#neglect can also be a sign of abuse if it gets out of control
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Sad headcanon:
When on the way to Hogwarts once what if Harry told the Weasleys everything about the Durselys. How they’d starved him, neglected him etc.
While Fred, George, Percy listen on in horror, they demand why Ron hasn’t told them anything to which Ron replies he didn’t see anything wrong with it.
Reusing old smelly clothes instead of buying new ones? That’s all Ron practically owns.
Dudley bullying Harry? Not worse than some of the pranks the twins have pulled on him. He just assumed that was a sibling thing.
Having a small cupboard for a living area and a family that forgot about him? Ron practically wrote the book on that. He’s slept in places smaller than that on several occasions when others came to visit.
That’s why he didn’t press much when Harry said his uncle wouldn’t care of everything he’s achieved at Hogwarts or how many times he’s risked his life.
Because sometimes, Ron cant help but feel the same too.
#harry potter#george weasley#headcanons#fred weasley#percy weasley#ron weasley#sad headcanon Harry Potter#you cant tell me Ron didn’t feel like a spare wheel in his family sometimes#neglect can also be a sign of abuse if it gets out of control
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I just got out of my psychology class and I kept having thoughts about Leon and how his mind works. Here’s a psychoanalysis on Leon bc I truly do like how his brain works:
TW: mentions of mental illnesses, substances, substance abuse, suicide. (Guys- I am not a medical psychologist or a medical psychiatrist. This is strictly based on my psychology class, take this with a grain of salt.)
Leon suffers from Combat and Violence Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). This type of PTSD (because there’s subcategories) is most often common in veterans and in men.
More often than not, one can tell when someone’s suffering PTSD (flat voice, substance abuse, inability to sleep, change in personality, etc.)
Leon in RE2/RE2R didn’t necessarily show signs of PTSD until after the events took place. Leon was too busy trying to survive that his brain shut off the emotions he was feeling “in the heat of the moment.” He was scared but it was his survival instinct that allowed him (or the player) to move forward. Hence why I think he also suffered from Depression and Acute Stress Disorder (ASD).
ASD is commonly found in patients with PTSD, ASD is kind of like the first stage after a traumatic event took place. PTSD victims often find themselves having frequent panic attacks. I think it would be safe to assume that Leon in RE2/RE2R had several panic attacks during or after Raccoon City. I don’t think he’d go to therapy/psychiatrist/psychologist because in RE4R he stated that he immediately got called to the White House after he survived RC. And this is where I think it got worse.
RE4 and RE4R both portray very distinct Leon characters. One is more “fine” than the other in short words. Leon in RE4og doesn’t necessarily show signs of having mental issues but maybe he’s just good at masking them. Leon in RE4og often finds himself being very witty or very lean back. He’s less serious but I think it’s a coping mechanism. Up to that point in his life, he’s been in very serious situations that I think this is his way of gaining some of that control he lost when the virus first started. His brain is fighting battles of being in control or letting others control him. In this case- the situation is controlling him. He wants to have that sense of individuality and most of the time this is a coping mechanism. To gain back some of the things he’s lost in the process.
In RE4R, however (and I’m going to be very bold with this one), we don’t know much about how he feels. He is flat and his demeanor is distant to an extent. I’ve noticed a few changes to him from when he first started the game to where the player made it halfway. In the beginning of the game (when he’s with the two Spanish cops) he’s similar to RE4og- sarcastic and a little unserious. Which can be guessed as his normal personality. He doesn’t really show how much he’s actually been through with those two strangers. He’s got better things to worry about- he neglects his own issues. When he tries to find Ashley and he sees the zombies again- his PTSD gets triggered and it makes him be able to pull the trigger (aside from the player lol) There are few types of reactions when PTSD gets triggered and I think Leon’s reaction is a bit depressing.
When Leon sees these zombies again, his brain automatically jumps back to the memories of Raccoon City and almost immediately finds himself back in his former self’s shoes. But he doesn’t have time to linger, he forces those thoughts away and keeps going. I don’t think he wants to have time to think about what just happened because he’s often trying to keep his brain occupied “sorry, must’ve slipped” or any other phrase he says makes me believe that he’s just trying to make himself laugh (because believe it or not, laughter really does help with mental issues) or he’s trying to make the situation seem lighter. Or maybe he’s in denial, his brain hasn’t processed that the same thing that happened in RC is happening all over again. And when you’re in denial, you are repressed. Sigmund Freud said that repression is when someone turns something (trauma, thoughts, events, feelings) away. They deliberately choose to cast their thoughts and feelings aside. Leon bottles his emotions, it’s his defense mechanism. He doesn’t smoke (as mentioned in the game) nor does he drink (there’s a Reddit post that perfectly summed it up for me) He knows substances aren’t good for you and the fact that he’s against them makes me believe that he has other ways of dealing with PTSD such as exercise. I’m not saying this just because Leon looks very built, I want to think that maybe half the reason he works out isn’t just for his job. I think it also because it helps him mentally.
Mobility, sleep, and nutrition are the most important things to keep yourself mentally and physically healthy.
I’ll get on to RE6 because in that game, he pulled a 180 imo. RE6 Leon is more empathetic. He cares about the people that could’ve survived. He suffers from survivor’s guilt. After RE4/RE4R, Leon probably became more aware of his struggles and has tried to deal with them. He’s become more human, he’s allowed himself to feel human. He’s still the same serious guy with the flat effect but he’s becoming more open about his thoughts and feelings. I think the game is trying to hint at us that MAYBE he’s getting better. (Guys this is a stretch okay. RE6 is lowkey messy)
Now on to the films (I’ve done the liberty of researching a ‘order’ of when these may have taken place and not by the release date order so you guys won’t get confused):
ID Leon: He’s very compassionate in this one. He has a sense of self righteousness but I know why. He wants to make up for the losses of the people he’s seen die. He wants to fight against the corporation and wants to end the spread (submarine scene when he talks about RC) He wants to make up for what he couldn’t save. (Hence why he didn’t give Claire the chip- he wanted to protect her because he cares for her)
Degeneration Leon: Protection can only go a long way. Leon is more… assertive in his objectives, if you will. He’s back in his RE4 days in other words (any of the two games tbh, this Leon is complex) Leon wants to keep fighting for his cause. Not only is he forced to be a soldier for the government but he also has found a drive. All his pent up PTSD and trauma has shifted into something else. If no one could’ve been the hero then HE’LL be the hero himself, does that make sense?
Damnation Leon: Haha Russia go brr (sorry) Again, he’s become more chill. When he’s with JD, he’s funny but still cautious (bc let’s be honest, JD could’ve still shot his ass) nothing much to comment, I think he’s been consistent since Degeneration.
Vendetta Leon: NOW WE GETTING JUICY. This man- this Leon is the epitome of what a relapse does to you. Leon is seen drinking away his problems. He’s relapsed back into the mentality where his brain is finally processing everything. He’s even tried to attempt suicide- that’s how bad he got. His PTSD, his ASD, depression (bc you can’t tell me he didn’t have depression) it all came back to him and it made him feel shitty. He lost his power over himself, he no longer feels useful. He feels empty and broken. That’s sh he drowns himself in his own sorrows. Because he’s learned that if you drink until you pass out, you don’t dream. He doesn’t sleep- no. He’d rather black out because when you’re in an unconscious state, you don’t dream at all. You’re simply just lying there on the floor with your eyes closed. And that’s the feeling Leon wants to feel. He wants to forget everything for one minute and just calm down. And alcohol does that to you, that’s why people with PTSD become addicted to substances.
DI Leon: homeboy somehow got better (I’ve yet to watch DI lol) but from what I’ve seen, he’s definitely back to his “normal” self. He probably learned that maybe living life is the best thing. That if his attempt would’ve succeeded, then he wouldn’t have been able to live to his fullest. Regret makes people do a lot of things and I think Leon matured and learned.
#leon kennedy#leon s kennedy#leon scott kennedy#resident evil#id leon kennedy#di leon#re2 leon#re4 leon#leon kennedy headcanons#leon kennedy angst#resident evil 4#re4r leon#re2r leon#resident evil angst#re4 remake#re2 remake
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i get a lot of people telling me how patient and kind i am in interactions with people where they address me in an angry, upset, or argumentative manner, and i'm glad that it's something you appreciate about me because i do think it's one of my better qualities and i'm proud to have developed that kind of control over my temper (especially since i've struggled with healthy emotional regulation, particularly regulating my expressions of anger and distress, for most of my life due to abuse and neglect) but i do want to emphasize that it's okay to get angry sometimes. it's healthy to get angry and upset sometimes.
it's not healthy or good for anyone (but especially you yourself) to suppress your emotional responses to the point of flat out never allowing yourself to express them. it's not a sign of strength to avoid acknowledging your honest feelings. catharsis is necessary sometimes. and it can hurt other people who have less of an iron control over their emotions to suppress your own, especially if you lash out unpredictably because you've held back necessary hurt and let it fester, or if you weaponize that control you have against opponents in confrontations in order to portray them as irrational and overruled by their emotions (which is also very manipulative, and a trap you can fall into without realizing if you refuse to be self-aware about your emotions).
i choose to respond to people with kindness and patience most of the time because i feel that in too many interactions online anger and retaliation are unnecessary knee-jerk responses that tend to only make things worse and leave people resentful and unwilling to communicate with or listen to one another, but if i ever need to express my anger or hurt with someone, i am more than willing to. i just prefer to ask myself whether i actually need to react that way before i do - or if i need to express that hurt on the internet when i might be able to deal with it more productively in private. but i do feel anger, and pain, and i get hurt and cry sometimes - i just don't always show it on social media, because it's a semi-public space where it isn't always appropriate or comfortable for me to do so. so i don't want to give the impression that you shouldn't allow yourself to feel those things. you can, and you should. it's not weakness to let yourself cry or get mad. even online.
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I know I keep posting about this, and it's absolutely becoming my Thing, but I keep getting into arguments about it, and I have to keep saying: It just KEEPS being absolutely BONKERS to me that "raise the age of majority"/"young adults should be considered children" is considered a QUEER FRIENDLY position in QUEER circles. Not only because denying agency to queer youth is both a current and historical queerphobic argument, but also, because queer youth are disproportionately likely to be abused, rejected, or estranged by their families of origin, and thus, to be materially harmed, not only by the egregiously dehumanizing status of minorhood until they're 18, but also, later as young adults, by financial policies that won't let them, for example, apply for aid or sign leases without their parents. And for people who profess to be so worried about young adults getting into abusive or exploitative relationships with older partners, there is a shocking lack of awareness that a leading cause of such relationships (that are abusive/exploitative and also involve age difference; I'm not accepting the premise that all age-difference relationships are abusive/exploitative) is such relationships being the only way young people can escape the control of their parents.
I could understand the naivete of this position if it were held by people with unusually accepting and supportive parents, people who don't understand that such parents aren't the norm, but no, people will straight out say "My parents were/are abusive/estranged, and also, I shouldn't have been considered a legal adult until I was 24."
Some of them try to square this circle with "18-20something people should be considered children, but children should have more rights than they currently have," yet without seeming to realize the absolute sub-basement level of rights that minors currently have. I saw one person espousing this position give the example that underage teens "Can work, go to the store, and date other teens" within limits -- but neglected to mention that the unspoken clause in this is "if their parents let them."
"I was emotionally immature when I was 22." Friend, let me stop you right there. Let's set aside the problems with the social construction of "emotional (im)maturity" and how it relates to classism and capitalism -- if that's true, do you not realize that your "emotional immaturity" was/is a direct result of being developmentally inappropriately controlled? If you're "emotionally immature" at 22, it's because you're just beginning the individuation process you should've been doing 5-10 years prior.
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Halloween prompts no. 14
Danny gets thrown into the Blue Exorcist universe, saw how Rin was being treated and straight up kidnapped him when no one was looking and took him to another dimension/reality/whatever to keep him safe.
Rin, as you can imagine, doesn't take kindly to being kidnapped and tries to roast Phantom. The fact neither understands the others language did not help. Danny, taking a gamble, dropped his phantom form and raised his hands in surrender.
Rinse eyebrow twitched and he asked wtf he thought he was doing. Danny got an idea and raised a finger ask if asking one moment please before bringing out his phone and typing into Google Translate.
Things go better after that, Rins still kinda mad and demanded to be taken home but Danny refused, saying he wasn't going to send him back to a place that would treat him like that! The fight escalated until Danny confessed he died because people ignored the abuse and neglect from his home situation and he terrified Rin will face a similar fate. This finally took the wind out of Rins sails. Rin comforts Danny who may or may not be crying.
This is when the local heros show up because it turns out they landed in the dc universe. They realize they've pretty much melted part of the city they were in during thier fight and scram before anyone can get a good look at them. They're branded as mysterious villains almost immediately.
