. Lost interest. But you! Fuck, you were hot. Scared shitless. Did you think I was gonna kill you? Strangle, like all of them? No. You look nothing like her. You were safe. Well…woulda been safe if you hadn’t begun your sleuthin’.

A pity, really. Been such a good playthin' for daddy. That first time. Your heart was beatin’ so fast, like a little bird’s, flutterin’ under my fingers. Felt it when I was gropin’ your tits. Hell, I love ‘em. Look at you! Tied up and helpless. Want me to play with your tits? If I just slide my dick between them like this, shhh! Sit still! I’m sure I could come just fuckin' your boobs, sweetheart. My cum on your beautiful face. Here. I’ll make you eat it all up, every drop. Shhh, stop flinchin’! Don’t be shy on me all of a sudden.

You’re such a slut. Came all over my cock in that dark alley. Your neighbour, your dad’s friend, made you moan like a filthy whore. Still can see my cock slidin’ in and out of your tight cunt. Ah, the sounds! Fuck, you were so wet. You bitches are always so wet for me.

But you just had to go and ruin all of it. Have you been snoopin’ around for a long time? Since you started comin’ here, so I’d fuck you? Began noticing it. You’d ask hella weird questions. What do you have in the basement, Joel? Where do you go after work, Joel? Haha. Cute. I thought, "Well, even if you suspect somethin’. You have nothin’ on me.” Just your pretty mouth on my dick. Haha… You give a mean blowie baby. Pity really.

Today you really pissed me off. Breakin’ in like that? What if Sarah were here?! You’d scare her to death! I should’ve dealt with you the moment I found you in my bedroom. Well… maybe it’s for the best… Should daddy play with you one last time? Your last time… yeah, I’ll bend you over that table, ruin your little hole. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure you come and soak my dick real good. Gagged, tied up—just how I like you, sluts. Promise you, you’ll enjoy your last minutes.

Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

#pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller #the last of us #dark fic #tw dead dove #fanfic

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hexhomos · 8 months

Note

hey I’m here from ur Twitter, saw some of your posts about gale/astarion mystra stuff because I haven’t played the game yet and wanted to know about TWs/if it’s handled well/etc. I don’t really mind spoilers if they’re necessary! thank you

Id say as pretty traditional DnD adaptation game there is a lot of bloody battles and i guess... disturbing implications? when it comes to things such as kidnapping/murdering/cannibalizing people and general eldritch assassin blood cult stuff that has to do with the BG series.

If your particular concern are depictions of SA/CSA the game is written in such a way that they all took place quite some time in the past, and those discussions exist mostly in the realm offhand mentions or between-the-lines presence in the dialogues of companions -- as all of the core companions in this game are in some way abused and not quite cognizant of that abuse all of the time, and the player has the option to help them.

MILD EARLY SPOILERS FOR BG3 WARNING

Gale and Astarion are the only companions where that theme of abuse/agency crosses into sexual territory; Astarion explicitly speaks about being tortured in non-sexual ways as part of being a thrall/vamp spawn (basically an eternal servant for a Real Vampire) and his romance route includes multiple discussions of those things & the atrocities he's committed under that household. The game writers do not include sexual abuse in those infodumps- that i know of- but Astarion seduced people to their doom and has a weird relationship with sex as a result. Gale is not aware that he was being groomed at all and actually believes that he's the one who did badly towards his abuser, but the other companions Will question this interpretation of events and as the story goes on if you romance/befriend Gale he is able to look back on his situation and realize the 'love' he was used to was frankly sort of rotten in comparison. idk how deep it goes if you're doing friendship only but i can attest at least in romance mode that happens.

There are other situations in game (particularly at a brothel) where allusions to their abuse are made and they seem very uncomfortable being peer pressured or propositioned to. I think for a game of this size and mainstream appeal it's handled fairly well, mostly kept offscreen, and has thematic relevance to the story as a whole and the storylines of the other companions. Multiple parts of these storylines are also incredibly optional: you have to seek out these characters to learn more about them, and some of the more telling interactions aren't *given* to the player so much as found if you pay attention, if you get what I mean. I think BG3 as a whole is very entertaining and well written but you should go in knowing a measure of gritty dark themes are a central part of this setting, and while not all of it is perfect, it's one of the Best for its genre.

as a postscript: characters in this game can literally break up with you if you cross or don't care for their boundaries.

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #gale of waterdeep #astarion

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brybryby · 11 months

Note

I completely agree that Miles Upshore is queer, and Waylon is on the spectrum as well! If you have your friends analysis still plzzzzz link! I crave the content!!!

HI HI THANK YOU FOR THE ASK! 💜

I wish I had his analysis still!!! aarrrrgh it's been so long ;-; But I can try to relay some of the points he made (and add some of my own)!

This gets pretty lengthy so be prepared :')

I also added external links but they’re only there if you want to read more about the point I’m making! Feel free to skip them!

also // TW for mentions of SA

Miles

Story-wise, my friend found it interesting that Miles was the perfect host for the Walrider. Wernicke and Alan Turing were friends/lovers who worked on the technology that culminated into Project Walrider, so there's already a sense that the Walrider was founded on Wernicke and Turing's love for each other.

So, before I move on, I'll talk a bit about Alan Turing. In college, I had professors praise him for being the “Founder of Modern Computing”, cracking Nazi code, and also for being an advocate for gay rights.

More details here:

Out of every prominent scientist during the Cold War Era, Alan Turing was selected to play a role in Outlast's stories. And he didn't just happen to be openly gay—JT Petty purposefully made this significant to Wernicke's character. Not to mention, Wernicke made allusions to Frankenstein, allowing us to inspect the parallels between Wernicke & the Walrider with Frankenstein & Frankenstein's monster. When it comes to gothic & queer literature, Frankenstein is on the forefront of it, and I'm confident that JT Petty would be familiar with that (since he's a writer who's well-versed in horror/gothic art).

With Frankenstein, there's this idea to create life without heterosexual means (under the impression of cis-heteronormativity). Frankenstein's monster was also a sexualized creature—supposedly a representation of the “ideal man”—described as “beautiful”. Additionally, the novel was a critique of patriarchal norms through elements of sexualities. These aren't too different from Wernicke & the Walrider. The Walrider is arguably created through homosexual means in its abstract (Wernicke & Turing). This particular version of the Walrider that possesses Billy & Miles is stated to be the “masterpiece” by Simon Peacock—its appearance is also fairly sexual. And similarly, Outlast critiques patriarchal norms through its grotesque visuals of “masculinity”.

Frankenstein queer analysis:

Frankenstein sexual suppression analysis:

With all these story elements, there's certainly a queerness about the Walrider AND Outlast, which the devs openly embrace.

There's also many parallels between Frankenstein's monster and Miles. In the United States (and westernized countries in general), there are societal standards that function around cis-heteronormativity. Think of the traditional American nuclear family: A husband/father who's the breadwinner and patriarch, a loving wife/mother who cooks and stays at home to take care of the kids—they're mostly white, Christian, and American citizens. [WARNING: TRIALS SPOILERS AHEAD] The ideal American man is further illustrated in Officer Coyle's dialogue: “If only they were upstanding citizens like myself. Pay your taxes, do your job, fuck your wife, put a little something in the plate at service. America don't ask much.” Miles is arguably the antithesis of this, which is likely the reason he doesn't have any close friends/family—he was likely rejected by society. Frankenstein's monster follows a similar arc: he is also rejected by society and seeks refuge in seclusion. (The concept of “rejection by society” is inherent in queerness.)

With these parallels, it makes sense for Miles to be the ideal host for the Walrider. Additionally, Miles embodies queerness that isn't strictly homosexual—I mean his whole background/lifestyle is already, by definition, “queer”—but questions regarding his sexuality arise when inspecting other details of his character.

My friend pointed out the whole “Manhandler Hairspray for the Active Man” detail in Miles' apartment. There are a lot of homosexual undertones in the label, and it's hard not to think otherwise. “Manhandler” and “Active” are terms which indicate the “top” role in gay culture. I mean, it's possible that Miles is just embodying the “metrosexual” identity (basically straight men who embody characteristics associated with homosexuality) but metrosexuality is rooted in consumerism, which doesn't exactly align with Miles' character since he is openly critical of capitalism. I think the hairspray hints at queerness (or at least gender non-conformity).

Article on “metrosexuality”:

https://www.nytimes.com/2003/06/22/style/metrosexuals-come-out.html

The most revolutionary detail that my friend pointed out was the fact that Miles went out of his way to roast the ever-living shit out of everyone he came across at Mount Massive, begging the question: why is he so fixated on the appearances of other men? This could stem from his own insecurities of being rejected by society or insecurities of his own vanity (considering the hairspray he uses and the fact that he goes jogging…and if he's just trying to be healthy through exercise then he needs to explain his self-destructive alcoholism…idk…jogging for mental health? It’s open to interpretation…WAIT I mean he could just be keep up his physical fitness also with all the investigating he has to do anyways fjshshkdhd). It was just interesting that Miles was so fixated on physical appearances that it makes me wonder if he'd make similar comments about women—I don't believe he would and I'll explain below.

I know that we need to take Red Barrels' tweets with a grain of salt—they're known for deleting tweets that detail misinformation about the protagonists—but I find this tweet particularly interesting. I may be looking too much into it, especially since it's just a tweet and not presented in the games/comics, but it certainly is reflective of Red Barrels' values of respecting women and not viewing women as sexual objects, along with the notion of dismantling cis-heteropatriarchy/chivalry. It certainly doesn't mean he's not straight, but he doesn't particularly view women as sexual objects either (and I know that straight men are capable of not viewing women as sexual objects). Food for thought.

Some extra stuff:

Anti-conservatism and punk ideology (which Miles explicitly embodies) are pillars of queer culture in the political sphere.

The Germanic folklore, which the Walrider is based off of, exhibits notions of sexuality (though, probably not in the best light).

[TRIALS SPOILER] Wernicke’s dream therapy is associated with Dr. Easterman’s queerness—Easterman would be distracted by Wernicke’s handsomeness (and they both explicitly critique heterosexual relationships). Again, this supports the Walrider’s themes of sexuality.

Waylon

As for WAYLON, even though there isn't concrete evidence in the games to intentionally indicate queerness, that isn't to say he is entirely heterosexual (because assuming he's heterosexual is yet another product of the “ideal American man” image in a cis-heteronormative society, and Outlast's narratives are about dismantling this notion). In fact, now that you bring it up, I agree that Waylon can be considered on the queer spectrum/under the queer umbrella.

