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toomanyfandoms-notenoughfics · 9 months

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Celestial Beings

Chapter Two: Talking it Out

Characters: Reader, Molly Weasley, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black

Summary: After many, many days of dealing with Moody's visits, (y/n) get two new visitors, who seem to be much much nicer.

Word Count: 2,285

Warnings: Torture Mention, SA Mention (it's mostly glossed over, no major details), Child Abuse Mention

A/N: Just in case I forgot to mention previously, this is not completely canon-compliant. I also have made Moody more of an a-hole, if anyone wants to know my thought process on that matter go ahead in send in a quick ask. Actually, feel free to send in an ask about anything, I would love to answer! I'm enjoying writing this, and I hope that at least some people are enjoying reading this.

Torture and pain were nothing new to (y/n), actually, it rather reminded her of home. She wasn’t sure how long she had been in the small room, nor how many times she’d had her “visits” with Moody. They rarely lasted longer than a few hours. The longest time, from what little sense of it she had, was somewhere around 8 hours.

Speaking of home, she missed it quite a bit. Malfoy Manor was a lot more cruel on the inside than most people could even guess. Not particularly any fault of Mrs. Malfoy or Draco, but rather Lucius. The head of the household, and loyal follower of her father, obeyed any and every command given. Of course, most of those orders were on how to best “raise and properly train” (y/n), which typically involved some form of torture.

(Y/n) of course, followed along as well, it was easier than dealing with the consequences. Out of everything, waterboarding was the worst. Followed closely behind spending any nights with a few perverted men, less as a consequence, more so as a reward for their loyalty to You-Know-Who. She had the scars to prove the ordeals she went through, as much as she would prefer to forget.

Even though she acted nonchalant about it all, she was still a person. She just couldn’t afford to be seen that way. In her opinion, it was better to be seen as an object or a weapon, a mere pawn on a chessboard. Then at least she herself could pretend to have no weaknesses, no breaking point. She preferred that people believed the rumors and lies, that she was as deadly as her father and as crazed as Bellatrix Lestrange.

Mrs.Weasley opened the cell door, a tired look on her face and a plate in hand. She gave (y/n) a sad smile as she set it down near the entrance.

“Couldn’t you just give him something to go off of?” Mrs. Weasley pleaded with her. “Anything so you could have a break from it all? You look downright awful, I’m worried for you.”

“What could I give him that he would believe?” (Y/n) asked, slowly grabbing the sandwich from the plate and taking a bite. “After all, I imagine it’s been at least a few weeks if not a month or so? I haven’t uttered a single thing he’s believed, including that his curses and beatings won’t work. I’m used to it, it’s what I’ve been molded to be.”

“What about something small, something that no one knows about, well You-Know-Who?” Mrs. Weasley tries, leaning against the door frame. “From what I’ve gathered he hasn’t exactly been the most caring of-”

“Don’t.” (Y/n) said flatly, meeting the older woman’s eyes. “Truly don’t go there. He cares, just in his own way.”

Mrs. Weasley is quiet after that, unsure as to what to say. She sighs, picking up the plate and turning to leave. Once the door was shut (y/n) sits back against the cold wall, no longer having the appetite for her sandwich.

“He does care. I just don’t know if it’s about me or the results I give him.” she gathers up the blanket, draping it over her legs. “No, he cares about me, what father wouldn’t care about their children? Even Lucius cares about Draco, and he doesn’t care about much else than impressing my father.” (Y/n) sat in the dark, with nothing but her own thoughts to keep her company and the occasional bug scurrying across the floor.

This time when the door opened it was someone (y/n) had not seen before. Or rather two someones she hadn’t seen. Both men were tall, one with dark, long curly hair and the other with light brown, short-combed hair. (Y/n) recognized one of them as Sirius Black, the first person to escape Azkaban prison. The other took her a few seconds to place, it wasn’t until the light hit his face, revealing the scars that she knew it was Remus Lupin, a werewolf known to be heavily against her father.

“Well, isn’t this a treat?” She said, slowly getting to her feet. “A blood-traitor and a half-breed? What did I do to have you grace my presence?” Remus flinched at the mention of half-breed.

“I came down here to see who could possibly have Moody stumped,” Sirius growled, stepping in front of Remus ever so slightly. “Imagine my surprise when I see you’re nothing more than another idiot, too stubborn and ignorant for your own good.”