Danny and Rin take to stealing in order to survive and start teaching eachother thier language so they don't have to keep relying of the translation app. (Also they can't reliably recharge the phone) They're bonding and building up eachothers self esteem. Rin enjoys having someone who let's him protect them as a big brother should and Danny enjoys feeling safe and protected for once in his afterlife. They both start wearing masks and start stealing bigger marks as supervillians in order to survive.
The Justice League Dark is absolutely freaking out because why is a Gahena demon and some kind of Lazarus Pit child working together?? Demons from Gahena never come here cause they shouldn't even be able to and they had no idea Pit People even existed up until now. And why are they stealing such strange things? The bank robberies they understood but the baby food incident? (They stole a bunch of baby food to help the homeless and low income population) The lab thiefts? (Danny recognized the type of machine they were making was designed to be a portal when the press conference about it said nothing about portals. So he stole it and destroyed it cause it was sus.) The JLD knew they were missing something.
Batman himself eventually tracks them down and finds out
1. They are 14 and 15 year olds.
2. Both are traumatized
3. Black hair blue eyes
4. Both have supernatural abilities they can't fully control
5. Both are very sweet and are being more vigilante than villain
Bruce has already mentally signed the adoption papers.
Unfortunately, Danny has bad memories of another billionaire who kept trying to adopt him and is avoiding both him both as Batman and as Bruce Wayne. The boys run in to Harley Quinn and she figured out these kids needed help. She aids in thier language endeavors and if the only reason she knows Japanese as well as she does is from her binging anime for a few months during a quarantine caused by Scarecrow then thats her business.
Anyway, she gives them not-therapy since she can't ethically give them therapy therapy and in exchange they pay her with cash they stole. Neato. Rin eventually gets onto an ADHD medication that suits him and he's doing so much better. He uses a lot of the coping skills aunt harley taught him and its like hes a totally different person. Granted Rin has to take an ungodly high dose for it to work due to his demonic heritage but they make due. They already rob banks, whats a few pharmaceutical companies?
Ivy and Harley pseudo adopt Rin and Danny and sometimes the boys would just come over to Gotham to hang out or play with the pets. Rin loves cooking and has taken over the kitchen in his and dannys safe houses. He does most of the cooking and keeps the kitchen spotless. Danny does the laundry and dusting and they share most other chores. Rins used to having Yukio sleeping in the same room as him so sometimes he sneaks into Dannys room in the middle of the night to sleep on the floor.
Danny keeps waking up and moving him to the bed. Neither say anything about it and Rin assumes he slept walked into the bed and flees before Danny can be woken up and weirded out. Miscommunication! Yay!
Meanwhile the birdie brigade are on thier tails and watching/spying on them every chance they get. They're already making preparations in the manor for two more people.
#blue excorsist#danny phantom#batman#justice league#the justice league#fanfiction prompts#prompts#dp x dc#danny fenton#bruce wayne#justice league dark#rin okumura#rin and danny deserve better#rin stress cooks#danny is overprotective#but so is rin#there is fire everywhere for about a fifth of the fic#can be danny x rin i guess#but i was thinking they would be brothers#Yukio would not recognize a properly medicated Rin#those meds calm you tf down its wild#im looking forward to Rin going back to school and just finally understanding whats being taught#he comes home with his first 98 on a math test in years and cries into someone chest about him really NOT being an idiot#protective siblings want to know who hurt him and all of the excorsist in assiah shivers in fear#halloween prompts
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how these mfs have you fucked up
read for a singular person if you’d like to
• pile one •
cards: knight of wands, king of wands, knight of swords, the emperor
for some reason, these people think that they can redirect your focus away from yourself and what you’ve got going on. what you’re building within your own life. your self-rulership is a trigger to them. your independence. your focus on asserting your wants and what you expect of your life and your desires. a lot of these people are very domineering and love to control people - but they obviously can’t with you. the way that they could try to redirect your energy is through petty gossip or trying to influence you to focus on shit that doesn’t benefit your personal growth. there’s self confidence that these people sense in you that is unmatched. for a lot of you, it’s your sexuality too. but whatever goals you have, you feel pretty capable of achieving them. and that’s why these mfs are intimidated. for those of you who are sex workers (i’m mainly seeing dominatrixes and onlyfans content creators), people are shocked at your energy of not giving af about being judged. i’m also seeing that a lot of you guys have smart ass mouths 😂 if someone’s got something to say to you, you’ll return their energy back to sender x5. you seem to be up on a figurative throne that nobody can get you off of. because you only listen to yourself and do what you want to do.
if you’d like a personal reading, please check out my pinned post 💞
• pile two •
cards: 4 of cups, 8 of cups, the hierophant, 10 of cups
these people really thought that your loyalty and commitments lied with them - despite them not giving you the emotional fulfilment that you needed and deserved. as if you’d never leave them in the dust like the dusties that they are. like you leaving was the most unrealistic thing. for some reason, these people felt like they had some imaginary ass authority over you - while doing nothing to deserve the respect of an authority figure. this could be a “parent” 😑. the fact that you’ve emotionally disconnected yourself from them and now that they see no signs of you giving af about their existence, now they’re feeling emotionally neglected. good for them. a lot of you have begun to build your dream life now that this person is no longer around you. this person knows that your connection to them is forever changed and transformed, whether they like it or not. but they have some delusional ass mindset where they have the power - somehow, in some way - to convince you to come back to them. this person may also have some sort of god-complex or they could use religion to emotionally abuse. Father God and Mother Gaia sure has something for this person - karma wise. especially Father Saturn (Satan)? yeah, this person has fucked up and they can go choke 🙃
if you’d like a personal reading, please check out my pinned post 💞
• pile three •
cards: page of cups, king of pentacles, 4 of pentacles (reversed), 9 of pentacles
these people don’t see the value in you. you may come across as very uplifting, unassuming, maybe even innocent. and because of this, these people have assumed that you have a lack of maturity within you. like you don’t seek stability in the connections that you invest into. little do they know that you take note of everything and gauge whether or not people are deserving enough of what you would give them if you were to actually take them seriously. they actually think that they’re someone who you value more than you value yourself. HA. bih please 😑. these people overestimate the importance that they have in your life. they could even assume that you have an unstable self esteem or something like that, and that you find validation in being likeable to other people, meaning that they assume that you’re easily played. but no. you’re just genuinely likeable. you’re not being a beg and a people pleaser by being nice to them. like, are these people okay or…? because ain’t no way someone being nice to you should gas you up that much. i’m sorry, that’s sad lmaoo. pray for these people y’all (if you want to 👀🤷🏾♀️). these people have now seen that the value that they once thought that they had in your life wasn’t that at all. they actually feel pretty dumb. pretty stupid. as they should. these people didn’t want to hold you down and give you any type of stability, thinking that it’s acceptable to be treating you like an option, or a “fun time” and shit, all because you were nice to them? so that must mean you’re dumb? dummies thinking they’re smart. damn 😪
if you’d like a personal reading, please check out my pinned post 💞
#pick a card#psychic readings#pick a photo#pac#tarot reading#divination#tarot#pick a picture#spirituality#pac reading#collective reading#intuitive#daily tarot#astrology#tarot cards#naya tarot collective#tarotcommunity#free tarot#tarot witch#intuition#tarotdaily
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Part 2: The Yes Basket ||John Price x Teen!Simon Riley||
Warnings: Mentions of drugs. Implied child neglect, explicit mentions of physical injury and abuse (1 sentence mentioning bruises and being underweight). All the angst. Talk of foster care and sibling separation. Mentions of military discharge and injury. Minors should not interact with this.
Words: 2236
Summary: John Price has had plenty of foster children before him and knows how to support most of the behaviour he sees. A simple trip to the supermarket unveils a deeper need for understanding than he originally thought, and John is left scrambling for answers Laswell won't give him.
Chapter 1: To Soothe A Soul Next Part (3): Dirty Laundry ->
Simon Riley is a ghost in his home.
He’s barely seen the boy since Laswell dropped him off last week. The lack of weight on him clearly works to his advantage for sneaking about the place because Price has been startled by his sudden appearance at least twice, and his instincts are usually pretty good at detecting anyone in his general vicinity. Either that, or Simon must have gotten good at creeping around. Perhaps it was safer that way in his former home, less noise less attention. All Price knows is that he only sees the boy when he’s eating his food or using his shower. He uses the shower a lot. He can’t tell if it’s a novelty thing that he never really had before or if it’s perhaps a psychological thing that needs a little more investigating, but the boy spends at least an hour a day scrubbing his skin raw in the tub, only to appear in the kitchen afterwards with a pink face and hands and stinking clothes that undo most of the work he’s just done.
He still won’t let Price wash anything in the bin bag.
Simon’s living out of it, he thinks. Not that he has any access to that room now. Simon barely cracks the door when he knocks on it to inform him dinner is ready or to ask if he wants to join him in watching a movie or something with Riley. He’s been gentle about his approach on it to, not outright disregarding his belongings as a filthy nuisance in his home but rather asking him how he can help him look after them. He’s been stealing food to. Light-fingered little bugger got away with it for almost 48 hours before Price realised his fruit bowl was suspiciously low on fruit. He’s had children in his care hoard food before, knows how to deal with it, so today, he’s dragging Simon out into the big wide world whether he likes it or not to solve the problem. The echo of his knock on the wood is met by complete silence behind the door, and Price still feels that prickle of dread when Simon cracks the door open just enough to stare him down as if he’s the intruder, somehow.
The whites of his eyes are only just whiter than the pallor of his skin.
“We’re going to head to the shops together, get some groceries in. Since I’ll be cooking for both of us I want you to give me an idea of what sort of things you like to eat. You’ve got 10 minutes to get yourself ready, alright?” Price doesn’t phrase it like a question, knowing the answer would absolutely be no if he asked. Simon barely blinks, a minor twitch of his brows showing his displeasure through a frown. Price waits him out, watch’s carefully for any sign of resistance. Seeing no way out, Simon finally acquiesces with a short nod, slamming the door shut between them both. Price let’s out a quiet breath and turns to head back downstairs, sure he’s going to have to come and get him when the 10 minutes he’s given him to get ready is up. It’ll serve two purposes, he thinks. If Simon takes a walk with him today then the boy will get a better lay of the land, have a bit more freedom to walk himself to the park maybe or walk himself to school, when the time comes for that, but it also means getting in food Simon can have control over. Speak of the devil.
Riley perks at his feet and trots happily to the boy as he stamps his feet into beat up trainers at the bottom of the stairs. The laces are threadbare at best and there’s holes in the outer skin that let Price know they’re no longer waterproof. Maybe when they have to tackle the issue of school uniform he can broach the topic of new shoes. Forcing himself up, Price moves to the coat rack and takes down Riley’s leash and harness, the German Shepherd waiting patiently to be belted up. Simon says nothing, hands stuffed deep in his pockets and eyes cast downward towards his feet. He doesn’t force the boy to break the silence, wondering if Simon is just a bit stunted in his social development or if there’s something greater at play. He never can tell, still doesn’t know him quite well enough.
He offers Simon the lead anyhow, and the boy takes it wordlessly, walking out alongside him and not waiting for him to lock the door behind them. Price has to catch up, and just about catches a glimpse of Simon slipping a black surgical mask over his face. Price’s brow furrows, a shudder rolling down his spine when he gets closer and sees the shoddily painted skeleton jaw painted on the front of the mask. It doesn’t feel like a fashion choice.
God kid, what the hell happened to you?
It’s like walking with the angel of death, even the breeze in the trees seem to fall silent in Simon’s presence. Price isn’t one to easily be unnerved, hell his job demanded he have nerves of steel, but something about Simon’s silent and foreboding presence makes him feel the need to fill the quiet space with noise.
“I’ve got a basic list, bread, milk, all that stuff, but once we’re in the shop you can give me an idea of what sort of dinner you like.” He said. Simon says nothing, of course. He gets a handful of looks from neighbourhood gossips but ignores them steadfastly. He’s like an omen of death, dressed in all black, hidden under baggy clothes, and…not reaching for a single bit of food. Price realises quickly that this is going to be harder than he originally thought. He feels like a phony Santa with the fake jolly attitude as he tries to suggest different things and is met by a shrug each time. He’s lost track of the amount of products he’s picked up in an attempt to sway him when Simon finally speaks ups.
“I don’t care.” The blunt and abrupt sentence is punctuated with a voice crack that makes the boy visibly cringe, as if the visible evidence of his youth is somehow a weakness he’s unwittingly shown. Price watches him for a long moment, head tilted and eyes squinting slightly.
“I do.” It’s a simply sentence, not one he packs a lot of emotion into, but it garners him the biggest reaction he’s had so far. Simon narrows his eyes. That eerie presence he exudes magnifies ten fold and almost tries to envelop Price, like a shadow has oozed from the boy and tried to poke and prod it’s way into Price’s very soul to examine the contents. He holds his gaze with the most neutral expression he can and pulls out his wallet to hold out a crisp ten pound note to the boy.