Regarding the “dismantling the ideal American man in a cis-heteronormative society” concept…the devs, artists, writer(s), actors, and contributors to the games' development are not only open/accepting of things outside of society's norms/expectations, but many are social activists. Chimwemwe Miller (VA for Chris Walker) is outspoken about being Black, Black history, and racism—he also narrated an audiobook which discussed racism, colonialism, & imperialism. Erika Rosenbaum (VA for Lynn Langermann) organized provisions for refugees and is active in environmental causes and feminism—she also spoke out during the #MeToo movement. Shawn Baichoo (VA for Miles, Waylon, & Blake) is also vocal about feminism/racism and was a huge advocate for his character Wrench's bisexuality from Watch Dogs 2, which became confirmed in a later installment of the Watch Dogs franchise.

I bring this up because Red Barrels actually entertains the idea of Waylon x Eddie (in the hypothetical that Eddie wasn't an antagonist like he was in the game…so like, erasing his problematic features baha…this deserves an analysis of its own) without mentioning sexuality or anything like that. Obviously, this can be seen as a way to entertain the fanbase, but I think it's worth mentioning that Waylon isn't opposed to homosexuality. After all, Waylon never makes homophobic remarks in his notes nor comments on male sexuality—he's just fearful of being assaulted (as anyone would be, regardless of gender/sexuality). He would, in fact, engage in a homosexual relationship according to this hypothetical.

(Note: the term “insane” is a harmful descriptor in this context, which is why I wrote “wasn’t an antagonist like he was in the game”)

So yea! I definitely think there's queerness with Waylon's character. And I don't exactly mean this to be “representation” because there's a lot of responsibility that comes with that, but ultimately I think it adds to what the franchise and the devs are trying to do—normalize queerness and dismantle the notion of the “ideal American man in a cis-heteronormative society” (and if you've studied socioeconomics/social theory, you know that this notion is a product of capitalism, which is another important theme in the franchise).

Here are some resources about the intersectionalities of cis-heteropatriarchy, capitalism, & queerness if you'd like to read more about it :)

(this one below is quite lengthy, but goes VERY DEEP)

All in all, my interpretation is that the franchise operates on the idea that “queerness” is normal or innate, but social structures are what label it otherwise. I've seen a lot of discussion surrounding Outlast characters' queerness, and it's interesting to me that the antagonists' sexualities get more attention amongst casual players than the protagonists' sexualities (and I think I can understand why, it's just a lot to unpack).

Just as many of the antagonists can be read as queer, the protagonists should arguably be read through the same lens. I truly do think Miles and Waylon (and even Lynn and Blake!) deserve to be inspected under queer lens. Doing so aligns with the franchise's philosophy/narratives. Also the idea of “queer characters taking down capitalism” is super empowering (and actually very identifiable hehe).

(Sorry, I think I projected a lot of my own personal values and biases into this post LOL hhhjdsfh feel free to critique anything I've written!)

This is my first time inspecting Waylon through a queer lens, so thank you for the ask!! I had a lot of fun writing this up :D

#miles upshur #waylon park #outlast #outlast analysis #queer analysis #brybryby #brybryby text

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chososhairbuns · 11 months

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(tw for r*cism, p*dophilia, tr*nsphobia, and SA)

truly i am not saying this simply for the sake of being mean or a snob but i wish mp100 fans would think more about the type of people they choose to make popular in our community. as a fic reader and writer i've seen all kinds of shit that people come up with and i'm not picky with what i enjoy but you know what i find to be completely baffling? the fact that only a handful of people seem to be willing to be critical of an author who (and i'm not putting this under a read more because you guys need to see how fucking long this is and let it sink in):

wrote touichirou to be even worse than he already is in canon. we're talking about being pro-eugenics, being racist towards serizawa (who is portrayed as blasian), and condoning child impregnation (don't even try to come at me with the whole "well duh he's the villain so what's the problem?!" because let me ask you: why would any of the above be necessary to show that touichirou is a villain? all of this is ultimately unimportant to the fic in question as a whole and imo they're not handled with the necessary care that should entail. something being dark and gritty =/= being better; i thought we've evolved past this mindset). excuse me for disregarding mp100's themes of "it's never too late to change" for a second here, but shit like this makes it extra difficult to buy into his character development post-wd arc. most recently, the author has revealed herself to hc him as having had a white south african mother from whom he learned "his kind of eugenics mindset. outright headcanoning a character to be racist huh? white.

is racist towards serizawa in general actually. the narration is constantly making weird comments about his hair before he starts working at s&s. you see people like REIGEN saying he looks sloppy, and it's never called out.

wrote a graphic sequence where reigen gives birth in a taxi while ritsu watches and helps deliver it. again, it's a completely unnecessary scene and adds nothing to the overall narrative, and it can be very uncomfortable for those faint of heart. also theres a gratuitous r/trei joke thrown in there for good measure.

has very questionable trans rep, according to the trans people i've spoken to. serizawa is implied to have a trans fetish, shimazaki is portrayed as a trans woman chaser (you know for the funnies), and allusions to reigen's transness are mostly through explicit imagery.

is really weird about the kids????? shou is characterized as someone who's constantly making dirty and frankly unsettling comments towards others even when he isn't being aged up, even though that's not a trait he has in canon. he and the others are constantly dancing right up to this really uncomfortable line that stops just short of full-blown gross shit.

WROTE A FIC WHERE REIGEN ASSAULTS SERIZAWA. do you hear me? she wrote a fucking fic where serizawa wakes up to reigen trying to get it on with him. that is assault. this author will tell you that it isn't assault because they're in an established relationship but listen to me: That. Is. Assault.

doesn't tag any of the shit i just mentioned! she doesn't alert her audience to any of these things before she draws in her audience because she's more worried about "spoilers" than actually protecting people. one time someone asked her to tag the fic i mentioned in the bullet point directly above as SA due to being triggered but she refused because they were the only person to have a problem with it (allegedly), and also because they were "rude." wtf. basic fucking decency shouldn't hinge on how polite or rude someone is being, but she has such a huge victim complex despite being 39 years old and too old for this shit that she doesn't even realize it.

again i am not trying to put myself on a soapbox and say that i'm inherently better than anyone but i really am so disappointed in you people. for the most part i find that this fandom is a lot more well put together than a lot of those hellholes out there (save for the standard fuckery that all fandoms are guilty of obviously) but seeing talented artists that i otherwise respect and have nothing against choose to put this person on a pedestal and by extension enable this sort of thing to continue is so disheartening. i'm not trying to attack anyone or accuse them of consciously condoning this content, but please think for a bit before you uncritically recommend it to others just because it has your favorite ship in it or because you enjoy darker and more mature themes.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #if the author sees this and gets offended: look. if you put something on the internet then it is not exempt from criticism.#as a rsd bitch i get feeling the need to blindly defend myself from people whom i feel are 'attacking' me #but that doesn't mean you should dodge all criticism play the victim and trick your friends into thinking you're being treated unfairly.#and if you decide to react to this the way you tend to whenever something like this pops up you'll just be proving my point.

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jadewing-realms · 8 months

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on a moonlit stage - astarion oneshot

surpriiissseee i wrote another thing!

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Title: On A Moonlit Stage

Characters: Astarion; Naven Tlin'orzza/Tav

Pairing: Astarion x Tav

Word Count: 2636

It’s a tale as old as time: salacious vampire meets gullible fool. Astarion knows the script backwards and forwards, but he swears on everything he knows this is going to be the last time. The last time he grovels at someone else’s feet. The last time he bows. It’s for his own protection, he tells himself. It’s insurance. The fact that the drow bard is frustratingly handsome as he is naive is an afterthought.

TW: allusions to sexual themes and SA

_______________

There was something uncomfortable, heavy, dense, settling in the pit of Astarion’s stomach. It was miserably distracting. It didn’t seem to matter how many gulps the vampire took of the tart, chalky excuse for red wine that the devilkin had proffered as party favors, it didn’t – couldn’t – drown out that cursed feeling. Instead, all it served to do was add to it and sour his mood even more.

Oh, he kept it from his face of course, as was expected. He froze his practiced mask in place, grinned when appropriate, nodded, winked, and gave theatrical bows to the stream of people who were determined to thank the entire party for the great, selfless work they had done. The goblins were vanquished! The Grove saved! So many cheery faces. So many boisterous voices and empty words, so much bad wine and tasteless food.

‘Our heroes,’ they kept calling them all. ‘Courageous.’ ‘Warriors.’ ‘Right decent folk.’ It made him want to spit their peasant liquor at their feet.

Ignoble fools, all of them. Heroes didn’t exist, and if they did, this group of freaks certainly weren’t them. Only Wyll – local hero as he was – had truly wanted to help these people; the rest wanted only the kidnapped healer’s skills; saving the tieflings was a convenient bonus. Astarion hadn’t even cared about that, set as most of the party was on getting rid of their little cranial stowaways rather than using them, common sense be damned.

Nobody else seemed to have any problem accepting the shallow jubilance and praise, either. Least of all their new permanent companion, Karlach, who was beaming bright as the bonfire. The red tiefling made up for her inability to mingle without roasting the skin off anyone unfortunate enough to bump her arm by shouting her greetings, waving high, laughing low and loud; and when their illustrious leader – that arrogant, guileless sucker that was drow bard extraordinaire, Naven fucking Tlin’orzza – whipped out his lute and strummed up a jaunty little tune for the mood, Karlach trumpeted the lyrics louder than everyone else. Astarion was sure he heard the frantic flutter of feathered wings as it set alight a few poor evening doves roosting in the trees.

The whole affair was as sickly and saccharine as the bottle he nursed. Perhaps Wyll had the right idea, wandering off to the riverbank as he had; perhaps Astarion could simply steal away. Go on a hunt. Get something out of the night.

The thought reminded him that he’d already made previous arrangements for the hours to come. Plans with the aforementioned drow. He almost grimaced past the next draught of wine.

Gods, he’d be glad when the whole song and dance was over. The drow was insufferable, naive as he was aloof, painfully polite, and a terrible conversationalist unless there was an audience to entertain. He also got along far too well with their resident wizard of hubris for comfort, and the two engaged in regular pontifications that went on for far too long and contained far too many obscure terms no one else could understand. He was also constantly sticking his nose into everyone else’s business, asking about their lives and histories and secrets…

On top of it all, he was either a liar and a charlatan equal to any of Cazador’s best thugs, or he genuinely believed in the do-gooder bullshit he spouted. Astarion couldn’t decide which was worse at this point. The only positive thing Naven had going for him in Astarion’s book was that he was the only one who seemed interested in taking advantage of the tadpoles in their brains for the power they provided.

Well, and he was easy on the eyes. But that, of course, was a requirement.

It didn’t really matter whether he liked him or not, though. Somehow the drow had wormed his way into everyone else’s trust, despite everything, and that made him the most important person to have on Astarion’s side if he didn’t want to wake up staked to the ground one of these nights.