“I’m the idiot?” (Y/n) laughed. “Am I the one torturing the same person the same 20 ways over and over in the hopes something will give? No, I’m the one who is with-standing it because the consequences of giving in are worse than dealing with a little more pain.”

“What could be worse than everything Moody has put you through?” Remus mused. “He’s told us some of what he’s done, none of which we agreed with. The real reason we’re down here is because we took a vote.”

“A vote?” She took a step back, unsure now of the situation she was in. “A vote for what? Who gets first dibs?”

“What?” Sirius looked taken aback, holding up his hands innocently. “No, we took a vote over if Moody should be down here with you anymore.”

“We decided against it. You don’t have to deal with him anymore.” Remus conjured up a lantern and hung it on the ceiling. “From now on we’re just going to talk.”

“So we’ve moved on from physical torture to psychological, understood.” (Y/n)’s shoulder relaxed slightly. “I can handle that too.”

“No, no, no. I think you’re still not understanding.” Remus smiled, looking at Sirius. “That’s all we’re going to do from now on. Sirius has enlightened us on what you’ve probably grown used to growing up.”

“Enlightened? What would he know about any of that?” she sneered, feeling even more vulnerable than before. Somehow talking seemed more daunting than hours of Cruciatous curses and water-boarding.

“You’re forgetting what family I, regrettably, belong to,” Sirius grumbled, shutting the door. “I have a feeling your upbringing was at least somewhat similar to my own, if not worse. Your father seems to pay you the same amount of care my mother gave me, which is to say nothing unless you are their perfect doll.”

“I don’t know what you could possibly be-”

“Don’t lie, it doesn’t suit you.” Sirius glared at her, arms crossed. “Besides, you can give everyone else the whole “He cares for me, just in a different way” b.s. like you gave Molly, but it won’t work on me. I tried that too, now I realize how bloody wrong I was.”

“Sirius, we came to talk, not to therapise,” Remus warned, putting his hand on Sirius’s chest. “How about we start small, like cornish pixie small?” he glanced at (y/n) almost asking her for permission.

“Right, apologies.” Sirius took a deep breath. “Let’s just start small, right?” Remus dropped his hand and turned back to (y/n).

“I don’t see what actual choice I have,” (Y/n) sat down on top of her sleeping bag, bringing her knees to her chest. “What’s the rules then?”

“No rules, just talk.” Remus once again said, conjuring up some wooden chairs. “Would you like a chair as well, or are you okay there?”

“I’m fine.” (Y/n) watched as the two men sat down. “So, what would you like to talk about? The weather? To me, it seems the same every day to me.”

“Funny,” Sirius rolled his eyes. “But, to be completely honest I haven’t a clue.”

“What’s your favorite color?” Remus asks. “I prefer blue myself.”

“I like gold a lot,” Sirius mutters, still seemingly uninterested in the conversation. “It’s one of the few colors I can see both in my animagus form and human form.”

“It may seem cliche, but I like green.” (Y/n) admits after sitting in silence for a moment. “Not any green though, I enjoy deep greens, phthalo green is a good one, and so is forest green, and juniper.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about different shades of greens, is there any particular reason?” Sirius asked, sitting up more in his chair.

“Not really, it just comes in handy when it comes to potions and herbology.” she shrugged. The three of them were silent for a moment. “So, did either of you ever, um, I don’t know, did either of you ever find a way to sneak into the headmaster’s quarters? Because I did, plenty of times.”

“And you never tried to kill him for your dad?” Sirius seemed confused. “I feel like if you wanted his approval as bad as you seem to, you would’ve, well you know.”

“Answer my question first and then I’ll answer yours.” (Y/n) responded. “Have either of you snuck into Dumbledore’s quarters?”

“I, well, I tried to once, but not while I was still at the school,” Sirius smiled to himself. “It was after I escaped prison. I snuck into the castle looking for Peter and saw a rat head that way. Turned out to be a normal rat.”

“I never really even thought of the idea. I mean, he’s someone I imagine has a lot of security and spells cast around him to protect him from that sort of thing.” Remus admitted. “Your turn, answer Sirius’s question.”

“No, I never tried to kill him.” (Y/n) smirks. “The idea is quite intriguing though. Could you imagine how funny it’d be, if the daughter of the all and powerful Dark Lord, age 13, manages to murder the one person he fears above all else? Besides I liked school.”