“This here is for you to go and get snacks with. We're going to make a yes basket. Anything you put in the basket, you can eat at any time. No permission needed, it's your food to eat as you please. The only rules for the basket are that whatever you buy fits within your budget, you need to buy a mix of junk food and healthy stuff, and it's only refilled when we go shopping on Saturday. If you eat it all by Wednesday there's no adding extra's too it until Saturday. If you do find it's empty and your still hungry, you can still eat the snacks in the kitchen cupboards, but we share those, so you need to ask permission before taking them. Understand?” his explanation is met with a further narrowing of the boys eyes, but Simon isn’t fool enough to look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever life he’s been raised in, Price gets the impression that reading and playing people, having street smarts, is something the boy prides himself on, and that’s what makes him snatch the money from his hand and stalk for the fruit aisle first.
Price doesn’t see that basket once it’s taken into his room, but his fruit bowl remains full. Whether or not he paces himself is beyond Price’s knowledge to, but he’s set the boundary and he’ll see soon enough if Simon’s pushed it. If the way he eats his dinner is any indication then he reckons the basket was empty on day one. He scarfs down anything in front of him like he’s a black hole gorging on any and all matter, regardless of whether he finds it pleasant or not.
The subtleties in Simon’s expression is what helps him tailor his shopping lists going forward. His nose wrinkles ever so slightly when he eats anything he doesn’t like, and the missing nutrition in his previous diet is quick to make itself known when just a fortnight of eating a more varied and rich diet makes the boy sick to his stomach. He tries to hide it of course, but Riley’s compassion doesn’t let the boy suffer alone for long. The scuffling at his door is what wakes Price, and he forces his prosthetic back into place with a grunt, thumping with groggy eyes towards the bedroom door. He hears Simon heaving the minute he opens up, giving Riley a scratch behind the ears before he heads for the bathroom. He pauses just briefly before knocking on the door and waiting to see if Simon will invite him in. He doesn’t, of course, so Price pushes the door open, and tries not to heave himself.
Simon’s always hidden beneath his clothes and now he knows why. Pale skin is mottled by severe but aging bruises. The poor boys black blue and yellow, a tapestry of violence inked into his skin that he’s still recovering from, may never recover from. There’s bones where he’d expected at least some muscles. He wonders if the skeleton painted on his face mask is supposed to represent the skeletal structure he’s somehow kept upright and ticking over in whatever horrific circumstances Simon has had to call his life up until this point. Price wipes any trace of his horror from his face as he grabs a wash cloth and dampens it, placing the cool cloth on the back of the boys neck as he awkwardly kneels beside him.
“Easy Simon, breathe.” He murmurs. Simon flinches form his hands, from his help, too used to doing things alone, but he’s just a child and he wants the one thing any child demands when they feel so awful nothing else helps.
“Mum.”
It’s a quiet croak, but it’s enough to shatter Price’s heart. He swallows thickly to get a grip on the lump in his throat before he pats the boys shoulder.
“Just me…have you had a sip of water?” he asks softly. Simon doesn’t turn his head, just leaves his head resting along his arm so Price doesn’t see the weakness seeping from his eyes. He shakes his head. Price gets him a glass of water, and they sit in silence until Simon’s ready to stumble back to bed again.
It’s the first time the silence doesn’t feel oppressive.
Price lets him sleep in the next day for as long as he needs, doesn’t ensure he eats breakfast as he’s now ensure just what to feed a stomach he guesses was previously empty most of the time, and instead calls up Laswell.
“John. How’s things?” her voice is tired and it sets his alarm bells ringing.
“Alright. Better, sort of. We’ve made a bit of progress, I think. How’s things on your end?” Price leans against the kitchen counter, watching Riley do his business in the back garden as he reads the pregnant pause before she spoke again. Not good then, he thinks.
“We’re alright,” She lied, “How can I help you today?” Price decides to let it go. Simon is his priority.
“Was wondering if we were any further forward with getting a doctor’s appointment for the lad, or even sibling visits. He mentioned his mum the other night, might do him some good to see his brother.” Price suggested.
Kate sighed, “Don’t push it John…Tom’s not good. Kid’s disclosed a lot since they were separated…Simon won’t be seeing him for a while yet. Doctor’s not called back yet, I’ll push it from my end. Is he well enough to wait?” Price’s head span for a second. Just what had the younger boy disclosed that had Kate so uptight? What had he seen? What had Simon seen? Or...is it something Simon had done? No, no that didn’t feel right. Simon was like a pitbull, preferring to puff up and look domineering but, under the right care at least, completely harmless. His burning curiosity might never be satiated. His job was to help the child, not investigate the case. No, no he had to leave that to Kate.
“I’d rather he was seen sooner over later. Could do with some help from a dietitian maybe. He was more undernourished than we originally thought and I don’t want to give him too much to soon.” Price relayed his concern neutrally, even as his mind raced ahead. “I’ll call today then and call you back when I have an answer.” Kate didn’t bother with a goodbye before she hung up. Price sighed, stared at his phone for a moment, and placed it on the side.
One thing at a time John, he thought, One thing at a time.
#call of duty#captain john price#cod modern warfare#simon 'ghost' riley#john price x simon riley#teen!simon riley#foster carer john price#tw child neglect#tw child abuse#tw malnourishment#Simon has to get sadder to be happier sadly#Riley the dog is a true hero always#John Price shops at Aldi and I'm making it canon#man's not gonna be traceable with a clubcard at Tesco's
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"Sentimonster as metaphor for abused child" is ironically, smt that a child psychologists claimed when s4 aired. I'm not even sure how sentimonster who is a slave is a good metaphor for abused child in that person eyes or even in anyone who agreed with that person. Why need methapor when the show could just said "Yes this is child abuse and this is bad" but then again what can I hope from a show that told abused child that "The only way for you to gain freedom is to wait for your knight in shining armor" or "It's not abuse, your parents just give you tough love"
You point out another big reason why I don't think it's a metaphor or allegory for child abuse: the show actively has child abuse. You don't need something to act as a stand-in for what is already there.
Gabriel is neglectful, controlling, and emotionally abusive
Nathalie supports abuse through inaction, prioritizing the happiness and wants of man she loves over Adrien's needs
Audrey is neglectful and emotionally abusive
Andre is neglectful and overly indulgent
Jagged Stone abandoned his kids
Anarka isn't abusive as far as we know, but she's clearly not providing a safe and stable home life for her kids
Colt was - at the very least - emotionally abusive, possibly physically, too
Amilie possibly knowingly let abuse happen? Possibly didn't know? Possibly is also a victim, which doesn't change the fact that she seemingly didn't protect her kid. In other words, she's in the same boat as her sister where you just sit there and go, "So what was your role in all of this?"
Tomoe is controlling and holds her child to ridiculous standards
In other words, if you want to discuss child abuse in all of its various forms, then the show has you fully covered. The sentimonster plot isn't necessary.
Based on the writing, I don't think that the writers view anyone but Colt as abusive, but that's also evidence that the sentimonster plot isn't supposed to be about abuse. Because Gabriel is both abusing Adrien and using the ring, so you have the abuser just abusing in a different way and how is that supposed to work as metaphor or allegory?
You could have Adrien's sentimonster status represent all of the abusive things that Gabriel has done, but that would require you to give Adrien a way to break free of his status and we don't get that. Adrien is a full puppet when the rings are used and ANYONE can use them, not just his father.
Yes, abuse makes you more vulnerable to falling for more abuse, but it's a very different dynamic than the one established with the rings unless we're going to see Adrien physically give his rings to someone as a representation of the kind of mistakes you make before you've gone through therapy and understand what you've been through and know how to better watch for warning signs. Which, dear gods, these writers are not equipped to handle something so serious! That would be terrible! Plus Emilie is very clearly supposed to be a good, loving mom and yet she's the one who made the rings. Basically the while things is just too clumsy to be meaningful.
Allegory is a great tool, especially when it comes to media for kids, but it has to be handled with extreme care and planned out. The way the rings work and how they've been played is not good abuse allegory. It's just cheap drama. That's why it doesn't actually have any impact on the plot. I mean, seriously, would anything about season 5 change if you got rid of the sentimonster stuff and just had Emilie use the peacock for something else? Heck, you could have just given her cancer and nothing would change.
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Yes! It’s especially insane with Phoebe bc like the show goes out of it’s way to explicitly show how fucked up she was idk how people forget it
yep yep yep!! it's quite literally the entire point of the episode. but i still see people all the time like...calling mulder stupid for "trusting" her and making jokes about the way he behaves around her and it's just like...please don't piss me off. same exact thing with diana.
fire is one of my favorite episodes though i think it's such an interesting look at mulder's character and example of the ways that he views and interacts with people close to him
because he understands and acknowledges from the very beginning that phoebe's just there to fuck with him, that she made the trip from boston to DC to bring him in on the investigation for no reason other than knowing that it will scare him
he knows what she’s doing, and he still agrees to help her
his only concession being that scully not be involved
noting that he's not going to "put her through" phoebe's games
this is something that we've seen him do before, with his former partner jerry earlier in season one, who broke into his office and stole his work.
it's clear throughout ghost in the machine that mulder isn't comfortable working with him, but helps him anyway because jerry asked him to
and builds him up when jerry is feeling insecure
he infamously does it again with diana, always affording her the benefit of the doubt and defending her
and with his parents, consistently coming whenever they call, despite all of their lies and neglect
(side note from pulling ghost in the machine caps but his ties in this ep are soooo classic baby spooky i miss s1 soooo much)
anyway, this is the dynamic that fire circles around, and the only time in the episode that mulder pushes back against phoebe is when he cracks this joke about having a "refined technique" with women who cheat
which he apologizes for instantly, recognizing that it upset her
fire is also one of the best portrayals of the true sign of a toxic/abusive relationship: not realizing anything is wrong with it until you tell your best friend
i see criticism of this episode sometimes that interprets it as glorifying phoebe, portraying her as sexy and her behavior as righteous, but i disagree.
i don't think that you can base the episode's stance on phoebe on mulder's behavior, he's responding to her through a very warped and controlled lens. just because he views her in a positive light, doesn't mean that we should as the audience.
whereas, scully is immediately wary of phoebe and critical of her, even before knowing the context for her actions.
this shot is my favorite lmao. she is contemplating murder. she is wondering if she could get away with it.
her lil passive aggressive "bye bitch" finger wave
her "mmmmyeah sure sherlock"
her watchful eye as she hangs in the doorway while mulder and phoebe meet with the arson specialist
she literally sits at his desk in his chair and waits for him just to make this sherlock holmes joke 😭😭😭 they are BEST friends
now, this is when she finds out the true history with phoebe, and the reason behind her visit. and it's when mulder tells her that she's off the case.
and from that point, scully starts investigating the murders herself, consulting her own sources to put together her own theories
while these two do absolutely fuck all
she shows up uninvited at the event in boston, having SOLVED THE CASE HER-FUCKING-SELF
and she's the only one who gives a fuck when mulder gets hurt
while phoebe shakes hands and schmoozes at the party
sweetie pie making sure her partner gets some water and some rest
now, dana 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
after making sure mulder is okay (and getting a peek at him shirtless) she shows him the evidence that she found, telling him that she just "didn't know a whole lot about arson" so took the opportunity to do some research "for my own edification, of course" GIRLLLLL
and they identify the groundskeeper as the murderer based on the information that she gathered
the face of a woman who single-handedly solved a string of serial murders to get her best friend's bitch of an ex away from him. she is truly an inspiration to us all.
and she has 1 more sherlock holmes joke in her.
so, anyway, mulder is visibly uncomfortable around phoebe from the start, and this is something that scully picks up on immediately, even before being told any information about phoebe or her motives
and this is an ongoing theme from the very beginning, as mulder is generally unaggressive and compassionate to a fault, leaving scully feeling a responsibility to be conscious and wary of their surroundings.
scully isn't being jealous towards phoebe, just like she isn't "taking things personally" with diana. she understands this about mulder and how exploitable it is, and she's fiercely protective of both him and the kindhearted qualities that leave him vulnerable to these situations
anyway TLDR let me see any of you call either of them stupid again
#i'm still all over the place maybe i'll do a real post on this ep soon#and why i love it#but i just wanted to chat about it for a sec#because i do love it#a lot of y'all just drive me crazy when you talk about it#THANKS FOR THE ASK!! <3#asks#fire#remember when mulder’s mom hit him and he didn’t flinch#children weaned on poison etc etc#kae meta
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Many many unhealthy dark thoughts about Tangerine’s yandere tendencies. 100% do not condone this behaviour. Get out or get help if you find yourself in a similar situation!!
My thoughts:
Tangerine’s housewife kink is out of control. Put his Darling in an apron and the man can barely function; all he would think about is taking her to bed.
He would be the type of man who would get turned on by his Darling doing the most mundane chores around the house - ironing his shirts, baking, crocheting a soft toy for one of their children - activities he considers feminine and which feed into his housewife kink.