It hadn’t taken much; it never did. A few well-spoken words, shallow compliments; a brush of a hand here, a hooded glance there. If he’d done it once, he’d done it a thousand times. Carnal lust was always so easy to invoke, mortal feelings like clay beneath the hands of a skilled artisan. Naven was practically in his pocket at this point and tonight was sure to cement his position nicely.

Second to the man in charge. An auspicious match indeed.

Over the rim of the bottle, his gaze slid across camp, to the little ring of bystanders gathered around the music makers. Naven, the court jester tiefling, and even that fool Volo, the music flowed from them, honey on the air.

They… weren’t half bad. As far as music went. It was no symphony or opera, that was for certain, but they had a folkish charm to them at least. And they stole the attention from everyone else, which gave the odd pit in Astarion’s belly a chance to fade.

Until the drow’s gaze rose to meet his. Golden eyes caught firelight and moonlight both at once, a broad grin split his face through the words he sang, and Astarion almost choked on his drink.

Was that… a smile? A real smile, the first he’d seen on that man’s face? He had to pause, think back, skim his memories from the day they met to the present, and he couldn’t actually recall a single moment he’d seen… that smile. Oh, there’d been little glimpses, quirks of his lips, placating smirks or bewildered half-grins. Never teeth, never so strong it wrinkled the dusky skin at the corners of those eyes. Never something so… radiant.

Gods damn this drow. Of course he would have a gorgeous smile hiding under the pomp and intellect. How infuriatingly unfair! Astarion hadn’t been aware dark elves could smile.

It lingered, too, as did that burning gaze. For the sake of appearances, Astarion didn’t let himself look away. He shifted his weight, let the lines of his body do the talking, knocked back the bottle and slowly, deliberately downed the last of the liquor, swiped his lip with his thumb once it was gone. All the things he knew would have the drow looking at all the right places.

The smile dimmed to something softer, something… fond.

He couldn’t be serious.

A patronizing play, perhaps; Naven had mentioned having been an actor before all this. Astarion had watched him charm his way through a horde of goblins without trouble, behaving by all accounts like these True Souls they couldn’t shut up about, never giving anything away. Every word, every glance, it could be nothing more than an elaborate facade.

They were both playing the same game. But when it all came down to the wire, a vampire would always play it better. If only for the centuries of practice.

Though… he didn’t actually know how old Naven was. The way he behaved, the way he trusted, surely he had to be fresh off his Naming. But then again, there were those creeping lines under those eyes of his, the barest hint of creases striking through the tasteful tattoo on his forehead. It could be age, or it could be… well, grief.

The pit was coming back, and the wine had done absolutely nothing. He shouldn’t have expected anything else. It had been two-hundred years since blessed inebriation came to him from a bottle. He recalled the night he’d drained the bear, the absolute euphoria he felt afterward. What he’d give to engorge himself again now, before his moment came. Before he knelt at the feet of another for the last fucking time, and laid the last nail to the emotional coffin lid. It’d certainly make it easier to get through if he could be drunk as the Hells.

But alas. Would that the gods could be so kind. They weren’t. He could only sling the empty bottle to the side for its personal offense to him, where he didn’t even get the satisfaction of watching it break. It simply rolled across the dirt and clinked to a stop against a stump. He pouted at it for good measure. It did nothing more.

It had to be better if he took his leave now. The party would wind down before long, he wagered. He needed to be in place, ready and waiting, properly alluring, for when his quarry came looking for him.

He gathered what he knew he would need in a pack. Then, steps composed but quiet, he idled backward, away from his tent, into the treeline. He slipped from the edges of camp without the notice of a single soul and plunged into the darkness beyond the fire’s light. His eyes and light feet, used to the shadows, made entering into them easy as breathing.

The long walk that followed, that was another story entirely. Stumps and dirt and grass and stones made what might’ve been a leisurely stroll into a struggle that no amount of shadow could ease. Roots snagged his boots. Branches clawed at his face. Bloody nature! He grew more and more weary with it each passing day, each night he laid his head on a pack draped in a blanket instead of a pillow.

He missed proper beds. He missed private baths and locked doors and armchairs. He missed… the city.

The city meant the clan, though. The clan meant Cazador. Cazador meant… He stopped, shaking the creeping memories from his skull. Flashes of blood and bile, hunger pangs, the pitch black of a closed coffin. A ripple of discomfort seared across his back.

“No! That’s enough of that.” The words left him without permission, murmured to no one but his own mind and the deepening night. He shoved the memories down, down to that blasted pit in his gut. He was far, far from Baldur’s Gate. Far from his reach. He strode deeper into the night, imagining each step as another one further from those long-reaching arms.

This is mine! All of this. My night. My mind. My choice! No one was ever going to take this away from him, not with freedom in his hands, at long last.

His feet had stopped again, and that wouldn’t do.

He needed to find a place for tonight. The perfect place. Yes, somewhere properly… romantic. Ideally, in the cradle of two luscious trees, with the moonlight beaming down just so. Mortals did adore when their lovers waxed poetic to them beneath the moon.

Ah… he needed something to say. Just the right thing.

He found a deer path and began to follow it, keeping his steps close together to avoid any sudden obstacles in the gray landscape. The trade-off for the gift of night sight, of course, was that he wouldn’t be able to take color into consideration when picking his spot. But then, neither would a drow. Double negative makes a positive and all that.

His gaze wandered aimlessly as he went, and he let his mind go with it. “What to say… I’m thinking literary. He seems an educated man.”

Some classics, perhaps. ‘Doubt thou the stars are fire’ sort of thing. Yes, that could do nicely. Everyone loved that one. It had been a while since he recited it, too; he practiced a few stanzas to test the rhythm and rhyme on his tongue and when it didn’t sound quite perfect enough, he tried again. And again, and so forth, until he began to hear the rippling of water nearby.

He’d circled back to the edge of the river, it seemed. Which wasn’t a terrible thing; the serenity of the sound would only add to the desired ambiance. He kept it just out of sight.

Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. Something in his gut told him right here… it felt close. Eyes narrowing, he raised a hand, thumb out at an angle like the corner of a frame, and he swiveled across the trees that surrounded him. He needed just the right spot…

There. Two grand oaks standing side by side, framing a small clearing, moonlight streaming down in divine shafts. It was no mansion bedchambers, but it would do.

He winced, immediately regretting the comparison. Now he was thinking of Baldur’s Gate again. Of his service room. Of Cazador.

“This isn’t for you!” he spat to nobody. Skin immediately crawling, he spun a quick circle, just… to make sure. He was alone. “This is for me! Me.”

He raked his fingers into his hair, distracting his mind by making sure not a single strand was out of place. He had to be perfect. Everything had to. Like a dream. When all was said and done, that drow needed to leave this place so enthralled, he couldn’t bear for Astarion to leave his side ever again. Then Astarion would never have to worry about Lae’zel getting a bit stab-happy if he smirked at her wrong, or Wyll living up to his status as a monster hunter if the mood so took him. Not unless they wanted to face the wrath of their beloved man with the plan.

So it was decided. This was the place. He stepped between the two trees, gave one trunk a light pat before he rid himself of his shirt and shoes. The grass was satisfyingly cool beneath his toes. A breeze whispered through the summer leaves and he paused folding his clothes, just to watch them dance.

It… really was a nice spot.

Getting here had been an absolute drag, no doubt; the Great Outdoors were not his natural habitat and never would be, but he couldn’t deny that when he didn’t have to trudge through knee-high brush or duck under rudely low-hanging boughs or wave bugs out of his face or watch for animal scat… well. It was peaceful enough.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This moon felt much kinder than the one he knew before. She was soft. Soothing. The night’s watchful guardian, shining silver just for the bards that might look up and write of her beauty. Or for anyone.

Back in the city, the moon was simply a hollow sun for the likes of him and his ‘siblings.’ They couldn’t have the real thing, so they settled for experiencing a world that was only half what it should be. Add to that the fact that the moon could not penetrate the deep, dark alleyways of the city where vampires best hunted, and it was never a friend of theirs.

Strange, to find it so different now.

Then again, everything was. Everything except for the scars on his back; his permanent reminder. And he still didn’t know what they said.

Absently, he reached a hand back to trace his fingertips over the raised edges like he’d done countless times. They felt so terribly pronounced, so… ugly. A hideous presence amongst such serene midnight perfection.

Would… Naven notice them?

“Hello?” a distant voice called. Louder than it usually was, but still familiar after traveling together so long. The man himself, come to join him at last. “Astarion, are you… close by?”

Astarion’s hand fled from his back. His stomach seized again and he wished he had wine to pretend to drown it with. He took one last deep breath and the way it stuttered would have made him scowl, were he not already schooling his features into the very picture of debonair charm.

“Over here, darling,” he called back, taking his place behind the tree, readying words in his mind for the moment his companion came into view. “Just a little closer.”

It was time to play his part again.

But the pit never went away.

#my writing #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion #astarion fic #fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x m!tav #astarion ancunin #my tav #naven tlin'orzza #drow bardlock #good playthrough

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80pairsofcrocs · 1 year

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baby scarab || 62

shimmy shimmy anon - How about this, if Marc and y/n were to get into a fight, and Marc takes away her phone, y/n has an attitude, and Marc has had enough of it and snaps, idk mean like lashing out on her, I mean like raising his hands in the air and being all extra n shit, and when he raises his hands to go off and rant, y/n flights pretty bad, and before he goes off on a rant, he looks at her, and thinks about his mom, immediately stops, walks over to her, and asks if she's okay, y/n gets mad at him with tears running down her cheeks, ranting about how hard she's been trying to be a good daughter and saying Marc is not so different than her, and that he has no reason to be so upset, and storms off to her room, and about an hour later y/n is gone, they thought she ran off, but oh no..oh no they have NO IDEA what's about to happen. (Yiu don't have to write any of this btw)

-Love shimmer anon!🤗

~~~

A/N : :/

masterlist - marvel masterlist - series masterlist

A/N : THERE IS NO MORE SCHEDULE, IM SORRY also thank you all sm for the support and requests :)))

please enjoy, and don't be shy if you want to be in the taglist, just ask <3, sorry for the long wait

pairings : steven grant x (platonic)reader, marc spector x (platonic) reader, khonshu x (platonic)reader, jake lockley x (platonic)reader, layla el faouly x (platonic)reader

TW : medicine (pills), spidey stuff, violence, language, angst, very rushed and hard to read, mention of doctors, needles, mention of child abuse, mention of scars, mention of sex, bad words used at you (by you), allusions to SA (please do not read if it triggers you), cops, yelling, let me know if i missed anything.

~~~

you heard muffled voices.

you didn't know whose, and you couldn't tell what they were saying.

your eyes were closed, and you didn't have the strength to open them.