“Why did you sneak in then?” Remus prodded, leaning forwards, studying her as she toyed with her fingers. “If not to kill Dumbledore, why bother?”

“To be completely and totally honest? I wanted to be the best at potions, and Dumbledore just so happened to be very close friends with a certain Nicholas Flammel. In order to be able to make a Philosopher’s Stone one would have to excel in both alchemy and potion-making.” she stood up, leaning against the wall. “He had a portrait of him in there, I would sneak in, ask him a million and one questions about potions, and then by the next time I came back I had tested and confirmed what he told me. I took great joy in Snape watching me get better at his own craft than he was.”

Sirius let out a gruff chuckle, which soon became a hollering laugh. Even Remus couldn’t contain himself, joining in with his own chorus of giggles. (Y/n) didn’t quite understand what was so funny, but watching the two of them laugh as hard as they were made her let out a giggle or two. The three of them talked, just talked for a time.

When the knock came at the door (y/n) stiffened, eyeing Sirius as he opened it. Much to her relief, it was Mrs. Weasley bringing dinner along with a small pillow. Sirius thanked her, taking the food from her arms and holding it out to (y/n), offering it to her. She cautiously took it, careful to not get too close as she retreated to her corner of the cell. Mrs. Weasley smiled and held up the pillow.

“It’s not much, but it’s better than what Alastor was giving you.” The older woman set it next to the door. “Whenever you’re ready for it you can grab it. No rush, dear.”

(Y/n) nodded, whispering a small thank you under her breath as Mrs.Weasley left. The soup and bread she had been given more than filled her up. Remus and Sirius continued talking to one another as she ate, everyone now slightly more comfortable with each other.

“I have to admit, she makes good food. Great food actually, Mrs. Malfoy has never been adept in the kitchen department, nor has anyone she’s hired either.” (Y/n) told them, licking the sides of the bowl as she finished her soup. “And as enjoyable as this has been today, I do have a serious question to pose.”

“What question?” Remus asked, stiffening in his seat. Sirius’s eyes seemed to darken as he looked at her as if he was ready to pounce if needed.

“Well, if I’m not to be tortured or forced to divulge any information, what do you expect to do with me then?” setting down the bowl she met their eyes. “You can’t possibly keep me in here forever, but you also can’t just let me out of here either. Which leaves very little option other than killing me or me somehow escaping and taking as many of you with me as I can.”

The men look both shocked and hurt, perhaps a dash of anger in Sirius’s eyes. Neither of them says a thing as they stand up and walk towards the door. (Y/n) smiles at them, pushing their now empty plate and bowl towards them.

“It’s only a matter of time as to which happens first. Personally, I’ve accepted dying in here. No resources will be wasted on a rescue for me, nor will there be anyone to mourn me. I suggest you make the decision soon before I find a way to slaughter the lot of you in your sleep.” she threatens, meeting Remus’s gaze. “Because you were right, Dumbledore does have plenty of security in his quarters, much more so than the barrier spells that get weaker day by day in here.”

~~{𝘌𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘛𝘸𝘰}~~

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tangledinink · 10 months

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Does Donnie’s situation end up inadvertently giving Leo survivor’s guilt because he’s been spared the horror his twin had to live through?

Absolutely.

#asks #gemini asks #hyperchef #tw csa implied #tw csa #tw child abuse implied #tw child abuse

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ultra-rage · 2 months

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hey I don't know how to fucking say this, but it might be funny to some of you to fuck with me

but my mother, Donna Troy, abused me. She hurt me, do you expect me to get angry and or play along when you joke about being attracted to her or her being your type of lady?

like fuck off dude, joke about it to someone else or shit talk me in private. this is one of those don't say it to my fucking face things.

if you want to be owned like a dog and treated less than dirt then by all means go for it. I won't stop you, I don't fucking care.

#;ic #tw child abuse mention #implied child abuse #ask to tag #tw child abuse implied

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not-that-dillinger · 2 years

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[🔪:] Alan stared at Ed, his face pale. He staggered backwards, jot sure if he should call the police or try and hear the younger programmer out. His hands trembled, and he could hear his heart thrumming in his head.

He should've screamed. He should've called for help. Instead he stared into Ed's eyes, desperate for an answer.

"Why?"