His expectations of his Darling are unhealthy and unrealistic.
Once she was living with him Tangerine got rid of any clothing he deemed “inappropriate”. Now his Darling’s wardrobe consists mainly of dresses and skirts and he expects his Darling to adhere to this dress code.
He gets angry when his Darling makes independent decisions as he wants them to be utterly dependant on him. His Darling doesn’t have access to their own money and instead is given an allowance. Tangerine would also insist that his Darling pay via card so he can see all transactions they have made.
Gradually Tangerine would isolate his Darling from anyone he thinks are bad influences. Initially he would constantly phone and text his Darling and would become very angry if they didn’t reply immediately and would subsequently punish them (in the bedroom) for their “neglect”. He then realised it was easier to put a tracker on their phone and cameras inside their house so he knows where they are at all times. In his mind this isn’t an invasion of privacy. Instead it’s a way to protect his Darling because she is innocent and naive and unable to make informed decisions.
He definitely chips away at their self confidence as he wants them to be completely reliant on him.
He is rarely gentle in bed with his Darling. He would never beat his Darling, but he is fascinated with the physical, mental and emotional limitations of his Darling.
100% uses their children as a way to punish his Darling by limiting contact or accusing her of being a bad mother. The latter is never true as he would never have children with someone he would deem “unworthy”, but he has found that such accusations are a good way to punish his Darling. Of course their children know nothing of these punishments.
Tangerine absolutely adores their children and thinks they can do no wrong. They are perfect because they are hers and they are his. Anyone who insults his children or his Darling have basically signed their own death warrant.
It is incredibly twisted and abusive, but Tangerine is madly in love with his Darling and wouldn’t be able to survive without her. He needs her more than she needs him, and he knows this hence his suffocating clingyness. He wants to be the centre of their world like she is the centre of his.
To outsiders their relationship looks normal. Just very very traditional. And even when their children are grown up their kids don’t see anything wrong with their parent’s marriage. And Tangerine deludes himself that his Darling is happy with their marriage. Whether she is or not is something she only knows…
Sorry for this long and dark rambling about yandere!Tangerine. But after reading your fic I have been unable to think of anything else. Again I do not condone Tangerine’s actions!!!
I absolutely loved this, such an interesting perspective on dark Tangerine.
Totally agree on the kids. Tangerine seems like he'd dote on his kids, especially if it is a little girl, and he'd be the best dad for them, teaching them how to stand up for themselves and also self-defense so they know how to protect themselves. Just imagine Tangerine losing his patience at the PTA meeting 😂
Feel like he'd really enjoy the whole idea of having the perfect marriage with reader but at the same time, he ruins it with his toxic controlling atittudes.
(also don't worry, we know that all of these dark fics and thoughts are NOT supported irl. This is just FICTION, so no one should take this seriously, please).
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Karl and Quackity (don't) Date - Ch 14 of ?
Tubbo wants to eat, Quackity doesn't, and both of Quackity's partners wish he would stop lying to them.
[CW: abuse, violence, eating disorders, stalking, neglect]
crossposted to ao3
Ch 1
Ch 13
Ch 15
Mafia AU
~
It’s not a total 180, it’s not like Schlatt crosses one line and decides it’s open season, it’s more like Schlatt has simply remembered violence isn’t off the table. Part of it seems to stem from this unsettling resentment Schlatt has garnered for him. Quackity has gone over it in his mind perhaps too many times. Schlatt had assumed Quackity was going to hurt him that night. That seems, to Quackity, fucking insane considering Schlatt’s deadly track record, but undeniably, Schlatt had assumed the man he trusted to sleep beside him would be prepared to take him out at the first sign of weakness.
Not to say that’s totally baseless, but Quackity knows killing Schlatt himself is only feasible as a suicide mission, if not from Schlatt, then in the aftermath of chaos to follow.
So, one moment Schlatt remains doting and romantic, other moments Quackity gets on his nerves enough Schlatt shoves him into a wall before storming off which, annoyingly, is still better behavior than before. Schlatt simply pushing him before leaving to calm himself is downright emotionally mature for Schlatt. It’s other little things, Schlatt holding on too tight to his wrist, Schlatt dragging him across the room, physically moving him when he gets stubborn, it’s the snide comments returning on occasion that bother Quackity more than anything else. Sure, Schlatt sometimes still treats him with a modicum of respect, complimenting his appearance and when he’s clever, but other times it’s sly degradation about his body, it’s dismissal of his complaints, treating him like a whiny brat. Schlatt hasn’t flat out hit him in ages, but he’s certainly reminded Quackity how to tread lightly, always waiting for the tension to snap.
He hasn’t told Karl. Thus far he’s had no need to, Schlatt’s backward slide from progress has yet to control his movements. Quackity can still spend an evening living his own life, as long as when he comes back to Schlatt he acts devoted. A few times Quackity got nervous, he had to be quick on his feet, going to the townhouse after a quiet dinner with Karl and being grilled for an explanation of where he had been.
“Dinner? Oh yeah? Where?”
“Uh, Marco’s, that shithole diner on the West side. I dunno if you know it. It was just near the office.”
“Who were you with?”
“A few boys from work. Boring as shit, honestly–”
“Who? What’re their fucking names?”
“McKeller? Jackson McKeller? He’s a paralegal–”
“Just him?”
“No, no not just him,” Quackity says quickly. He’d rather not condemn some random associate to death so flippantly. “Also Nelson Thompson, Judy Eager, and, uh, I think Craig who works the front desk was supposed to join us, but he had to leave early. Kid had a fever or something.” A little detail, but not too much. Nothing worth questioning.
Schlatt always looks for some lie, something he can dig into, and Quackity always remains calm.
“Really, Schlatt, you don’t know these people, why does it matter? They’re just stupid white collar assholes that I gotta get a little chummy with if I wanna cash in favors, you know how it is.”
And Schlatt always smiles like he’s not a paranoid wreck and says, “I know, sweetheart, I worry, y’know? Just let me fuss over you a bit. You know if any of ‘em make a move on you, you tell me right away, and I’ll get it taken care of.” He ends this threat with a kiss pressed to his forehead, hand brushing through his hair, both a shred of kindness and yes, a claim staked on him, but Quackity cannot deny the kindness is there too.
Thus far, it seems Schlatt hasn’t had anyone follow him from work to verify what he says, Quackity is always thorough to check for a tail before he meets Karl anywhere, and some nights he does go out with coworkers so his lies are always based on old truths, but he knows it’s only a matter of time.
So, Quackity hasn’t told Karl. As far as he’s aware, Schlatt is still treating him better and Quackity is all the better for it. If Karl notices some of his old stress returning, he has yet to comment on it. Quackity doesn’t plan on telling him. There’s no reason for Karl to worry about him, especially considering Schlatt hasn’t really done anything, save the whole holding a knife to his throat incident, but otherwise, it’s not bad, it’s just not the fucking bullshit honeymoon phase Schlatt had briefly tried to return to. That was never going to end well. Better this easy middle ground to let off some of the pressure instead of Schlatt getting so fed up with acting like a Saint he snaps in a way worse type of breakdown. Again, Schlatt not flat out hitting him has been useful. He doesn’t show up with a busted lip, there’s nothing for Karl to find out about. It’s better that way.
Quackity’s practicality doesn’t magically make it easier to hide things from his boyfriend. No, he doesn’t turn up with bruises ringing his throat or any broken bones, but he’s not infallible.
It’s one of the better evenings of the week, an evening which started with watching a movie curled on the couch together––with Karl, not Schlatt––until during one of the commercials they got distracted by far more interesting things.
However cheesy it sounds, Quackity’s relationship with Karl is just so sweet. It’s always gentle and giggly and easy. Quackity doesn’t mind when Karl is on top of him, trailing kisses up his neck, hands ghosting over Quackity’s hips, lifting his shirt and coming to rest on his waist–
“Ow–” Quackity hisses.
Karl sits back, “you okay?”
“I’m fine, Karl,” Quackity rolls his eyes, sitting up to follow his boyfriend and pull him back into a kiss.
Karl isn’t so easily distracted. Goddamn asexuality. He gently takes Quackity’s hands from cupping his cheeks. “Hold on, did I hurt you?”
“No,” Quackity scoffs. “No, Karl, you didn’t hurt me, I just– It’s nothing, I wasn’t expecting it.”
Karl, grave and serious, goes to lift up Quackity’s shirt, but Quackity grabs onto it and pulls it back down, hoping his flushed cheeks make Karl think he’s bashful rather than ashamed.
“Karl,” Quackity says, trying to sound scolding and lighthearted.
“Q,” Karl says with a far more earnest admonishment, but he stops trying to lift up his shirt. Karl is looking at him so intently. Quackity hates it when he does that. It always feels like Karl is looking at more than just his face.
“Look, I’m fine, I’d be… I’d be more fine if you were kissing me right now,” Quackity says pointedly.
“Yeah, I know,” Karl smiles, but it’s not the usual silly, giggly grin that Quackity so adores. It’s smaller, sadder. “Can I… can I just see? Before we go back to kissing?” Karl waits for Quackity’s permission.
Quackity feels a lump in his throat, he feels unsteady, even as he nods. He holds his breath when Karl’s hands brush so delicately against him, lifting his shirt just a little. Karl stares at the line of bruising just above his hip, Quackity is pretty sure it’s from being shoved against the corner of a table.
“It’s– It’s nothing. I was just… clumsy. Stumbled into something.”
Karl looks crestfallen.
“What?” Quackity says defensively, sitting up, once more holding onto the hem of his shirt, like that doesn’t make it obvious he has something to hide, and Karl just keeps looking at him like that. “Karl, what?”
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to lie to me.”
Quackity grins in a way that radiates insincerity. “Who says I’m lying?”
Quackity’s face falls, guilt piercing, as Karl gently places his hands on Quackity’s hips, barely touching him, as if afraid to break him. He’s ghosting over bruises in a way that takes Quackity’s breath away.
“He’s gotten bad again?” Karl asks.
“No, no not bad,” Quackity shakes his head sharply. “Not bad by a fucking mile, he just, y’know, he gets drunk and– and clumsy, and that’s how I end up… y’know, knocking into shit, but it’s not a big deal.”
Karl is so gentle with him, but that look in his eyes, colder and maybe just a shred calculating. “How long?”
“What?”
“How long has it been…” Karl trails off, a deep frown unnatural on his face. “Bad again? I dunno how else to say it.” A weighted pause, Karl still staring at the line of bruising. “Was he ever actually better?”
“No, he was,” Quackity sees a lifeline and clings to it. “So better it scared me, honestly. This is… this is better. Better than before, and better than the bullshit of the past few weeks where he tried to act like a fucking saint. At least this is… this is reliable bullshit, you know? And I did mean it. He… he pushes me around a little, but he hasn’t been kicking the shit out of me or anything like that. Like, when he gets pissed off, if he starts to come at me, he makes himself like, walk it off. It’s… it’s pretty mature for Schlatt, if I’m being honest,” Quackity tries to say it like a joke. Karl refuses to lighten up, strange for him. “Karl, what?” Quackity forces another laugh, nudging him.
Karl isn’t looking at him. He’s staring at the bruises. “Better it scared you.”
“What?”
“You said he was acting better so it scared you,” Karl says.
Quackity can’t help but lose some of that forced humor. “And what of it, Karl?” He turns cold, like somehow that will be easier. “What the fuck could you say to me right now that changes anything? Why do you gotta know so bad, when you can’t actually do shit? You can’t do shit, Karl. So why bother?”
Karl shrugs. “I guess… I dunno. I mean, if we both know I can’t do anything, why wouldn’t you have… have told me?” Karl looks at him with those big eyes and Quackity is so fond it makes him weak.
“I feel like it’s pretty obvious,” Quackity says wearily. Karl is still waiting. Quackity sighs. “I… I didn’t want you to worry about something you couldn't do shit about, alright? Like, why the hell would I make this your problem?”
“Our problem,” Karl says insistently. “I’m always gonna worry, Q. You can’t stop me.”
Our problem. Quackity is both endeared and hurt. He knows what Karl meant, but the idea that this is our problem when Karl has spent all of five minutes in the same room as that man and Quackity has spent… a lot more. Quackity brushes gently against Karl’s cheek. He sighs, but it’s lighter than before.
“Right… thanks, Karl,” Quackity means it, mostly.
Karl’s hand covers Quackity’s, pressing it to his cheek. “Y’know I love you, don’t you?”
“Karl,” Quackity is surprised. “Of course I do.” Like always, Quackity doesn’t say it back, and he feels awful for it, but he thinks he’d feel worse saying that to Karl knowing that their relationship will hang by a thread until Schlatt is dead in the ground.
Karl never faults him for it, he just kisses Quackity’s knuckles and lets sleeping dogs lie.
~
Quackity continues to get by, to do his work, to appease Schlatt, and see Karl when he can. Usually weeknights are okay. He can avoid going back to Schlatt’s with the excuse that he works late and just wants to rest. Quackity never rests. Instead, he uses that precious time for Karl.