"..because she knows my name- how did she know?" one of the voices says, and you somehow manages to peel your eyes open.

your hands were behind you, and it felt like they were bound together by webs.

you would know from experience.

the man from before who knocked your lights out looked down at you on the floor, seeing that you were awake.

he didn't have the mask on, and if you weren't loyal to casper you would definitely hit that.

what can you say? he's cute.

"oh my god what do we do? she's awake-"

"i can hear you" you interrupt his whispering.

now you notice the other person in the room, same suit and older face.

what the fuck was going on.

"okay- um hi? i'm- i'm peter. you already knew that" the younger one scolds himself, and you just blink.

"where am i?" you bluntly ask, seeing as the two weren't exactly a threat.

"uhhhh we can't tell you that..?" the younger of the two poses more of a question than a direct answer.

you simply blink up at them. "okay, so why am i here then?" you ask and the older one takes a breath.

"okay, not to freak you out- but we aren't.. from this universe" he starts and you make a face.

"this happened before, but we don't know why it happened again" he sighs.

you just close your eyes for a second and purse your lips."can i just go home?" you ask.

"i'm grounded and my dads are going to give me shit if i get back too late" you try to reason, and the older one nods, while the other shakes his head frantically.

"what? don't let her go! she could attack us!" he exclaims and you scoff.

"no. i won't" you send a fake smile to him while the older spider guy crouches down next to you to rip the webs from your wrists.

you bring them back in front of you, and stand up, the man next to you doing the same.

you just nod to yourself and look around, seeing a window so you head towards it.

"..wait-!"

you turn around, seeing the younger of the two coming towards you.

you stand your ground and just breathe in sharply.

"we are pretty far from where i-"

"from where you kidnapped me?" you ask with not a single emotion present on your face.

"yeah, sorry about that- anyways, do you need us to escort you back?" he asks and you scoff, hiding a smile.

"escort?"

"stop laughing"

"i'm not laughing"

"peter 2, tell her to stop laughing" he whines to the older man, who puts his hands up.

"and i thought my peter was annoying" you roll your eyes nodding your head to the window.

"just lead me there please" you decide, so the two go in front of you to exit first.

"hope you can keep up" the older of the two teases, climbing out the window and swinging away, leaving you and the other one to follow.

~~~

"this is it, right across the street there" old peter points to your apartment building from the roof you were all currently standing on.

it was maybe around the middle of the night now, and you were still suspended for the next three days.

"thank you. even though you kidnapped me" you chuckle, turning to the two.

"it's wierd knowing there's more peters in other universes" you start. "it sucks that you have to go back"

"yeah, but how are you here with baby peter?" the younger asks.

"oh i'm not a peter. i'm a y/n" you clarify, and they both nod.

"good luck getting to new york then" you sigh.

"go home safe, okay?" the younger says. "we're always watching our fellow spider-peoples backs" he smiles, and naturally you do to.

"hey, can you remember something for me?" the older asks, and you nod.

"just.. with great power there must also come great responsibility" you blink a few times, remembering when you peter said the same thing.

"thank you" you smile at the two before they turn and swing off.

you sigh and look up at the bright moon. a waxing crescent as of tonight.

you then peer down at your apartment building and turn around in the opposite direction on the roof.

okay, this may seem like a terrible plan, but you are sure that it would teach your dads a lesson.

you were on your way to casper's house, and you were going to stay the night, walk him to school, and then return home in the morning.

easy as pie.

it took you almost no time to swing over to casper's, to land on his fire escape by his window.

the curtains were closed, which meant you didn't even know if he was in the room.

you weigh your options and decide to leave three light knocks on the window, and that's when you hear rushed footsteps before the curtains are pulled away.

and there was your boyfriend, rubbing sleep from his eyes and looking relieved to see that it was just you.

he opened the window quietly to let you climb in.

"what the hell are you doing here? are you okay?" he asks, leading you to sit down on his bed while he looked over your face for any injuries.

"casper, i'm not hurt" you gently push his hands away from you. "just grounded"

"then why did marc call me to ask if i've seen you? they are worried, you just went missing" he argues.

you sigh and look towards the still open window and close it with a shoot of your webs and a slight tug.

there was a breeze, which made you both shiver.

"but steven saw what happened, a peter from a different universe kidnapped me" you explain and casper scoffs.

"okay, well i'm calling marc-"

"no you're not, i'm going back in the morning"

"i promised i'd call if i heard from you-"

"i don't care they deserve it"

"nobody deserves that feeling, y/n"

you stop talking right then and there. casper was right.

"can i see your phone?"

"only if you promise to give ur back" casper hands you his phone after you nod in agreement to his terms.

you immediately dialed your dads number even though it was saved in the phone.

it only rings twice before he answered.

"hey- it's marc, we haven't found her yet but we are still looking-"

"well stop and go home because i'm fine" you cut in, making marc freeze from the other side of the phone.

"..kid?!" his voice cracks in the middle of the word. "oh my- are you okay?!" he asks in a shouting voice.

you feel a pit of guilt form in your stomach at the reaction of him just simply hearing your voice.

"yeah. i'm okay"

"what happened? steven refuses to talk to us"

now you felt really awful. steven clearly saw you get kidnapped and now he's refusing to talk to the people he shares a body with.

and it's all your fault.

"i.. there were two peters from different universes and one of them freaked out when i knew his name" you explain shortly in a solemn tone.

"y/n i'm coming to get you-"

"well good luck dragging me out of casper's house because i'm not leaving" you interrupted just to hear a scoff.

"you expect me to just let you stay? you're still grounded and he has school tomorrow" marc argues, but then jake decides to butt in.

"well i think one night wouldn't be too bad.."

marc sighs tiredly and stammers over his words before he gets it all out.

"fine. whatever. but we are having a long talk once we get you home" he says as if he was being forced to.

"yeah, we are" you agree, leaving marc to only say a few more words.

"i love you, y/n. all of us do. please stay safe or i swear i'm grounding you forever"

"promise. i love you guys too"

he hangs up after that, and you give your phone back to casper.

"so.. that was obviously an under reaction" casper purses his lips after speaking.

you sigh and look up at the ceiling. "yeah but i'm glad it was" you start. "he would have to drag me out of this house because i am not leaving"

"i have school tomorrow"

"i know. i'm sorry"

casper just moves closer to you so that you were sitting side by side, legs hanging off the bed.

"don't be sorry-"

"i don't just mean this" you look over to him, and see a look of pity in his eyes.

"y/n, we already talked about this" he begins and you just stare down at the floor. "you didn't do anything wrong. you never have"

"how do you know that?" you ask, stressful tears gathering in your eyes, though you try to blink them away.

"because i know you, and i know you've made mistakes but we've fixed them. together" he sends you a half smile when you look up.

you just sniff and lean your head on his shoulder, to which he puts and arm around you and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"you guys will be okay" he assures you, referring to your dads.

"yeah. thanks" you pick your head up and look him in the eyes, and let a smirk raise on your lips when you see his eyes dart down to them.

you take it upon your self to lean in quickly and bring a hand to the back of his head, so that he meets you half way.

he lets out a noise of surprise when your lips first meet his but relaxes into the kiss and lays a hand on your cheek, rubbing circles into it with his thumb.

your lips moved against each other for another couple seconds before you moved one of your hands to his chest, grasping at his shirt while the other pulled him impossibly closer to you.

he quietly groaned at the switch and moved both of his hands to your face, holding you close to him.

you poke your tongue out at his lips, to which he opens his mouth so you could lick up into it, causing a shiver to go down his spine.

not a moment later you detach yourself from casper's mouth and move onto his neck, leaving a trail of light kisses until you reach a spot your most fond of.

casper moves his hands to clutch onto the back of your shirt, like how yours were on the front of his.

"-y/n.." he whispers into your hair before taking in a shaky breath through his mouth.

you bite down on the sensitive part of his neck before sucking on it.

after that, it seemed like you blacked out.

the next thing you knew was casper was pulling you off of him and moving your hands away from the waist of his sweatpants.

"wait wha-" you take in a sharp breath before your blood runs cold.

casper looked a mess, and not in a good way at the moment.

he had a dark forming bruise on his neck, where there were two small spots with a bit of blood.

his hair was messed up and sticking in every direction, clothes disheveled and sweatpants down on his hips with the strings untied.

"i'm so sorry" you whisper, thinking the worst.

you couldn't remember what had happened that past couple minutes.

"hey, it's okay, please look at me" casper requests and you do so with tears in your eyes.

"come on, let's just get some sleep. you're tired and we can talk in the morning" he reasons and you just stare at the wall with tears in your eyes as casper brought you down towards his pillows.

he lays you down next to him, and makes sure to hold your hand as he uses the other to make sure you're fully covered with his blankets.

you didn't care if he was asleep or not, you moved to cling onto him and cry yourself to sleep in a matter of minutes.

casper though, couldn't.

he was awake thinking of what had just happened in the last five minutes.

you'd both been lost in each other, lips on lips, and hands on other areas when you had bit down just a bit too hard.

and when casper winced, you slurred out a quick apology and moved your lips to a different spot, unaware of casper's unease.

but it wasn't him that didn't want it, it was you.

he sensed something wasn't right, you always made sure he was okay and vise versa, but nothing else came out of your mouth.

when he tried to pull you away, you talked as if someone was controlling you.

"i need it"

"please, hit me"

"i want to feel it"

"i need to feel the pain"

is what you said to him, and that wasn't like you at all.

he pushed you farther away, trying to set your mind straight.

"are you okay?"

"stop, you don't want this"

"i'm not letting you make this mistake"

"i'm never going to hit you, and you don't need to feel pain"

"are you feeling alright?"

the truth of the matter is that he wanted it. he wanted it so badly, but was completely turned off by the fact that is wasn't consensual both ways.

you wouldn't give him a clear answer, just slurring your words together and almost forcing yourself onto him.

he swore to himself that he wouldn't never in his life no matter what disrespect a woman's wishes, and here he was fulfilling the promise.

casper knew you didn't want it. only wanted something to take your mind off of everything that's happened.

so he had to stop you from doing something you'd regret, and he's thankful you came back to your senses when you did. before it got too far.

he did eventually fall asleep, after lovingly staring at your sleeping form, head on his chest while he gently wiped away drying tears from your cheeks.

and unlucky for you, since you were dead asleep you didn't hear him tell you that he loves you.

~~~

you woke up somewhat peacefully.

casper was still asleep, with both arms wrapped around your waist with his face buried in your hair.

you gently moved his hands off of you and guided his head back to his pillow, and moved back a bit to just admire.

you hate admitting how much you actually loved him considering everything you'd both already been through.

you believed he should be with someone better.

someone who didn't nearly get him killed.

torn away from his family, while it would be all your fault.

but yet here he is, laying in front of you. perfectly healthy.

you brought a hand up hesitantly to his face, gently brushing your knuckles against his cheek.

he took in a quick breath and his eyebrows furrowed before his eyes fluttered open, landing on you almost right away.

he just tiredly grins at you, so you take continue, moving your hand to rake your nails through his hair.

"hey" he greets, with a slight rasp in his voice.

"hi" you whisper back, letting a smile take over your features.

"do you feel okay? sleep well?" casper asks you and you nod against the pillow you were laying against.

"i'm feeling a little better, thank you" you answer, letting casper pull away to sit up against the headboard.

you shifted to stare up at him while he picked up his phone from the nightstand to check the time.

"it's already 6" he starts and you shove your face in the pillow. "i have to get ready, and you have to go home. your dads are worried about you" he says, making you pick your head up to look at him.

"i know. i just.. i want to stay" you frown, and sit up as well to be eye level with casper.

"i want you to stay too but once you aren't grounded then i'll take you out, okay?" he brings a smile to your face at his plan.

"deal" you lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek before shoving the blankets off of you to stand up and search around for your shoes.

casper got up as well, shuffling through his drawers while you tied your shoes.

"hey, it looks pretty cold out" he opens the curtain to his window, seeing light snow falling.

you groan quietly and rub your temples. "just my luck" you mumble.

casper clears his throat, making you turn to him while standing back up from tying your shoes.

"you can take this is you want.. i don't want you to get sick" he says, handing you a thick sweatshirt of his.

it was one he wore often too, making your heart feel particularly full at the moment.

you smile and slip it on, deciding to just lean forward to wrap your arms around his neck.

casper reciprocated the hug quickly, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"thank you"

"it's no problem, it's just a sweater-"

"no. for everything" you pull back to press a quick kiss to his lips, then heading for the window, opening it and cringing at the gust of cold wind that came in.

you lifted yourself on the windowsill, only to be stopped before you jumped down onto the fire escape.

"y/n- wait" casper rushes over, taking your hand in his.

"i love you" he looks into your eyes, and you smile down at him from where you sat on the window.

"i love you too" you respond, then squeeze his hand before leaving, making sure you heard the windows lock click after casper closed it.

~~~

it was a very quick trip home.

sadly.

you couldn't even knock on the door, marc just opened it and yanked you inside by your forearm.

it startled you at first, never feeling marc grab you like that before intentionally.

"go sit down" he points to the kitchen table, where you see a small bowl of fruit and a glass of water.

you assumed that seat was for you.

you slid off your shoes and followed marc's instruction, and just sat staring down at your lap while he came over and sat across from you.

"i hope you had fun probably having sex with your boyfriend, because now you're grounded for longer" marc tensely says to you while you look up to glare at him.

"i was kidnapped last night and the first thing you're going to do is yell at me?" you mutter angrily.

marc scoffs. "i'm not yelling" he raises his voice a little, just proving your point.

"why didn't you come home?" he asks, still tense and seemingly mad at you.

"because i didn't want to be around you. i still don't" you look down and pick at your fingers.

"no, you look at me. we are having a conversation" you just look back up with a tired sigh and furrowed brows.

"and for the record, we looked for you. for hours. while steven was gone- and by the way he still is" he starts, shocking you at the last part. "he refuses to talk or even show himself i-" marc takes in a sharp breath.

"well i'm sorry i'm such an idiot. sorry that i wanted to be a slut and not come home" you feel your eyes full with tears. "tell steven that i'm sorry. for being a bitch-"

"enough of that! don't you dare call yourself those things!" jake yells from wherever he was listening, and marc shushes him.

"i can call myself what i want. besides, marc just assumes everything so-"

"i don't assume-"

"then why was your first thought about me and casper having sex?!" you exclaim. "because we didn't!"

marc runs a hand down his face and grits his teeth before speaking.

"we want to protect you-"

"enough with that bullshit! i'm sick of it! you know i don't need protecting!" you stand up from your seat.

"sit back down, right now" marc says lowly, and you just tilt your head at him from where you stood.

"why? are you scared?"

"wha- what are you talking about?" marc asks, genuinely confused.

"you know, i try to hard to be a good daughter" you let a single tear fall before wiping it away. "sometimes i feel like you only adopted me to make sure i didn't destroy the world" you laugh bitterly to yourself.

"it runs in the family, does it not?" you ask rhetorically.

marc stands up so that he can walk around the table to be right in front of you.

"don't talk like that. that man is not your father" marc defends.

"yeah? he's not?" you smile up at him while a couple more tears fall. "then what's this?" you lift up your sleeve, showing marc the scarred letters.

he looks at them for a moment before looking into your eyes, bringing a hand up slowly, his intention to wipe your tears before you pushed it away.

"don't touch me" you grit out, moving quickly away from him.

you shove your sleeve down and just stare into marc's eyes, while he contemplates trying to get you to sit back down.

"y/n-"

"no" you shake your head at him. "i can tell you're holding back so just do it" you wipe at your nose, and then sniff.

"..if you think i'm going to hit you then you're wrong-"

"why? i deserve it. i was kidnapped and i didn't even come home" you breath in sharply. "because i wanted to be a stupid whore-"

"STOP! DONT TALK ABOUT YOURSELF LIKE THAT!" marc yells, making you freeze where you stood, eyes widening.

"WHY CANT YOU UNDERSTAND THAT YOU DONT DESERVE TO BE HURT?!" he begins, throwing his hands in the air, coming closer to you.

"YOU THINK YOURE INVINCIBLE- YOU WERE PRACTICALLY BEGGING ME TO HIT YOU!" he lets out a bitter laugh, quieting down a bit.

"you.. you don't get it honey. you are my life.. i can't-" marc gets cut off by a knock at the door.

you were still staring up at him with blurry eyes, while he looked towards the door with furrowed brows.

"are you expecting someone..?" marc asks in a whisper and you shake your head quickly, not wanting to upset marc.

he rushes to the door and opens it, leaving the chain attached so that whoever it was couldn't get in.

you sat down on the floor, behind the counter while you listened to the voices by the door.

"oh- is there a problem officer?" marc asks politely to the police who were at the door.

your eyes widened and you peek around the counter to see three policemen gathered on the other side of the door, marc tense as ever.

"we got a call, complaints of yelling. we also have a warrant to have a look around" the man says and marc clenches his jaw.

"yeah.. there was shouting. and why do you have a warrant to search my home?" marc asks skeptically.

the policeman speaks in a hushed voice, as if you still couldn't hear him anyways.

"we heard from a girls doctor, y/n spector, that there were numerous scars all over her and we also have permission to take her into custody if we have to" he says, making you turn back around so that you were hidden.

"if you think i'm hitting my daughter, you're wrong. there's nothing to hide here so have a good day-" marc tries to close the door, which results in the cops breaking the chain and shoving marc back.

"no- you can't take her!" marc shoves back just to be held still by two of the cops.

you stayed hidden behind the counter, but your breathing quickened when you hear footsteps getting closer.

marc was still fighting against the two cops, but only a few words make him freeze.

"sir, if you don't calm down then we could have you arrested"

marc didn't want to get arrested. it would ruin everyone's lives.

you'd be heartbroken and living with layla, who would be the same.

steven would lose his online class and jake would lose his small taxi business.

"she's over here!" the man yells, looking down at you as your shuffled backwards away from him.

he put a hand out and bent down to your level. "hey, you have to come with us, okay?"

"no- you can arrest my dad he didn't do anything wrong!" you shout at him, while he sighed and came closer to you, taking your arms in his hands and pulling you up so that you were standing.

"no- let- LET ME GO!" you scream at the man as he basically dragged you to the door.

"y/n! NO, LET HER GO!" marc fights against the other officers.

you kicked and punched against the man that held your arms and guided you through the door, and the last thing you saw of your home was marc, cheeks wet with tears, standing disheveled by the door.

you were glad he didn't escalate it, you would feel terrible if he got arrested.

but you?

oh. you.

as soon as the elevator doors closed the man held you still while one of the other officers took a needle out of a pouch on their belt.

"this is just to calm you" they said.

"it'll all be okay when you wake up" they said.

they stuck that needle in your arm and before you knew it you were out again.

heading to not even khonshu knows where.

actually that's a lie. khonshu followed you. he needed to know where these people were taking you.

like any good grandpa would.

nobody knew of the confusing nightmare ahead.

you had just gotten home, just gotten into a critical argument with marc, when the police had come to take you away from them.

with an actual reason too.

you had a feeling your doctor would snitch.

but nothing really mattered. not right now. you just had to focus on getting home.

with your dads.

where you belong, and always will.