Quackity leaves work a little after five on a week day. It’s relatively early, and he’s excited to spend the night with Karl.
So he gets in his car. He starts driving. And a block before the bridge back over to the East side, he spots them. A fucked up black Ford Capri he doesn’t recognize in general, but he does recognize it from a few blocks back, from the lot across the street from his office.
“Fuck,” Quackity mutters, glancing at his rearview mirror. He does not turn toward Karl’s place, nor his own apartment, instead, he turns right, and heads South. The sedan follows. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Quackity snaps, hitting his steering wheel.
This in and of itself is not an emergency. He’s always careful, always looking out just in case he has a tail, but it’s never actually happened before. Now, this means it’s an option, that Quackity was right to be paranoid, and that Schlatt must have some suspicion. Quackity doubts it’s any other party. It has to be Schlatt sending someone after him. Quackity pulls up along the beach, near the boardwalk. He’d briefly hoped to lose them when he crossed into Badlands territory, but whoever Schlatt sent isn’t that much of a pussy. The Ford passes where he’s parked, but Quackity follows them in the mirror, watching as they park just down the lot.
“God fucking damnit…” Quackity mutters. He gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him, and walks up to the front of the car, leaning against the hood. He digs in his pockets for a cigarette, scanning the area with a semi-casual glance, and there he sees a man get out of the other car. He walks over to a payphone, still with Quackity in his sights, either pretending to make a call to explain his presence, or currently calling Schlatt to let him know what Quackity is up to.
Fuck, it was so much easier when he thought he was just being paranoid. He can’t call Karl to tell him not to go to his apartment, and if Quackity goes there now, god forbid Karl is seen outside, or maybe Schlatt’s insecurities will have rooted in deep enough that man will follow him upstairs and search the place before running back to snitch to the Boss.
So what the fuck does he do?!
Karl was supposed to meet him at his place, so Quackity cannot safely go back there tonight. Quackity almost worries if he goes to Schlatt tonight, Schlatt will expect him to make time for him on weeknights.
He’s overthinking this. Schlatt has let up a lot over the past months. Yeah, let up enough to send some guy following you all over.
Quackity takes a long drag from his cigarette, irritable and anxious. He’s going to chain smoke a whole fucking pack and then give Schlatt a disgusting fucking kiss, with tongue.
Does he acknowledge the tail?! Give him a little wave to let him know he knows? Or will that just incentivize Schlatt to be sneakier somehow?
Quackity already is misbehaving–– misbehaving, what, like he’s a fucking child?––Schlatt wouldn’t want him in Badlands, and he wouldn’t want him smoking. Is that enough Schlatt will give up the ruse and admit to having him followed so he can corner him?
Quackity just keeps smoking. He watches the sunset with a vehemence. He hopes that stupid fucking tail is bored out of his skull. Quackity looks over his shoulder. The man still lurks at a payphone. Quackity almost wants to shout at him snidely, “what, are you made of dimes?!” but he doesn’t.
Quackity throws the cigarette butt into the gutter, lighting another with petty passion, in his irritation he ends up coughing like he’s still 11 with virgin lungs. “Fucking bullshit…” Quacky wheezes.
He wonders if he can make it out of sight before the spy extraordinaire gets in his car to follow. Quackity puts out the remaining cigarette on the sole of his shoe before slipping back into the driver’s side. In the mirror, he sees the man hang up the phone and walk back to his car. Right. Real subtle.
Quackity backs out of his spot in time to see the man start his car. Quackity drives past him, unable to resist flicking him off, and rounds a corner. He turns down a side street quickly, before cutting onto the adjacent road. He glances at the rearview mirror almost enough to wreck. The black ford doesn’t appear behind him. “Ha! Get fucked you little dicked motherfucker!” Quackity at least gets to feel smug, but this doesn’t mean he can go back to his apartment. It’s too risky knowing there’s some prick prowling around looking for him.
So, with more than a little irritation, he heads toward Schlatt’s place.
“No point having a guy follow me to your own goddamn house, right?” Quackity mutters.
Quackity parks outside the townhouse and lets himself in. He’s lucky in that Schlatt isn’t home, because he’d seriously been about to go throwing accusations at him and asking him what the fuck that was about. Instead, he’s forced to settle into his agitation in an empty house. Well, not entirely empty.
“Oh, hey, Big Q,” Tubbo is, reasonably, surprised to see him as he peeks his head over the landing to see who had arrived.
“Hey, Tubbo,” Quackity tries to take the edge out of his voice, he knows Tubbo gets nervous whenever someone seems irritated around him. “Schlatt’s not home, I take it?”
“No, he’s not. No clue where he’s gone off to, though,” Tubbo joins him at the bottom of the stairs. “Are you… are you alright?”
“Me? Fine,” Quackity smiles. “I’m fine, Tubbo. As usual.”
“...right.”
“So,” Quackity sighs. “What’re you up to this evening?”
“I… I dunno, really. I was gonna go look for food. We haven’t had groceries in a bit, so right now the gameplan is toast,” Tubbo says, concerningly blasé.
“Seriously?” Quackity laughs halfheartedly.
“What?”
Quackity shakes his head. “Nah, nah you’re not doing that. Come on. I haven’t eaten yet either. Let’s go some place,” he nods back to the front door.
“Oh,” Tubbo sounds surprised, hesitating. “Okay, sure.”
They get in the car, Quackity driving without a set destination in mind.
Quackity once more forgets how to talk to this kid. “So. How’s, uh… the… the thing you were working on? The potato?”
“Oh, I finished that ages ago! I set up the circuit no problem, I honestly didn’t think it was going to work,” Tubbo laughs. “But no, seriously. The potato did it. Powered a tiny lightbulb. It has to do with the zinc, see? It reacts with the acids in the potato and that’s what creates power.”
“Huh,” Quackity tries to sound interested, even as he’s distracted by the rearview mirror, and any sign of the black car following them. Nothing yet. “So… so you’ve moved on from the bio-weapons, huh?”
Another laugh from Tubbo. “It was… it was a household mold, Big Q, I wouldn’t call them bio-weapons,” he sounds undeniably proud. That at least makes Quackity feel a little better.
“What’re you hungry for, huh? Wherever you wanna go, I don’t care,” Quackity nods along the Riverside strip.
“I mean…” Tubbo trails off.
“Come on, what d’you want?” Quackity pushes lightly.
“Could we get like, breakfast stuff? Pancakes?”
“Yeah! Hell yeah, dude. That’s easy,” Quackity turns a corner until they’re outside one of those 24 hour diners that will definitely still be serving pancakes.
They settle in at a booth, and Quackity doesn’t bother with the laminated menu in front of him; he’s busy scanning the darkened windows.
“Get whatever you want, Tubbo,” Quackity says offhandedly. He requests black coffee, and Tubbo gets his pancakes.
“Are you not eating?”
“Huh?” Quackity looks back over at the kid. “No, no I’m good. I’ve got coffee.”
“That’s not exactly dinner, though, is it?”
“Don’t have much of an appetite,” Quackity says dryly. It’s true, probably in part due to the two cigarettes.
“Alright,” Tubbo shrugs, he doesn’t argue. “Thanks.”
“Thanks?”
“For getting me food. I didn’t… I dunno, my dinner plans didn’t feel that weird to me until you said something,” an unsure laugh.
“No problem, man.”
“Are you alright?”
Quackity once more looks away from the darkened window. “Huh?”
“You’re just a little… distracted?”
Quackity debates telling Tubbo. What good will it do him? Although, it’s not like he’s tainting his fucking image of his father. “I’m pretty sure Schlatt had some guy follow me. After I left the office,” Quackity reaches for a cigarette that isn’t there and pulls himself back. He won’t start smoking while the kid is trying to eat.
“He… He had someone follow you?” Tubbo being appropriately surprised and disturbed is oddly vindicating to Quackity. “Why… why would he do that?”
“I dunno, man, I guess because he’s a paranoid fucking bastard,” Quackity laughs harshly, leg bouncing under the table; another glance out the window.
“Weird…” Tubbo stares out the darkened window too.
Their somber conversation is paused by the arrival of pancakes, as well as bacon, which Tubbo slides to the middle of the table, inviting Quackity to eat something. Quackity, more for Tubbo’s sake than his own, takes a piece.
“Do you… do you like my dad? Sometimes?” Tubbo breaks the lull and deigns to blindside Quackity with that.
“Do I what?”
“Like, sometimes you seem… okay with him. And other times you really don’t.” Tubbo isn’t looking at him, focused on his plate.
“Huh,” Quackity mulls it over. It’s not quite like when he’d not-so-subtly asked Tubbo if he would kill his father given the chance, it’s lighter, more delicate, but no easier to answer. Quackity should lie. He should say the easy thing. Of course not, he’s a fucked up bastard, what’s to like? “Sometimes, I guess. Sometimes…” Quackity trails off, uneasy.
“But…” Tubbo hesitates, glancing around the deserted diner. “You like Karl more, surely?”
Quackity ignores the instinctive pang of panic that comes with Tubbo saying that name. They’re not in the house. It’s different out here. “Yeah. Like, a million times more.”
“Good! That’s good,” Tubbo almost sounds like he’s trying to reassure him. He’s clearly thinking over what to say next; Quackity gives him his time. “My dad won’t let you leave.”
Once more, ignoring this would be easier. Quackity doesn’t know why he doesn’t. “No. He won’t,” Quackity says stiffly; his efforts to sound unbothered are probably obvious to Tubbo, but he doesn’t show it.
“That’s why… that’s part of why he had someone follow you, d’you think?”
“Yeah. Probably not even part of why, probably the whole reason, actually,” Quackity scoffs. “Why’re you asking this shit, Tubbo?”
Tubbo shrugs, resuming his focus on his pancakes. “Just curious,” he says mildly, keeping whatever calculations are going on in his brain to himself. Quackity knows there’s some other thought process going on there, even if Tubbo chooses not to share. Quackity sort of wishes he would. He feels like he’s just bared his soul a bit by giving Tubbo even that small dredge of truth, but Tubbo keeps his silence.
Quackity buries the urge to ask to use the diner’s phone to call Karl, to explain why he won’t show up tonight, because part of him is convinced someone must be watching through the glass, out there in the dark. Getting up and using the phone, calling someone besides Schlatt after business hours, that’s dangerous. So he pays for the kid’s pancakes and heads back to Schlatt’s place.
Quackity had planned on dropping Tubbo off and heading back to his apartment; there he could finally call Karl and explain why he’d ditched him. As with most things in Quackity’s miserable fucking life, it doesn’t go as he’d planned.
“Quackity,” Schlatt is surprised to see him. “What were you doing with the kid?”
“Took him to get food. Did you know you don’t have shit here?” Quackity says with more than a little edge to his voice. He can’t yell at Schlatt for having someone follow him, but he can at least get a little self righteous on Tubbo’s behalf.
Schlatt reaches out and stops Tubbo from hurrying away upstairs. “Did you ask him to do that? What, are you fucking begging now? He’s not your step mommy, alright? Do you not have two good fucking legs to go get food yourself?”
Tubbo is frozen and unsure of how to defend himself, always so wide-eyed and scared like a petrified rabbit. Quackity has got to teach this kid how to have a poker face before it gets him seriously fucked up.
“I offered, Schlatt. Jesus, give the kid a break,” Quackity cuts in.
“Aw, you offered,” Schlatt lets go of Tubbo’s arm, but Tubbo doesn’t go upstairs, now he has to wait to be dismissed. “That’s cute, you gonna start tying his shoelaces next? Should I get you a station wagon so you can take him to soccer practice?” He sneers.
“What, so you trying to be better and take him out to dinner and shit is fine, but for some reason it’s weird when I do it?” Quackity says sharply.
“Yeah, because he’s my fucking kid,” Schlatt gets sharper, my kid is staking a claim on him. It has nothing to do with family.
“Jeez, I thought you wanted us to get all fucking brady bunch or whatever, and now you’re throwing a bitch fit?” Quackity folds his arms over his chest, calm and defiant. He braces, but the blow never comes.
“And that’s what you feel like you’re doing, huh? Sneaking around behind my back?” Schlatt is still calculating, more focused on interrogating him than making sure Quackity doesn’t get mouthy.
Quackity grins. “It was just pancakes, Schlatt. What’re you implying?” Quackity dares him to say it, to admit it. Schlatt says nothing, so Quackity decides to rescue Tubbo. “Are you just gonna keep Tubbo standing around by the front door or what?”
Schlatt doesn’t look at Tubbo, still watching Quackity, waiting for a lie to appear. “Get out of here. Next time don’t be a fucking nuisance.”
Tubbo nods and quickly flees upstairs.
Schlatt smiles, mild-tempered once more. “I’m not implying anything, honeybun. Why don’t I make you a drink, and then I gotta step out for a work call real quick, alright?”
“Fine with me, Boss,” Quackity replies coolly. Work call. Is the man really so paranoid he’s got to check in with his little stalker right away?
Quackity couldn’t care less at this point. The guy has got nothing on him, besides smoking a few cigarettes, and Schlatt could sniff that out for himself. Quackity will just need to keep playing things very fucking carefully.
So the following day, he does not sneak off to Karl’s apartment, despite that being what he desperately wants to do, instead he goes to work, he settles in at his desk, and then he makes a call.
“Q?” Karl answers immediately, and Quackity can hear the anxiety in his voice.
“Hey, Karl,” Quackity speaks softly. He’s in his place of work, surrounded by the noise of other cubicles, but he’s still nervous, he still keeps his voice down.
“You’re okay! Oh my god, you scared me, dude! Where the heck were you?! You can’t just fall off the map like that, I was about to lose it!”
Quackity sighs, a hand going to his temples. He hates making Karl worry like this. “I got… I got a tail.”
Static, as Karl tries to process his words. “Like… a cat?”
Quackity laughs. “No, no. Like a guy following my car to see where I go.”
“Oh,” Karl’s concern is still evident.
“Yeah, so. Nowhere near as fun…”
“Shoot.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry for being all freaked, I guess I shoulda known you’d have a good reason…”
“No, no it’s okay, Karl. I think we just gotta reestablish ground rules, y’know? I think––especially now––sometimes I might disappear for a day or so, but you can’t let yourself get too stressed if I do, okay? There’s good reason for it.” Quackity hates that he has to have this conversation over the fucking phone, but he has no idea what else he could do.
“Right. Ground rules. So, if you disappear for 24 hours, that’s no biggie.”
“Threshold should be more like 48,” Quackity grimaces. Quackity is also aware that if he’s being honest, he could end up stuck or out of contact for even longer than that, but those instances tend to mean Karl should be concerned. Not that he’s offered explanation for what Karl is meant to do in those instances besides wait in terror. “And I will always try and get ahold of you soon as I can, alright?”
“I know you will, Q. I just…” Karl grumbles. “It’s just scary.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Quackity mutters. “We’re just gonna have to be extra… conservative, until I get this tail thing figured out.”
“Um, do you think I’m voting Red in this next election?” Karl gasps, as if scandalized.
Quackity laughs. “Oh my god, shut up.”
“I won’t be silenced!”
Quackity rests his forehead against his desk, holding the receiver tightly, the pause of static feels so gentle, like he can hear Karl breathing beside him. “Miss you,” he sighs.
“Miss you too, babe,” Karl sounds as wistful as Quackity feels.
~
Quackity hasn’t seen Karl in almost a week. Every time he leaves work, he sees that black ford down the block. He doesn’t know how this fucking idiot thinks he’s being subtle. Maybe some poor civilian wouldn’t have noticed they’re being followed after all this, but Quackity’s vigilance feels ordinary. He’s getting absolutely fed up with this shit. So he heads for the boardwalk again, not to park outside and smoke, but to head somewhere the guy can’t follow in his car. Originally he thought Niki’s, that would’ve constituted as safe, but for what he plans to do he can’t have Niki shooting this guy in the balls for daring to cross her doorstep. This way, though, he’ll be somewhere innocuous, but public. Somewhere the guy will have to get out of his car and follow him on foot.
Quackity walks quickly through the spring crowds, he doesn’t look back to see if the man is following, he knows he will be. Quackity turns a corner, waiting behind a stand smelling strongly of fried food, and as he’d expected, a man walking at a quick pace steps past and pauses, looking around frantically for his charge. Quackity whistles at him, offering a little wave when the man sharply looks his way.
The man looks quite startled, clearly unsure of what to do now that he’s been caught.
“Smoke?” Quackity offers the guy a cigarette.
“N-No, I– I was just looking for–”
“For me,” Quackity says dryly. “You’re not seriously gonna keep pretending you’re not, are you?”
The man seems to debate it for about five seconds, before conceding. “Guess not.” The guy is way bigger than Quackity, and probably around Schlatt’s age, which makes it feel all the more absurd he’s been given the juvenile task of following him around. The man doesn’t yet join him. “How… how long have you..?”
“Known you were following me?” Quackity says for him, lighting his own cigarette. “Four days?”
The man looks surprised, perhaps offended.
“Let me guess. You started following me four days ago?” Quackity scoffs. “I’ll ask again, cigarette?”
The man nods, joining him beside the cheap wooden wall of the pier’s food stalls.
“Look, uh, following you around, sitting outside your office, that’s the last thing I wanna be doing, but you know how the Boss is,” he says awkwardly, before taking a nervous drag from his cigarette.
“Right,” Quackity gives him a look. “What’s your name?”
The man grimaces, clearly reluctant to share.
“I’m not a fucking snitch. I have no intention of running back to the boss and telling him I caught you. Trust me, throwing around accusations like that won’t go over well for me either.”
“So, why’re you..?”
“A name?”
One more reluctant pause. “Morelli.”
“I haven’t seen you around.”
“I’m… back from vacation, let’s say.”
“By choice?”
“What?”
“Are you back by choice?” Quackity takes a drag from his cigarette, staring at the man.
Morelli frowns, solemn. “Guess not.”
“Right,” Quackity huffs. “You know, this could work out for both of us.”
“Is that right?”
“You stop following me, no one has to know. Keep reporting to him, make up boring shit. I went to work, I went to my apartment, plain and simple. Doesn’t need to be any more complicated than that.”
The man laughs. “If I get found out, I’m a dead man–”
“Fine! Fuck,” Quackity rolls his eyes. “Then… then call me and I’ll tell you what I’ve actually been doing, so if Schlatt asks, our stories match up, right?”
The man is clearly still reluctant.
“Do you have any idea how much of a creep this fucking makes you? What happens when Schlatt asks what I’ve been doing, and saying I went home isn’t good enough anymore? You gonna crawl in my fucking window?”
“No–”
“So, I’m giving you a way out.”
“I’m not choosing to follow you just to fuck around–”
“But you’re still doing it.”
He doesn’t have a retort.
“So, do we have a deal?”
Morelli is still just staring at him, calculating. “You doing something the Boss shouldn’t be knowing about?”
Quackity laughs. “If I was, you think I’d tell you?”
“Guess not,” the man is clearly still thinking it over. “Fine. You said… you said I should call you?”
Quackity holds out a business card. “Yep. Sometime before I leave work. If that’s a problem, I can give you my home number too.”
“Nah, that’s… not a problem,” he accepts it reluctantly.
“Good to hear it,” Quackity grins and takes another drag from his cigarette. He loves it when he talks his way out of things.
~
Quackity doesn’t know what to make of it when he comes over to Schlatt’s the next night to find Schlatt has dinner prepared for him. His first thought is that Morelli snitched on him, but he knows he needs to stop assuming every time Schlatt spoils him there’s something dangerous underneath. Usually, Schlatt doesn’t waste time with pretenses to punish him. Quackity’s curiosity wanes into disappointment when he sees the two steaks at either end of the table. If Schlatt took his steak any more raw it would get up and walk away from the table, hence, Quackity would eat the same thing.
“This is… this is nice,” Quackity says anyway.
“Glad you think so, pumpkin,” Schlatt pours him a glass of red wine, kissing his head before circling to the head of the table. “It’s been a second since we’ve had dinner, just the two of us, hasn’t it?”
“Right. So, no kid tonight?” Quackity asks, feeling the need to ease the anxiety that there’s worse reasons Tubbo isn’t joining them.
“For… for steak? And wine? Nah, the brat is probably having mac and cheese and watching cartoons or some shit,” Schlatt scoffs. “So, how was your day, sugarplum?” Schlatt takes a heavy draft from his wine, watching him across the table.
Right. Probably confirming what he told Morelli. “Good, y’know? Just had work, finished up some paperwork for a case I was helping on. Boring shit, insider trading type deal, but it was good to get it done.” Quackity avoids his steak with his own sip of wine. “What about you? Anything exciting here while I was gone?”
“Yeah, yeah a bit,” Schlatt smiles, cutting into his own steak. “We’ve got another hostage exchange coming up. That’ll make us a hefty chunk of change, eh?”
“Right,” Quackity tries to force enthusiasm instead of disgust.
“Would you want to be there?”
Quackity can tell that it’s a loaded question, something prodding there that he hasn’t quite grasped. “At the… at the hostage exchange?”
“Yeah. I get it if it’s… uh, if it’s a sore subject, y’know?”
Quackity is still surprised by Schlatt being anything like considerate, but he knows it’s a double-edged sentiment. “Oh. I mean, if you don’t want me there, that’s okay, Schlatt.”
“I don’t mind the company, sweetheart,” Schlatt says with a wry smile. “Maybe I just don’t wanna risk a repeat of last time, eh?”
Quackity laughs, with a slight note of anxiety he hopes Schlatt doesn’t notice. “Yeah, I don’t think you need to worry about that. That’s not… that’s not going to be a problem.”
Schlatt nods, and stops cutting his steak, frozen with the knife halfway through the bloody meat, not looking at Quackity, only at the plate. “You… you didn’t actually know that moron with the ratty coat that night, did you?” It’s clear that Schlatt isn’t voicing these insecurities easily, but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous. “You weren’t… you weren’t seeing him, right?” Schlatt asks, tone carefully and unsettlingly neutral.
Right. Surely, this is what all of this had been building up to. Schlatt’s paranoia, having him followed, it had been because of this nagging at him all this time. Quackity doesn’t reply at first, thinking, knowing the longer he waits to answer the more dangerous it gets. Already, his heart is pounding a little harder, and dinner seems far less appealing.
Schlatt continues when the pause extends beyond a few seconds. “You can tell me, Quackity. If you were at the time. I can understand, clearly things were complicated and not going well between us back then, but I’d like to know.” Schlatt takes a bite, sparing him a glance, but otherwise an awful mask of calm and mild-mannered interest.
Quackity processes this carefully and buries his nausea. It’s clear Schlatt has been thinking about this for a long time, maybe just waiting for the right moment to spring it on him, but that’s too much time for Schlatt to talk himself into getting even more paranoid. Schlatt, even if he has doubts in general, is confident there’s no way Quackity is currently cheating on him, probably has faith in his whole “if I see you with him again, I kill him” threat along with Morelli confirming he only goes to work and home. He’s also inviting a confession, with the implication of him being understanding. Not fucking likely. Quackity doesn’t know what’s more suspicious, saying he truly barely knew the guy, or saying that yes, at the time they maybe had met up a couple of times, nothing excessive, just boring stuff, getting coffee, and then Quackity stopped it. That wouldn’t exactly explain Quackity shelling out almost a thousand fucking dollars on the guy. He doesn’t know where the line is, what Schlatt will believe but won’t kill him over. There’s got to be a better story to get out of this one. Quackity is good at telling stories, when he has to be. It’s no different than a courtroom.
“Okay, the truth is, I lost the cash in a game of cards. Same card game I won the information on Mr. Beast. We only really knew each other through a group of students I used to hang out with sometimes,” Quackity’s voice remains steady, if a bit nervous, but Quackity can imagine Schlatt would expect that from him. Schlatt doesn’t reply immediately, clearly thinking, so Quackity continues, wildly aware that despite the calm of this conversation he might as well be begging for his life. “I’m sorry I lied, Schlatt. I didn’t want you to think I was irresponsible like that, I… I gambled away all my savings. I didn’t realize how it would seem to you, like, you know I’d never. I’d never do that to you, Schlatt. I– I didn’t even realize that was an option you could consider. I’d be ruining my own life.” Ending it. Quackity is looking at Schlatt, waiting, praying, and the man is just still picking at his steak.
Schlatt nods, but he doesn’t look at him.
“Schlatt?” Quackity tries to get a response, voice a little shakier.
Schlatt chuckles. “Gambled away all your savings. That’s… that’s good to know. You’re the same pathetic broke bitch I pulled off the streets, aren’t you? You got the law degree and the arrogance,” Schlatt says mockingly, “but you’re still the same, eh? Just as weak, just as stupid, just as… just as fucking helpless,” he takes another bite of his steak, teeth scraping against the fork.
Quackity has no idea how to respond to that; cruel insults he wants to retort to, he wants to get angry, but he has bigger concerns at present, largely for Karl. It sounds like Schlatt is buying it, but Quackity is still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Schlatt hasn’t gotten mean like that in a while, that targeted, that petty, at least not toward him. So Quackity says nothing, he’ll wait for Schlatt to continue. There’s a lump in the back of his throat, and he feels cold sweat begin to chill his skin. Alarm bells are going off in the back of his mind, but that warning doesn’t show him the way out.
Schlatt laughs, and Quackity almost jumps. Schlatt gestures with his fork, looking up at the ceiling, as if lost in thought. “Although, huh. Embarrassing or not, in what fucking world do you get to lie to me?” Schlatt leans forward, fist hitting the dining table so the dishes clatter sharply and Quackity does jump.