~~~

A/N : sorry this took forever, just super busy :)) hope you liked this cliffhanger, and stay tuned for baby scarab chapter 63 hopefully by february 1st. ily all

~~~

taglist ---

@alexloveskili @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression @thebiggestsimpshrimp @guyinachair27 @astrobuzzsstuff @mooonlight-and-stars @moonlighting87 @mateihavenoidea @inactive-things @alondrashultz @femalemarvelself @queenthorin1 @haileymorelikestupid @jvdethirlwall @justtiredandvibing @winterfrostsarmy @themapoftinyperfectthings @littlebird101 @atzlena @httpslinow @arrowurboat @m-brekker @lifeandbandmembers-blog @adamcarlsenslvr @violet-19999 @seninjakitey @bestgirlpip @panic-in-the-multiverse @in-between-the-cafes @branolagar @bl6o6dy @annoyingmarvelreader @bee-a-cool-kid @buzzitsbeee @wintergirlsoilder2 @crow-carcass @you-bloody-shank @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @valiantphantomangel @50shadesofcrocs @rayrlupin @kingshitonly @brekkers-desigirl @hutaos-gh0st @kayane28 @nevaeh-jasso @lizlil @scarabgrant @luvxxee @certainchildmentality @yikesitskennawrites @alexisabirdie @zlatolait-writes @thursdaywritings @izzzzy-the-amazing @angrykitsune01

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nomomio · 7 months

Text

TW: Allusions to SA, CSA, and physical abuse

Something that's been really driving me nuts is the reading of Karlach as a metaphor for healing from years and years of a physically and s*xually abuse, notably abuse that occurred during formative years.

- Too hot to touch + Practically throwing herself at you if youre slightly good: As a survivor myself the impossible to touch just screams how much touch feels like it will legitimately burn after getting out of a situation. The years of *desperately* wanting loving touch but something always telling me it's wrong, that it will hurt, that somehow I'll hurt them even.

And combined with the moments where you feel you can get touch and you jump on it like a poor child in a marshmallow test. It's normal to want touch, love, affection, intimacy. But how often do we jump into it without a single thought prior when traumatized, because of that near desperate want. In my second playthrough romancing Shart, my sweet angry baby did her little "hey soldier, you awake?" scene second night of being in my camp, with the only companion approval level lower than hers being Lae'zel. Legit just be nice to her, and get the first upgrade for her heart, and she wants more. And lawd I relate.

- Dammon's upgrades: To me these are early understanding in healing. Early jumps in therapy. Finally finding a medication that works. You feel so elated, ecstatic, alive! You can be fixed! You can be okay! You get told by professionals that C-PTSD, BPD, dissociation, whatever. It never truly goes away. Just managed. But you don't care, you don't really integrate that notion because holy fuck for the first time in years, ever even, you can see a light of fucking goodness at the end of the tunnel.

*MAJOR SPOILERS*

- Getting to Act 3, the "it doesn't go away" catches up and she starts burning hot: Just about everyone I know who's gone through/going through this intense of healing all have a point where we relapse in some way. The dissociation gets bad again. Mood swings get volatile again. SH tendencies creep back in. The reality sets in that you can't distract from things with how good things can be when you're okay. It's *always* there. You're stuck with what happened forever.

- Total meltdown after killed Gortash: This monologue GUTTED me. I hid and the washroom and SOBBED after it. I have had similar internal meltdowns so many times. No matter what happens to my abuser. Despite the fact that I can still go to court and send him to prison if I wanted. It won't change that what was done to you has been done. When it sets in that everyone around you who loves you will get to have a normal life and you *never* will. You can put in as much work, as much effort, as much heart as possible to try to fucking heal, only to realize that some things will never go away. Some wounds simply will not heal. And you get angry. So so angry. And then you collapse. It isn't fair. It's not. Fair.

The writers at Larian did SUCH a good job capturing the sheer degree of pain in her lines. Samantha Béart's performance deserves all the awards and accolades because capturing that nuanced raw emotion is so so hard. I so desperately wish we could fix Karlach properly, let her stay in Faerun. But. Maybe her good ending being returning to Avernus with you is truly her realistic good ending. I won't ever fully be free of what happened to me as a child. Its a naive hope that ill ever be completely free of it. But I know I don't have to go it alone. My husband, my friends, those I've chosen are with me through it. Karlach can't change her past, but with Tav, Wyll. She doesn't have to go it alone.

#karlach #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate spoilers

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forget-you-morelike-fuck-you · 2 years

Text

Street Fighter- E.M.

Y/N is a cheerleader, and she's just about had it with those asshole basketball players talking bad about her man.

Masterlist

TW- Cursing, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, brief mention of drugs, pet names, allusions to SA, angst, fluff

Pairing- Eddie x Cheerleader!Reader

Word Count- 1,535

(Gif not mine! Credit to owner!)

You and Eddie shocked the school when you got together, the cheerleader and the freak, walking hand in hand, laughing with each other as you made your way out of the building after school. You gave Eddie a peck on the lips, promising to see him after the game tonight as you parted ways, him going toward the Hellfire room, and you toward the gym. As you walked along, a pep in your step as you think about the plans you and Eddie have for dinner tonight, you stop cold as you catch a phrase from none other than Jason Carver, laughing with the other meatheads on the basketball team.

“I wonder what kind of sick, satanic spell he’s got on her. There’s no way she would like him if she was in her right mind,” Jason scoffs, and the others agree. You press yourself into the corner, listening as they continue.

“Can’t be for his money, either, with that little crack trailer he calls home,” More laughter. Your jaw clenches, brows furrowing.

“Maybe he gives her free drugs or something. She has been looking a little off lately, right?” Your fists clench around your pompoms.

“You’re probably right. What she needs is a good, Christian man to get her out of that mess,” Jason says, no doubt talking about himself. You let out an incredulous laugh, finally letting yourself round the corner.

“In your fucking dreams, pencil dick.” You cross your arms, tapping your foot impatiently on the ground. “Who the fuck do you think you are, talking about Eddie and me like that!?”

“Calm down, sweetie,” You cringe at the pet name, “no need to get defensive. We’re just concerned about your wellbeing, is all. You know that creep probably steals your dirty underwear and passes it around at those cult meetings, right?” Jason looks unimpressed at your anger, which makes your rage fill you even more.

“Not that you care, Carver, but Eddie is more of a gentleman than you’ll ever be. I heard you like to touch up the other cheerleaders at the after parties after you get them drunk.” Jason rolls his eyes as the other players stand and watch your confrontation unfold. You’re not going to let him get away with any of this.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N,”

“Oh, really? Then maybe you should ask Chrissy why she’s got that hand shaped bruise on her thigh.” You turn and start walking away, trying to calm your trembling hands.

“Maybe it was that sick son of a bitch you’ve been fucking, Y/N, ever think about that?” That’s it. Your pompoms drop from your hands as you spin on your heel. You take a couple of steps forward cock your fist as far back as you can before hurtling it straight into Jason’s nose, grunting with effort as he stumbles backward. You feel a crunch under your hand, not sure if it’s Jason’s or your bones that have just been broken. Jason reels, his hand going to his nose as drips of blood start pouring down. He looks at you with vengeance in his eyes as he lurches forward.

“You little bitch!” A couple of the other guys grab Jason under the arms, but you’re seeing red. You kick out as hard as you can and land a crushing blow to his groin before stepping in close as he doubles over.

“I don’t ever want to hear you talking about Eddie again, you hear me, fucker? Or I might just have to break another fucking bone.” You don’t wait for an answer as you turn and pick up your pom poms, walking away toward the gym. As your adrenaline fades, your hand starts screaming in pain, dark purple and blue splotches forming over your knuckles. You hiss as you shake it out and wiggle your fingers. Not broken, but probably sprained.

Jason doesn’t enter the gym with the rest of the team. You overhear one of the guys telling the coach that Jason’s sick, and you grin at that. You know Jason won’t tattle if he knows what’s good for him. The night continues as normal, except for the sharp stabs of pain in your hand that you hide underneath the pompom you hold. As the clock winds down in the second half and the buzzer sounds, you’re honestly glad the other team won. The assholes on the Hawkins team don’t deserve the ego boost.

Your hand is swollen and red, so you wrap it in a compression bandage to help before changing out of your uniform and into something more comfortable. You make your way out of the gym, duffel slung over your shoulder as you walk toward where Hellfire is letting out. You make your way to Eddie and smile as he approaches, your injured hand going to your pocket as you kiss him. “Hey, beautiful! Did we win?” Eddie takes your uninjured hand and starts walking the two of you over to his van. You shrug.

“No, but it’s okay,” You say, trying not to sound too smug. Eddie quirks his brows.

“Why’s that?” You grin.

“It’s just… probably for the best.” When you get to Eddie’s car, you dumbly pull your other hand out of your pocket and grab the duffel bag from your shoulder, letting out a yelp as you take the weight of it. You try to play it off but Eddie notices, coming around to see you when he hears you in pain. You grit your teeth and shove your hand behind your back as he comes around, his brow furrowed in concern.

“You alright, honey? What happened?” His deep brown eyes search yours, and a sweat breaks out on your brow as you continue holding the duffel in your sprained hand behind your back.

“I’m alright, baby. Just got spooked by a bee.” Eddie knows you’re lying. He has that uncanny ability to know when you’re keeping secrets from him. He gently pulls your arm from around your back, and you let out a whimper as the bag shifts. He sees the bandage on your hand, and you finally let the bag drop, knowing the jig is up.

“How did this happen!?” Eddie asks, gingerly unwrapping the bandage to see the bruising. You bite your cheek, letting out a breath as your brows flick upward.

“Jason.” Is all you say. Eddie reacts immediately, going into defensive mode at the name.

“What the fuck did he do to you, Y/N!? I swear to god, I’ll—”

“No, no! I, well, I kind of already beat you to the punch… Literally.” Eddie’s face shifts from anger to confusion, so you elaborate. “He was saying some shitty things about you, so I took matters into my own hands…” You look down.

“Really?” You hear Eddie say. You nod, fighting the smirk on your mouth.

“Yeah. I was tired of hearing him say shit about you. So… I may have broken his nose?” You wait for the response, the reprimand of how stupid can you be, Y/N, he could’ve beaten you to a pulp! But instead, you hear a bubble of laughter, and you look up, surprised. “What? You don’t believe me?” Eddie wipes a tear from his eye and shakes his head.

“No, of course I believe you! Damn, I wish I could’ve been there to see it! God, I bet the look on his ugly fucking face was priceless!” You let yourself smile at that, then you start laughing at the memory, the disoriented deer in the headlights look flashing in your mind.

“Yeah, it was pretty good. Then I kicked him in the ‘nads for good measure.” You’re both almost doubled over in laughter at the confession, your chest beginning to ache from laughing so hard. As you both settle down, taking deep breaths, Eddie put both of his hands on your face.

“God, you’re so amazing. Have I told you that today?” He leans in and gives you a sweet kiss on your mouth, both of you smiling.

“I don’t think so, so maybe you should tell me again just to make up for it,” You say playfully. Eddie gives another chuckle.

“You. Are. So. Amazing.” Each word is punctuated with a kiss, first to your forehead, then your nose, then your cheek, then your lips again. You giggle as he pulls away, and as you reach for him, you hiss in pain. Wrong hand, again. “Okay, come on, Street Fighter, let’s get to the diner so we can get you some ice, okay?” He kisses your forehead once more.

“Sounds good to me.” You let Eddie pick up your bag and toss it into the backseat before he opens your door and helps you in, even going so far as to buckle your seatbelt for you. Then, he makes his way to the driver side and starts up the car, loud rock music blasting from the speakers as the radio powers on.

If Jason was what you should be looking for in a man, you’re perfectly happy in the “wrong” place. Maybe Eddie does have you under some kind of spell, but only if satanic is spelled L-O-V-E.

#eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader fluff #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fic #stranger thing s4 #eddie stranger things

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dream-critical · 1 year