“Hey, I said I was sorry! It’s– It’s not gonna happen again, it-it hasn’t happened again,” Quackity’s nails are digging into his palms, anything to keep his composure. “I’ve– I’ve quit the card games for good, y’know?”
Schlatt points at him accusingly with his steak knife. “You don’t get to go fucking sleep around behind my back and get away with it with some bullshit excuse about you having a fucking gambling problem,” Schlatt sneers.
Schlatt is not buying it. Fuck, fuck, fuck he isn’t buying it.
What else is Quackity meant to do but dig his heels in?
“Do I look fucking suicidal to you?! In what fucking world would I be sleeping around behind your back, huh? I’m here almost every goddamn night!” Quackity laughs, voice high and sharp. “When I’m not running myself into the ground in that goddamn office! You don’t have a shred of fucking proof, and I know that for a fact because there isn’t any, because it isn’t fucking happening.” A pause which unsettles Quackity further. He’d expected Schlatt to shout back. He’d hoped he would shout back. That would have at least had some predictability with it.
Schlatt raises his eyebrows, now fiddling with the steak knife between his hands. “Huh… suicidal, big word there, pumpkin… big word…” Schlatt seems to be mulling something over. He glances down at his plate, and Quackity makes the mistake of glancing down too, at the blood pooled there. Maybe it was a good thing, because he sees Schlatt throw the plate at his head and has the good sense to get out of the fucking way.
It still grazes his cheek, definitely enough to bruise, damn near enough to knock him unconscious from how his teeth clatter together and his vision goes white from the sharp, sudden pain. He hears it shatter against the wall behind him and refocuses on Schlatt now circling the table toward him. Quackity scrambles out of his seat.
“Schlatt, Schlatt come on–” Quackity isn’t sure where he’s planning on fucking running to. Then he sees the steak knife still in Schlatt’s fist. “Schlatt, wait!” Quackity screams, holding his chair between himself and the knife.
“All I asked for was some fucking honesty, Quackity! I already know what you’ve been up to, so, only thing downright suicidal, is you thinking you can continue to fucking lie to me!” Schlatt yanks the chair aside and slashes wildly with the knife in Quackity’s direction. Quackity throws himself back, barely catching himself against the wall, one hand raised to try and shield his face from the knife, but all Schlatt has done is backed him into a corner.
“I’m not! I’m not!” Quackity’s face hurts as he pleads, a bitter ache deepening in his cheek and he almost wants to close his eyes. It doesn’t make any fucking sense. Schlatt shouldn’t know shit. If he does, Quackity knows confessing won’t save Karl, so all he can do is hold on while this man finally kills him.
Quackity braces himself, backed against the wall, as Schlatt presses the blade of the knife against his stomach, inches away from spilling organs. Quackity tries to recede even deeper within himself. “Honesty is the only way out for you, sweetheart, like… like going to confession! Right?” Schlatt presses the knife closer and Quackity holds his breath. Schlatt pulls away, still raising the knife, as if debating stabbing Quackity in the fucking neck, but instead he keeps talking, his eerie smile doing nothing to disguise rage.
“So why don’t you say it? You’re a shit liar and a pathetic fucking whore, so say it,” Schlatt snarls, raising the knife, and Quackity shuts his eyes.
“Fine! F-Fine–” Quackity laughs, hysterics blending into terror. “If you don’t fucking believe me, do it then! Do it! I-If you really think I– I did that, if you really think that’s worth losing me forever, then fucking do it. Do it!”
Nothing happens. Quackity is not gutted by a dirty knife, he’s still alive. Quackity opens his eyes.
Schlatt has stopped. He’d lowered the steak knife. Quackity flinches when Schlatt reaches toward him, just as tense when he feels Schlatt run a hand through his hair, wrapping his other arm around him, pulling him closer, hugging him tightly even as Quackity raises his arms to try and keep a few more inches between them. The tension extends, a few seconds passing in agonizing silence, and Quackity waits for Schlatt to snap his neck. Schlatt kisses the top of his head, exhaling a laugh. “Good. Had me a little worried there, honeybun. Good, I’m glad that’s the case, Quackity. Worried I was… I was gonna have to Rosemary Kennedy your ass or somethin’,” he laughs. “Classier than keeping you on a leash, eh?”
Quackity doesn’t move, barely daring to breathe. He’s shivering, but he certainly doesn’t feel cold, Schlatt’s presence hot and stifling. Schlatt’s grip loosens and Quackity starts to lean away but Schlatt doesn’t let him get very far.
“Hey,” Schlatt says softly, a hand under Quackity’s chin, forcing him to look up at him. Quackity knows he’s whimpering, shaking like a fucking leaf, but he doesn’t have the strength left for shame as he looks up at Schlatt and waits for pain. “You know how this goes, you don’t gotta act so shocked,” Schlatt is patronizing, and dauntingly tender, words soft and crooning. “You try to leave me, I get even a whiff of you thinking you can jump ship, I’ll..?” He waits.
Lobotomize me? Bash my fucking face in until I’m so ugly no one else could want me? Quackity’s head is spinning, he can’t decide if the danger is passed or not. He thinks he might throw up even though that is the worst thing he could fucking do right now.
“Quackity?” Schlatt tuts him. “Come on, I know you know the answer to this one, we’ve been over this. Hell, there are multiple right answers! I know you can do it, sugarplum.”
He swallows back bile, he balls his hands into fists and tenses his whole body to try and stave off the trembling. He manages to speak, but not when he’s looking at Schlatt. He has to look away. Quackity goes with the old staple. “You’ll… you’ll chain me to the radiator,” Quackity says numbly, staring at the ground, his voice coming out far steadier than he might’ve imagined. “Keep me there until I remember my place.” It’s not just fear fueling the buckets of adrenaline now dumped into his veins, it’s rage too. Rage is no good to him.
“Oh! That’s a good one, didn’t even think about that,” Schlatt pats his cheek none too gently, ignoring the way Quackity flinches. “You know I don’t want things to be this way, don’t you?” Schlatt still has a hand tangled in Quackity’s hair, forcing him to look him in the eye. “You gotta realize that.”
“What way?” Quackity says, that soft mixture of rage and fear still useless to him.
Schlatt seems to debate over his answer, and the one he chooses unsettles Quackity more than a little. “I can be soft, baby,” Schlatt murmurs. “You know I can be,” that hand running through his hair, not tugging at tangles, but not quite gentle, “it just… it just gets a little hard to be that way when you fucking lie to me.”
“I mean, if this is how you react, can you fucking blame me?” Quackity says, hoarse and sharp, stunned at his own daring, but Schlatt doesn’t hold onto Quackity’s throat, he doesn’t slam his head back against the wall, he just laughs, almost teasing.
“Maybe we’ll both learn a thing or two from this. I mean, I would’ve preferred if you hadn’t fucked up in the first place, but next time, eh? Next time, we’ll both do better, right?” Schlatt waits for an answer. “Right?”
“Right,” Quackity forces the words out like pulling teeth.
“You doing okay, baby? Does… does all this make sense?” Schlatt refuses to step back, not until Quackity is the one to reassure him.
“Yes.” At this point Quackity will do whatever it takes to get Schlatt to let go and back off.
“Good,” Schlatt kisses his forehead. “Sorry about the mess, honeybun. You know I’d rather play nice.”
Schlatt finally lets go of him, he pulls away to cough harshly into his sleeve. “Fuck… come on, sit back down,” Schlatt supports his own weight against the dining table, apparently attacking him has taken a lot out of him, but he makes his way back to his seat, gesturing with the steak knife back at Quackity’s place. “Eat.”
Quackity, still shaky, still pissed off, still undeniably scared out of his mind, sits back down across from him. He wipes his cheek when he feels a drop trailing down it, thinking he broke down enough to cry, but his hand comes away smeared with blood instead. Quackity is convinced, had he confessed to any extent, he would be dead on the ground right now with a steak knife in his gut. Well, that’s not quite true. He’d be dying on the ground right now, nice and slow.
Schlatt has already ruined his own plate by throwing it at Quackity’s head, but he remains seated at the dining table, watching him. “Go on, fucking eat. What, how much clearer can I be? Finish your fucking food. Christ, it’s like you’ve got an eating disorder or something.”
Quackity isn’t used to Schlatt encouraging him to eat, especially after a bout of adrenaline. The thought of taking another bite of this stupid bloody steak, always too raw, always cooked to Schlatt’s liking, leaves him with the taste of bile rising in the back of his throat. He does it anyway. He cuts off a piece with his own steak knife, and he pretends he can’t see his hands still trembling. He does not look up at Schlatt watching him, he chews and ignores the taste of iron from biting his own tongue and he ignores the feeling of something caught in his throat. Inexplicably, Quackity thinks of an old story from his brief stint in a hyper-religious foster home run by some old nun, where Quackity had been taught about God and Quackity had naively believed there might be someone out there who gave a shit about him. He thinks of Adam and Eve, of Adam forever stuck with an apple caught in his throat because the person he got his ribs ripped out for told him to eat.
Quackity takes another bite.
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I've decided to explain what's been going on with me for the last few months. I figured I owe it to my mutuals since it's definitely going to affect my behavior going forward. I feel it's fair to say something now and maybe even apologize in advance.
In a nutshell: My best friend of 12 years ghosted (me and only me) for people he just met, destroying our relationship.
In a coconut shell: One of the most important people in my life allowed our relationship to not just stagnate but actively die, willingly and knowingly breaking our social contract and my boundaries in favor of the adoration and attention from strangers and newer, fresher friends. The fallout sent me into a several months-long spiral that regressed my mental and physical health and led to the relapse of my most self-destructive addictions.
The full story, abridged (if you can believe it):
1/?
CW, mentions of child abuse, drug use, mental health.
For clarity's sake, I'll be referring to him as 'Bestie'.
In the hierarchy of closeness, Bestie was right under my husband. Our relationship was 100% platonic but emotionally watertight. We had our disagreements like any pals would, but for the most part, we were siblings. We'd gone on vacations. We'd cooked meals together. We hung out for hours and hours over the many years of our friendship. It's safe to say that he was the closest thing I've ever had to an actual brother. …Because my real one totally sucks ass.
I don't have a good relationship with my family. At. All. The majority of our interactions are made out of obligation. It was my dad's literal dying wish to at least try and reconcile with my mother after a lifetime of drugs and abuse. I've been trying my hardest, but dear God she makes it hard sometimes. My sister is alright, I tend to keep her at arm's length because she's a control freak (eldest daughter syndrome + history of abuse) but to say that my relationship with my brother is antagonistic would be a massive understatement. I usually say 'We don't get along' and keep it at that, but it goes deeper. We barely tolerate each other… for reasons I can't understand. I was born dead last in my family, the next oldest sibling is 13 years my senior. Despite the age gap, I may as well have been born the middle child, because bro didn't give up his youngest spot. Both he and my mother show signs of classic narcissism.
You may be thinking to yourself, "Crow, not everyone you dislike is a narc just because your personalities clash~' Save it, please. Don't speak on what you don't know. My mother and brother are a classic narcissistic binary star system. Mother and her golden child. They revolve around each other in a borderline emotionally incestuous way. They do drugs together. She coddles him to an insane degree. He did not move out or get his first job until his 40s. Mom didn't parent me so much as she let me live in her house so she could collect a check from my dad. When I wasn't being actively abused by her husband (won't go into detail here, but know that he was my primary abuser, as he was also her abuser and to a lesser extent my sister's) I was almost always being actively neglected, sometimes in favor of brother. Like, locked out of/into rooms or told to go away whenever she didn't need me for something. Especially in my formative years (age 5-10), when mom was still shooting dope and leaving me alone for days at a time or bringing me around the men she'd shoot up with. I almost lost her to drug-related violence and she almost lost me to the state a couple of times. Eventually, she found a way to have her cake (me, child support check generator) and eat it too (heroin and crack). While she gained sobriety from hard drugs just before I entered middle school, the neglect and other forms of abuse persisted through the remainder of my childhood, until I enlisted in the military out of desperation.
So with all of that boo hoo hoo shit out of the way, it's safe to say that I have a bit of a -thing- surrounding abandonment.
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Writing Gabriel Agreste
One of my pet peeves in Miraculous Ladybug fanfics is people writing Gabriel Agreste as extremely physically abusive. Not just physically abusive though, going all the way straight to extreme physical harm with no buildup. Your normal abuser doesn’t go from cold and neglectful to putting you in a choke hold or breaking your arm. It’s more of a slow build than that.
One of the strengths of Miraculous Ladybug is that Gabriel Agreste is an abusive jerk, certainly, but I can also completely understand and sympathize with why Adrien won’t just run away when he has a chance and even defends his father. I can see the gradual build up of abuse, and those small moments that make Adrien want to stay, to believe that there is hope for him and his father to have a happy relationship.
For ALL of his MANY, MANY flaws, Gabriel does have a few small moments of kindness. He sits Adrien down and watches a movie with him (after throwing him off a building). He puts some of Adrien’s childish scribbles in his office (which he destroys in a calculated move in the Collector). He lets Adrien go to school (and threatens to pull him out in order to get what he wants regularly).
For Gabriel, his abuse is more emotional and neglectful. I don’t get the feeling that he’s being an abuser because the writers want him to be an abuser (which is sadly common). He has “reasons” and “justifications”. He’s busy fixing his family. Adrien will understand. Adrien may be sad, but he’s always been overemotional. All of what he’s doing will be worth it in the end.
But its not. It’s not worth it. He’s a toxic person, and people are showing more and more signs of just being done with it all as the show goes on. Unfortunately, because he IS an abuser -and thankfully, it is something that a lot of the fandom realizes-, it CAN be tempting to completely take the abuse too far too fast for it to seem realistic.
If you do start to write Gabriel, I find it helpful to keep a list of all current transgressions and Gabriel’s internal justications. Some of the ones he’s voiced in canon are: “Adrien is just too emotional” “I’m doing what’s best for this family” “I just need to know” “It’s your fault I thought [x]” “It’s a risk, but I have this under control” “I’m keeping you safe” “I’m doing this because you didn’t behave right”. Make sure with each new transgression, you ask yourself, does this fit with the others?
Make sure any new escalation isn’t TOO big a jump, and typically has a (disproportionate) reason. New security measures? Something is making Gabriel anxious. Financial abuse? Adrien is simply too young to worry about these things. He just doesn’t have the real world experience to not make excuses. Physical harm? Start small and work your way up. Yes, Gabriel accidentally let marks on Adrien grabbing him and dragging him, but really, he should’ve listened. Or have the physical just be a means to get the reaction he wants. Non-consensual drugging, sleep deprivation, food restrictions.
Always remember, he is keeping control over Adrien. If he goes too fast or goes too strong, Adrien will freak out and run. Adrien’s good at justifying things, but he’s not stupid enough to just go “Oh my dad throwing me off a building is just a bad coping strategy”. Gabriel, deep down, knows it. So, I also find it helpful to keep a list of possible Adrien justifications to keep myself in check.
Yes, Adrien can get fed up and leave anyways, but if I can’t think of an Adrien justication with all the other behavoirs in mind, it’s too fast. If it’s only just a little worse than something Adrien’s handeled before though, he’ll handle it again. Or if he thinks that no one will believe that something is a bad thing.
Of course, there is one exception. If Gabriel’s prepping to akumatize his son, then he’ll go for the throat fast and hard to overwhelm his son with maximum fear, shock, confusion, and betrayal. It does make for a powerful weapon. Unfortunately, as Chat Blanc has shown us, it’s only too powerful sometimes.
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So tell me about Wallflower Delancys 👀
CW for talk of abuse, neglect, food issues, homophobia/transphobia, sexism and general toxicity. Minor character death.
Note: My goal with the Delancey’s in this AU is to humanise them and allow them to have a redemption arc of sorts while not erasing or excusing their actions. They grow and mature but are still held accountable for how they acted.
Oscar and Morris may be assholes a lot of the time, but at the end of the day they’re also just two scard kids trying to get by. Two kids who care deeply for each other in a way that’s oddly similar to how the Hattan and Brooklyn Bunches care for each other. They’re brothers and although neither of them know how to express it, they do love each other dearly.
After their mother passed away when they were too young to really remember her, their father started to get angry. And he dumped them in foster care to run off with the military. They experienced a lot of abuse in the foster system at the hands of Snyder. They were taken out of Snyder’s care around the time Jack was brough IN, though they were with him for a couple months. They always sort of felt bitter towards Jack because he’d always kick up such a fuss. He’d often get dragged screaming out of rooms. Laying low was how they survived so they resented Jack for doing the opposite though they also felt sorry for him.
Their dad was discharged a couple years later, came back and took them in again. He ended up being horrendously abusive. He was brutal, a control freak and wouldn’t let them do a lot of things. He’s forced gender roles and toxic masculinity and sexism.
He’d force things like “Boy’s don’t cry.” “Women are baby machines.” “You can’t play with that, it’s a girls toy.” “Don’t hug your guy friends people will think you’re gay” and a lot of other shitty things.
They were forced to call him ‘Sir’. They weren’t allowed to call him dad or pa. If they ‘messed up’ they’d endure intense punishments, like not letting them eat (which resulted in Oscar having a lot of issues with food) shutting them in closets, beating them.
He’s blow up on them at the LITTLEST mistakes. So they’d hide at out at their Uncle Weisel's. But for too long he'll come looking for them.
In school they met a boy named Markus, who went by ‘Dirtmouth’. (An OC). They befriended him quickly, but he only fuled their anger and encouraged their lashing out. Which was the beginning of their toxic friendship and them bullying the Newsies.
I personally HC Morris as the older brother. He’s nineteen while Oscar is eighteen. And they’re stuck to each other like glue. Morris is fearcely protective of Oscar. From a young age he’d always put Oscar first and often forget or straight out refuse to take care of himself, much to Oscar’s distress.
Morris really struggles with school due to multiple learning disabilities and he was held back a year which ended him up in Oscar’s grade. (He was secretly a little relieved because this meant he could keep an eye on his brother easier). He has dyslexia, dyscalculia and dysgraphia, so numbers, writing and reading are pretty difficult and he often has to ask Oscar or their Uncle Weisel to help him with it. He’s also Autistic and has ADHD.
Oscar on the other hand is far brighter than he gets credit for. He’s geat at maths and excells in English, so he usually helps Morris out where he can. He’s also Autistic and ADHD and has an anxiety disorder. He’ll sometimes experience verbal shutdowns when upset or overwhelmed and because neither he or Morris know sign, they find it hard to communicate and it can often lead to frustration on both their parts.
Oscar’s the kind of person to get frustrated extremely easily then upset that he is frustrated.
Morris is more the kind to ‘punch the frustration out’.
After they ran away from home, (far later) they ended up getting an apartment together and get a little wobbly cat who they name Bean! Oscar saw a car dump him and took him home.
Oscar hates being touched without warning, but even with warning he’s iffy unless it’s someone he’s comfortable with. He’s easily spooked by loud noises and/or sudden movements, he’s extremely jumpy but usually tries to play it off.
Because of their upbringing and their dads views on the LGBTQ+, Oscar stayed in the closet for years which only added to his frustration and caused him to lash out more. He was terrified that if Morris found out, he’d hate him, but Morris was actually supportive.
Because Oscar is his brother and they only have each other. So they need to stick by each other no matter what.
After Dirtmouth ended up going to far with the bullying, Oscar and Morris sort of realised how messed up everything was. And Oscar was the first to back off. He’d had time to think and mature and he felt awful for everything that happened, so when he got the chance, he tried to apologise. Morris, a couple months later followed.
But I won’t spoil how THAT went.
I’ll say again. All of this is an explanation for how they acted. Not an excuse. I only want to humanise them.
Some little facts in an attempt to humanis them and make them NOT one dimensional bullies?
Morris is a dog person. But doesn’t mind cats.
He is not the best cook but he makes a mean lasagna.
He NEVER has his own clothes, they’re always stolen by Otto and Oscar.
He likes action and superhero movies and likes comics because they’re easier for him to read.
His hands are always covered in bandaids and he sometimes puts silly little kids ones on.
He’s scared shitless of moths.
His handwriting is so messy that it’s near impossible to read. Oscar struggles so much with any notes Morris leaves for him.
Oscar however, has really neat handwriting. It’s really pretty ??
He absolutely loves cats. He’s deadass such an animal lover. But he must pet every cat he meets.
He likes gaming with Morris.
He’s a good cook.
He’s secretly a theatre kid. He loves Oliver !
He’s rarely ever wearing his own clothes. He always steals from Morris.
He’s TERRIFIED of spiders.
#newsies#1992sies#newsies 1992#92sies#livesies#newsies live#newsies broaday#newsies au#newsies modern au#newsies wallflower au#wallflower au#the delancey brothers#the delanceys#oscar delancey#morris delancey#finch talks
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Strict Upbringings 4 Batkids
In reference to this poll by @whore4batfam
... hmm. Now I'm wondering what even IS my definition of strict? I voted for Dick has having to deal with Bruce at his strictest, though I would agree that Steph got the most callous treatment.
I think "strict" is a term I associate with ongoing relationships, and I feel like Bruce and Steph's time working together was too short to quiiiiiite properly qualify.
I guess I also think of "strict" as a combo of things. Mostly that there are heavy consequences for failing to follow rules. Also, that there are enough rules that a good deal of self-control is needed to follow them.
Obviously, by this definition, Bruce is strict with all his kids.
I guess I voted Dick due to their relationship in Dick's later teen years. It's true there weren't many rules in the beginning, bc Bruce is 100% winging the guardian thing. But by the time Dick is 18, they are butting heads so badly over every life decision that Dick makes that... yeah. I think your teenager abruptly leaving you for a cluster of buddies in NYC is a sign you might be too strict.
Wheras, when Jason comes along, there are more rules at the start. Bc kids do need SOME rules, and Bruce is experienced enough to know that now. But he doesn't spend all night screaming at Jason if he makes a mistake.
I think he's quite strict with Tim as a reaction to losing Jason, but... it's kind of canceled out. Bc Tim's pre-existing issues as a neglected kid make it an almost welcomed form of attention. Strictness Analysis is further complicated by the fact their relationship starts professional and grows familial over time.
I don't feel like it every got to the familial stage with Steph. Is getting fired after making one mistake the actions of a very strict boss? Yes. But... I don't think Bruce loved Steph enough to get Family Levels of Strict with her. If he had, she would have experienced so much MORE strictness. The strictness of weekly arguments over multiple dangerous decisions. The strictness of a year of training filled with rule after rule before ever hitting the streets. The strictness that pushes to create self control, instead of just criticizing the lack of it.
I don't think Steph experienced that until she started training under Babs.
Cass would be another Mitigating Circumstances case. Her ability to read Bruce’s care for her even as he’s giving her an order she doesn’t like definitely softens the edges of his strictness with her. That’s not even getting into the contrast to the abuse she came from.
As for Damian... you can argue that Bruce was strict with him, but again we have mitigating circumstances. He wasn't that strict compared to where Damian came from. (I am not gonna spend a long time distinguishing between abuse and strictness. Strictness doesn't have to be bad, but it can be a part of abuse. And abuse is possible without strictness, but they often overlap in a venn diagram.)
I am not well-read in nu52/rebirth, so I'm not qualified to make an argument for Duke. But if the lad is operating in daylight hours, while Bruce works at night, I would guess that shows a lot of trust from the start. Thus, I would assume that Bruce doesn't feel the need to be very strict with Duke.
I don’t doubt this will look pointlessly ramble-y in the morning, but I definitely could not fit this all in the tags of my poll reblog. :p
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For the record; abortion should be available to anyone with a uterus who is able to conceive.
Yes, terfs, anyone with a uterus, because not everyone with a uterus is a woman, some people with a uterus are men, and some are non-binary, so the correct term is not "women," it's "anyone with a uterus."
If you force people to have a child when they don't want to, or can't care for them, you are dooming a baby's entire life to needlessly struggle at best, and to be viciously abused at worse. You are not doing that baby a favor by forcing it into existence and leaving it in the hands of those who don't want it. Do you have any idea what it's like to be a toddler and to know that you were never wanted, and to believe you'll never be wanted because this is your entire world?
"Just give them up for adoption," you know adoption is not a guarantee, right? Some kids just wind up stuck in the system until they're kicked out at 18. Some get adopted just to wind up in an abusive family. If you can stomach it, and make sure you can because heads up it's an awful horrific case of abuse that lead to a child's death, look up the Candace Newmaker case.
Yes, there are wonderful adoptive families, don't get me wrong, but adoption isn't a fix-all to prevent abuse for an unwanted pregnancy, and also we already have so many kids looking for families in the system.
There are so few programs in place to protect children once they're born. There is so much child suffering and neglect because people think of kids as objects and not people. All this clamoring to protect a fetus's life but no one gives a shit once it's born.
I won't bother arguing whether it's alive or not, forced-birthers won't change their minds. I will however argue that a fetus is too small and undeveloped to feel pain. They can't be sad, they can't feel unwanted, they aren't far enough along to be capable of suffering.
In contrast to, you know, a baby, which absolutely can suffer from abuse and neglect and feeling unwanted. Because a baby is helpless to it's caregivers and maybe we shouldn't be forcing people who do not want the job into it. Because you do not want the person in charge of caring for a baby to hate and resent that baby's existance.
Also people need to be in control of their own bodies. A corpse who never signed up to be an organ donor is not used for organ donation, even if their organs would save another's life, which at this point puts a corpse as having more control over their own body than a pregnant person has.
No one can be forced to donate blood or plasma, and both of these things are significantly less traumatic than pregnancy. No one should be forced to give birth.
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