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haiii :) okay so this is a bit off-topic for the present discourse but i just discovered this account and wanted to anon air some thoughts ive been having about This Fuckin Guy. its all probably been said before in some capacity, but yeah (tws for grooming, SA allusion)

the way dream has taken advantage of his fame is genuinely so fascinating. re: dnf, rpf of internet creators is obviously not a new thing online (also wrt lack of boundaries between a fan community and creator) but i’ve never seen a creator encourage their own sexualization the way he has. i used to think it was hysterical the way he publicly liked fanart of himself which clearly played into his conceit of being hyper-masculinized beside a hyper-feminized george. but again, after the grooming allegations dropped, it was hard not to see this behaviour in an even more sinister light than just that he’s an egotist who’s making money off of marketing his own fetishization. like it reminded me that behind all that fanart and fanfic were mostly young girls (a fact which is very Focal in the discourse), so what are the chances that played into his “enjoyment” of it.

desensitizing a victim to sexual contact is a major grooming tactic. putting it this way, he was basically cultivating a massive following of young (most underage) girls, “mass-groomed” to view him sexually and thereby predicate inappropriate sexual exchanges on an individual level as we saw him do on snapchat. with the way he’s infantilized by fans (but also by antis who, reasonably, call him out as a juvenile idiot) its easy to miss how this man’s career seems engineered to be a tremendous abuse of power against vulnerable young people. and its crazy because I feel like its on a level and in a medium which is heretofore unexplored; unbreached by law or comprehensive understandings of what “violence” and “abuse” can entail when it takes place in online communities such as this.

needless to say, as an ex-dsmp fan, im still transfixed by the goings-on of the community. i wish outsiders didn’t so often discredit the situation as “mcyt cringe” or trivial discourse among teenage stans who “deserve it” for falling in with this shitty guy. i feel like we’re watching a massive group be Actively Victimized, but its getting caught up in vitriolic alliances on the discourse front. like gen q, is it more constructive to indict dnf fangirls as individual perverts, or to indict the man at the centre of the cult of personality which enabled this behaviour to set the stage for his abuse/manipulation/etc.?

anyway. hope this qsmp situation finally fuckin shoots his career in the foot cause i’m getting tired of praying on his downfall.

(and thanks for running this blog. it must be draining, hope you’re taking care of yourself :) )

im a veteran follower of dream discourse and i can honestly say every single time something big happens everyone think this will be the end of his career. surely this has got to be the breaking point.

but it never is. and maybe it never will be. for the exact reasons he is famous, his fanbase. like you said, though i wouldn’t say groom is necessarily the word, dream built his fanbase to be the way it is, loyal and unquestioning of him. as long as he has a substantial fanbase who will defend and follow him no matter what, it doesn’t matter what he does, there will never be a downfall because he’d repeatedly shot himself in the foot and then have his army of professional dick riders to heal it.

at this point, it would be more likely that dream eventually fade out. his fanbase will grow up, get older, more responsibilities, and eventually they’ll forget about him. and there won’t be a generation to follow them because dream’s content would start to become irrelevant to the soon-to-be teenagers who are his main demographics. in 1 to 2 years time, he’ll be a used to be big-shot mcytber who now averages 200k views per video and his content would have become so generalised that you wouldn’t be able to recognise him and neiltheminecraftgamer or some other mediocre typical gaming channel specifically targeting kids.

#cyanide.txt #asks #anonymous #dream critical #dream neg #cc critical

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mally0 · 6 days

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Out of the Frying Pan

Introduction | Chapter 1

TW: Blood, guts, and cannibalism. Bugs in the mouth stuff. Vomit. Allusions to SA. Murder.

This is the beginning of a novel I’ve been cooking up. There is, of course, a main plot that hasn’t been revealed yet. I promise.

Set Burner to High Heat

Perhaps my time is short, perhaps I have all the time in the world. I am Gormica, a golem of flesh, iron, and fire. I return to this world for my one constant purpose.

Someone has to die.

There’s a meddler out there, threatening to bend reality with their twisted magics. It will not stand.

As for a status report, I don’t know who I’m hunting. I remember bits of my previous lives, but this land is strange and changed. I can smell the spirit of the Chimera alive in Castille, the Iron City. I’m sure the target is here.

When I first woke, I was in the roots of a burning tree, half buried in the muck of a still pond. I tore myself from the ground, the old tree tumbled over with a splash. A dark stain crept into the pool’s green waters around the tree’s smoldering carcass. I rushed to the water’s edge and hacked up what must have been a barrel full of black mud and crawling, nasty vermin. I hate centipedes. There were some in my mouth.

My reflection in the pool settled to what it had always been. My black iron helm still had the vague approximation of a face burnt through by my violet, flaming eyes. I moved my neck, creaking and shrieking against untold years of rust. The plates desperately needed a drink. I looked around for my weapon. By magical contract, no part of me can be separated from the whole.

Across the pool, I spotted the shape of a skeleton engulfed in purple fire. I was still groggy, but it didn’t take me long to crunch the numbers. The flames whirling around its shape surged upward, igniting more of the weeping trees leaning over the pond. Mounds of flaming bagworms fell. Fish thrashed and floundered in the pond below. The greenery screamed and split against the inferno. It was a picture of the end times, all encased in this little clearing in the swamp.

I struggled to my feet, and the skeleton ran off. The flames lowered to a flicker. I hauled my clattering legs around the pond and something in my mail must have caught.

I fell face first into the ashy mud. By the time I got my bearings back, a storm conveniently came along to put out the flames.

To my understanding, I have been held together absolutely by magical contract. That’s how it’s always been. I live to hunt, and when I find my quarry, I die. I have always had my trusty weapon at my side.

I lost track of the skeleton. I haven’t been able to find my ax. It disturbs me.

I’d like to be up front with you, reader. I was initially formed in the leagues of a necromancer’s army. I’m not that monster anymore. I was raised as a weapon of war, but I’m determined to do good with the fleeting glances of life I’m gifted with.

I’m afraid that skeleton is a part of me.

I doubt that it’s my target. That would be silly. I doubt that it’s a problem that’s going to fix itself, however. I also have a feeling that my target and that dreg that crawled out of me are connected.

I set off in search of civilization. I’m sure that’s not the last I’ve seen of the flaming skeleton, anyway. I have dubbed this demon ‘Frailty.’ This name is my hex upon it. When my blade meets its skull, it will find it a most fitting title.

______________________________________________________________

This is a recipe for a mess.

A Dozen Eggs, Scrambled

Diced Onions and Hash Browns in Olive Oil

Slap Ya’ Mama

Salt and Pepper

Mix it All Together

Seared Until the Ends are Black

Top with Cheese

Let it Melt

Serve and Enjoy

Out of the Frying Pan

______________________________________________________________

Well, can I tell you a secret? I know you're not gonna believe this But something happened to me last night And I may never be the same again

–“NBTSA,” Joyce Manor

A Dozen Eggs, Scrambled

I woke up one day to find that the old song was true. There were worms in me. I could feel them burrowing and squirming in and around my nose, in my head. I doubt they were playing pinochle.

I can only hope you’ve never felt something so terrible. If you’ve ever felt something unwanted digging around in your head, then you know what kind of thrashing I did that morning.

The wood was soft. The dirt that poured in was hard, and cold. Icy rocks were like razors against my fingertips. My nails split, I lost some in the climb. The heavy coat I was laid down in was no help. It caught against the earth, but I was in no place to take it off.

Crawling out of the grave took everything from me and bringing Kit’s old coat asked even more. Somehow, I found a way.

There was a standing pool in the graveyard, and I sprinted to it. I threw myself into the water and I could feel its chill burning against my skin. The water went into my nose, into my head. It itched, and I couldn’t help but scratch and scrub at it feverishly. The worms struggled and died against it. Only I walked out of that horrible bath.

. . .

I was finally able to get my bearings. The sky was a pale gray, the sun was a bleary light behind a veil of winter. The trees were gnarled, and bare. The grass was dead, but there were many graves decorated with still living flowers.

There’s an old Castellan folk belief that those who die without a proper funeral are given one by the earth. Flowers are said to grow from the corpse, reflective of what kind of person they were in life. It made me wonder if there were any flowers on my grave.

I had left it a mess, but I didn’t see any flowers or wax paper scraps in the mounds of dirt. My headstone looked affordable, which brought me some comfort. We were never rich, and the last thing I would have wanted was for Kit to go bankrupt over my carelessness. I looked at the sensible concrete slab.

Culita Speardragon

‘Cuffs’

Here lies the greatest detective to ever live.

Born November 6, 20XX. Died October 31, 202X.

A withering vine of bleeding hearts crawled across the marker. The Speardragon Foundation’s emblem was stamped into the concrete’s face, just above my name. There was no shine to the headstone, even in the pale light. It made me wonder if there ever was one.

My hands weren’t rotting. I pinched my cheek, and it snapped back to my face. It was warm, even. I touched my nose, and there was only a dull pain in the place where it used to be. There was a tickle, like the writhing of worms. I scratched at it, and it stopped.

I went back to the pool. Everything else was the same, greasy black hair, a constant scowl on my lips, red eyes with heavy bags under them. The big sleep was no help for those.

There was a hole in the middle of my face. I tried not to look at it.

I wiped the blood from my nose. Only, it wasn’t there.

It curdled like old paint.

It was very dark.

. . .

I could hear the pop behind me, just before I died. I don’t remember hitting the ground.

I was running towards the Speardragon Foundation. That’s the detective agency I worked at. Kit took me in when I was little and taught me the tricks of the trade. I guess I was like his sidekick.

It was Halloween. I was on Rummy Street. There were freezing cold puddles and slush all over the cobble sidewalk. The crowd of costumed freaks was dense. I slipped and took a kid Dracula down with me. I remember hoping the guy chasing me would just fall and crack his head. I’m pretty sure it was a guy, based on the huffing I heard. I never got a look at his face.

I had an envelope. I vaguely remember investigating the mayor’s office, something about a big land grab. Terrible, but hardly anything unheard of. People have certainly died over less.

I tried to drink from the pool, to have anything to fill my empty stomach. I retched it back up. It burned like a cold fire. I could feel my lips begin to crack. My stomach growled.

I had the strangest craving for hardboiled eggs.

I hopped over the graveyard’s fence. There was an archway leading out to a dirt road, into the woods. The archway read “LONESOME HILL.” Reading that brought a morbid smile to my lips. Kit used to tell me ghost stories of this place all the time.

It was a long walk back to town, but I’d come out to this place enough times growing up. I tried to summon up the old ghosts from Kit’s stories. A train had torn through an orphanage that once stood here. He showed me the kids’ graves, but they were so old the names had all eroded away. I still believed him.

Me and this guy named Dante brought a Ouija Board out here one night. That’s when I learned that there really was no such thing as ghosts. We sat on a headstone that had a cold concrete bench, with the crickets and lightning bugs. We were out there until 3am like idiots.

That’s when I got my first kiss. It was alright, I was completely surprised when he asked me if I wanted to make out. As a detective I like to think I’ve always had a good ear for things that go unsaid, but I didn’t pick up on anything like that with Dante. I don’t know, maybe I was just young. I didn’t see other people like that.

I knew that I had wasted that night though, at least I got a little something out of it.

The dirt road eventually emptied out into a highway. I passed by a substation I didn’t remember. Soon enough I was walking through a completely new suburb. The city seemed to have expanded out quite a ways, while I slept.

It really did look more like a city now, too. I could see a pretty remarkable skyline on the horizon. I recognized the Ferris wheel on the docks, the observatory’s dome, but there were some new towers in between them.

I’ve always called Premier a city, but everyone else calls it a small town. All my life, the population was never under 30,000. I don’t know how they kept that mentality up for so long. It choked out the town’s potential. Nothing to do but work in the mines and get drunk or get into trouble.

The streetlights were different from before. They used to cast a hazy, buzzing orange light over the street. It made it very foreboding. Nowadays, a pure white light spread quite evenly across his face as he crossed the street towards me.

“Hey, hon! Do you got a light?”

He was dirty enough to have come fresh from the mine, but there was no telling where he’d been. I kept walking, I tried to pt a little more direction in my meandering steps.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” He grabbed me from behind and spun me around. Once he saw my face, his tone changed considerably.

“Oh, erm,” he blustered, and sheepishly backed away. “Sorry, I thought you was someone else.” He jogged back across the street. As I watched him gain speed, something in me clicked. Or, snapped, rather.

By the time he glanced over his shoulder, I was already upon him. This time I grabbed him from behind, right around the trunk in a bearhug. He yelped out in shock, and I threw him to the ground with a firm twist of the hips. I heard his skull bounce against the black pavement.

I dropped my full weight upon him, and he screamed. He struggled, but I placed a knee between his shoulder blades and grabbed his hair with two clenched fists. I yanked his neck back, and I sent it with all my light.

The second time I heard his skull hit the pavement, he gasped and gargled. There was blood on his face.

The third time I bounced it against the ground, I felt the bone give. Like, when you break open a hardboiled egg. I gripped the edge of the fractured shell and peeled back. It took more effort than an egg might have.

I couldn’t stop myself. His screams had long since stopped. My arms and face were covered in deep red syrup, and I pulled fistful after greedy, starving fistful of grey matter from the shattered egg on the street. It even tasted like scrambled eggs. Not exactly fluffy, more like clumped up mounds of lukewarm noodles with an eggy sauce all over and in them. The occasional springy bit of cartilage and small bones vaguely reminded me of orange juice with pulp, all of these varied flavors and textures at once.

When there was no more, I broke off a piece of skull and set to licking at the interior.

Suddenly, I came to my senses. At least, I started to feel bad.

With my stomach full after decades, I was full of so much energy. I felt like I could sprint through a building, so, I ran back the way I came.

I crawled back into my grave dirt. I laid there feeling sorry for myself, hoping no one would ever find me, and that this was but another hellish hallucination.

In time, the winter’s pale sun rose and shined down on me. I heard what must have been the footsteps of the groundskeeper. I heard the click of a double barrel closing. I heard a voice.

“Holy shit, Cuffs?”

I buried my face and arms in the dirt. “Keep away. Don’t look at me,” I sobbed through mouthfuls of earth.

The voice began to pray, and I heard the hammers. I decided to sneak a glance, before I got what I deserved. He was a tall, lanky guy. Heavy, long black hair fell in a mop around his broad shoulders. It had practically become a mane.

“Dante?” I said.

He looked up. I was sure it was him.

“Please don’t kill me,” I said. It was crazy. My guilt ridden conscience wanted to die, but there was something in me that burned, something that wanted to smash the skull of whoever did this to me.

He didn’t say anything for a long while. It's still tough to pull words out of him.

I’m not dead, I’m chained up in his basement.

It’s ok, I asked for this.

______________________________________________________________

Please, bring me to silence Before I'm brought to ash End all my violence Bring me to silence That will last

-“Bring me to Silence,” Fievel Is Glauque

What’s next for OUT OF THE FRYING PAN???

Cuffs starts seeing the shadow of a man in a coat and a hat in the corner of her eye after her first night in the basement.

And then, Zorc and Tilde go a-grave robbin, and they end up whacking Dante over the head! They decide to raid his stuff, and OMG! There’s a girl locked up down here! They take her in, Cuffs reluctantly joins them in a heist. A freaky zombie girl would never do as a cop, right?

Meanwhile, Gormica’s wrecking shop with some spooky monsters all across the ruintown. He fondly remembers a fella named Kit Speardragon. Cuffs’ adoptive dad-tective. Thing is, when Cuffs died, Kit was old. Real old. Now, it’s twenty years after the fact.

Legally speaking, none of the artists whose lyrics are featured are affiliated with OUT OF THE FRYING PAN. Anyone who assumes otherwise is a FOOL.

#writeblr #writing #creepypasta #fiction #original post #short story #romantic #my art #art #fantasy #urban fantasy #mythical creatures #monsters #novel #novel writing #novella #readers

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wortsandall · 27 days

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The Others- the lies we tell ourselves au

masterpost | prev

very iffy on writing this one as I feel like no one cares because I'm basically inserting oc's into canon but that's what au's are for! and yall might not care but I care so I'm sharing it anyway!

under the cut is an introduction to leo's and rose's backstory and role in the moon knight system and how their existence affects the boys dynamic with each other and the system as a whole

tw for allusions to abuse, sa, and self-harm

starting with leo:

essentially he is a teen alter whose trauma stems from the time that marc was in and out of psych wards as a teenager. one aspect that he and marc share is not understanding or realizing that what happened during that was traumatic even if it's different ways. namely for marc, because of his amnesia surrounding it he genuinely doesn't know that anything unsavory had happened. on the other hand leo holds most of those memories (shared with jake) and due to being a teenager he doesn't understand the impact it has on him nor does he see anything wrong with conceptually.

in my head, marc most likely had a fragment around the time that his mother started her abuse whose sole purpose was to not piss her off. I feel like parts of this fragment would be incorporated into steven as time went on and the parts that steven didn't take would end up being leo when they are teens.

as a fragment-the goal was to do whatever they could do to please their mom and part of that came with the idea of longing for affection/love instead of the negative attention. so the fragment would also occasionally front while at school in order to get praise from teachers as a replacement for the lack of parental praise. which as steven continued to grow into his own person, the parts longing for that praise and attention started to exist solely for that.

enter the psych ward: and this fragment, now leo, starts to become more of a full fledged alter as the system needed someone to go to their therapy sessions as steven and jake were not suited for it. so it was leo and marc in most of the sessions (though marc only has vague memories) and jake hold memories of any fights due to being a gatekeeper knows what both marc and leo were doing. and the desperate attempts for attention and praise unfortunately made leo an easy target for those in the psych field who joined not to help people but to have easier access to vulnerable populations.

due to them being in the psych ward for long periods + the periods of time they were in regular therapy from like 13-18, leo is an age sliding alter. he will always be a teenager but his maturity ranges particularly because there's such a developmental difference between someone who is 13 versus 17/18. he also has two different abusers, one someone from the psych ward and another the therapist they were given once they left.

leo has a lot of anger because of his circumstances. specifically towards marc and jake for removing themselves from therapy. as it removed leo from a consistent form of praise and affection that he wasn't getting anywhere else. he ends up as a persecutor alter because of this. any attempt to remove or challenge his view of things leads to leo lashing out against marc and jake in ways that harm the system and body. the second part of my au/series goes deep into detail here on the dynamics between the system so I don't want to spoil it here. but steven and rose are the only alters that leo currently likes and gets along with.

I do think that over time leo will not be a persecutor anymore and come to understand that the choices that marc and jake were made for the betterment of everyone in the system and not to hurt leo. and that he's better off now because of those choices. in the end he helps out with various smaller roles in the system like helping to take care of rose as well as any task that any of the other alters aren't able to do.

overall I think that the moon knight system is terrible at recognizing triggers so leo helps with specific triggers that they never realized they had as well as helping the system become less touch starved overall. he'll also learn to move towards a middle ground rather than swing from one extreme to another.

now for rose:

unfortunately she has a smaller role but that's due to her age. I stumbled onto the knowledge of an alter in the moon knight comics referred to only as "Inner Child" and that's how I got my inspiration for rose. she is a little around the age of 7-9 years old.

in this au, rose is actually the first alter to form but one of the last that marc realizes exists. mostly because DID forms from severe repeated childhood trauma. getting blamed for your brothers death and then being abused for it certainly fits the criteria. and I understand that DID is caused by any severe childhood abuse, but one of the main traumas that people with DID share is sexual trauma/abuse. and I wanted to explore that specifically because it's less talked about with male victims. and I imagine someone like marc and jake would struggle with that knowledge and I again wanted to explore how that would affect existing dynamics and relationships.

on to rose specifically, in Marc's memory it seemed that his parents had a good relationship with each other and they seemed fairly happy. I think I mentioned this in another post, but I Imagine they used to go on dates and leave Marc and his brother with a babysitter and that was normal. writing this out, now I'm imagining they had a dedicated babysitter who moved or went off to college or something so they had a new one. and with the new one is where the trouble started.

I imagine this was maybe 1-3 years before Randall's death and stopped right around that time. as the parents struggled with grief that made their relationship falter and then the way Marc was treated by his mother, there just wasn't much need for one anymore.

rose's personality is world's different from the rest of the system. she's very shy and reserved. she's actually selectively mute and tends to prefer being on her own. she is a girl, but looks androgynous. when marc first meets her, he's unsettled by her presence and her general vibe. but she's very sweet when she's comfortable enough to talk to you. she mostly interacts with jake and leo due to not really fronting and staying in their inner space.

in the beginning rose fronted more often without marc realizing it due to their age. he has no memory of this but they actually went to speech therapy for a couple months (before randall's death) because rose would front and not speak which their father was concerned about. she only speaks when she feels safe, and due to not feeling safe due to her trauma when fronting, she really ends up speaking in the inner space. the first time she speaks when fronting is something very serious as it shows how comfortable and safe she feels. (it'll probably be around layla)

rose's trauma probaby won't ever be in extreme detail but jake does know and it might come up when it's his pov. leo knows the basics as well so if he ever gets a chapter, it might pop up.

rose turning up in the system is a sign of positive growth for them. her starting to front more and be allowed to act like a child will show their healing journey. as well as their ability to be a more cohesive system

jake treats her like a daughter and is very protective. a sentiment that leo shares, though it is an older brother kind of protectiveness. leo likes jake more than marc only because of his treatment of rose. rose and leo are kind of inseparable due to being in the inner space most of the time and only fronting on rare occasions. though rose rarely wants to or tries, while leo is constantly fighting jake for more time to front.

steven takes both to leo and rose very quickly. though he lacks experience with children and ends up more of an awkward uncle, but it's endearing to them. rose does not recognize steven as a threat in any capacity. but it did take her time to warm up to both marc and jake. she's more wary of marc than jake which marc is originally baffled by. he then chalks it up due to proximity basis which is true but not the whole truth. but marc's relationship with rose will be explored. for now-he has no idea what to think of her and tends to steer clear as her existence makes him uncomfortable which he feels guilty about.

#tlwto au #moon knight #moon knight system #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant #tlwto rose alter #tlwto leo alter #my writing

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