[From the "send 🔪 to encounter my muse after they've just killed someone" meme. Doesn't need to be a thread if you dont want it to be, I just thought the angst would be spicey]

Ed stared at the corpse. He felt... nothing. Not... vindication, not anger, not grief or... anything.

His eyes flicked first toward the child backing away down the alley into the dark street, curly blonde hair sticking out from under a plastic viking helmet. Ed dropped the shard of glass that had been digging into his hand. He didn't even remember picking it up, but there were several other bottles littering the street, so he must have grabbed one.

Was that his blood or...

The glass shattered loudly in the too silent street.

"Beo, I..." Ed started weakly. He'd promised both of them he would never expose Beo to violence. Not after everything e'd already endured.

The child turned and ran, disappearing into the dark.

Ed didn't dare chase after Beowulf. E wasn't safe with him anymore. He had no right to take care of Petra's child after what he'd done.

Ed sank to the ground, his body aching from the abuse he'd endured in the fight. He wasn't a fighter, he had no experience or training in martial arts or street fighting, but when he'd seem that man, drunk and pinning Beo to the wall with a predatory look in his eyes, when he heard the things he said he'd do... Ed snapped.

Ed could feel the gash in his side, his shirt sticky-hot and plastered to his side. That would need stitches, if not surgery.

The state was going to take custody of Beo since Ed was clearly violent and unfit to take care of a child. Or at the very least while the investigation was going on.

He turned to Alan, finally registering that he was there. He knew he could trust Alan to take care of Beowulf, even if he hated the idea of burdening Alan with a kid he probably didn't want. He turned to him with a desperate look on his face. "Please... Look after Beowulf for me. E has no other place to go right now..."

#tw death #tw child abuse implied #tw csa implied #the last one didn't actually get to that point but it's implied that was the intent #OUCH SORRY #...I was about to send you this one ;D #Guess you beat me too it

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gunslinginnhogtyin · 3 months

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"Don't chase the rabbit" - Kairi (i sent one before this, you can answer one/the other or both if you so choose! <3)

Send me "Don't chase the rabbit" and your muse will be shown a random memory from my muse's past. // @as-above-rp

“Butch?”

Butch freezes in the midst of tip toeing past his father.

“Have ya finished cleanin’ the stables?”

Butch nods and his father glances back at him, bushy brows furrowed.

“I can’t hear yer head rattlin’, boy.”

“…Yeah, Pops, th’ stables’re clean. Can I go play with th’ baby cows now?” The child asks hopefully, wringing his hands nervously.

“Now, there’s plenty more work t’be done ‘round here… ‘sides, those fella’s are gonna be food soon enough. Best not to get too attached.”

Butch frowns at that.

“Don’t go tellin’ him things like that.” Butch’s mother, Beatrice, scolds as she enters the room, holding a large bowl of eggs she had just collected from the chicken pin.

“Don’t raise yer voice at me, woman.” Ernest sneers.

“Ain’t no one raisin’ their voice, ya bull. He’s six. F’he wants t’play with the cows, let ‘im.”

Butch smiles to himself, happy his mother is on his side but that quickly changes when his father snaps.

“Don’t tell me how t’raise my son.”

Beatrice sighs and rolls her eyes, making her way into the kitchen. “I really don’t wanna do this right now…”

“Do what? Yer th’ one pickin’ fights! You want that boy to be a WIMP!”

“Oh my lord, Ernest, honestly—yer overreacting.” Beatrice huffs tiredly, setting the eggs on the counter.

“Tch, I don’t expect you t’be showin’ ‘im anythin’ useful, anyhow.” Ernest walks over, gripping Butch’s arm and dragging him along as he walks out of the house. Butch stumbles along but doesn’t hesitate, knowing what would happen if he displayed any sort of resistance towards his father.

“Why don’t we play with the horses instead? I’ll show ya how to ride. Yer old ‘nough to learn by now, anyhow. And it ain’t a useless skill like cookin.”

The little blonde blinks in surprise and in an instant, he’s grinning excitedly. His Pops never wants to do anything fun like that; in fact, the last time he had asked, he got yelled at! He’s practically skipping alongside his father now.

Crossing the field, they come to a stop by a fence where a couple of saddles rested on one of the posts. Releasing his sons arm, he grabs one of the saddles and holds it out for Butch to take.

“You’ve seen yer ol’ man saddle up a horse b’fore. Go on.” The child reaches out to grip the saddle but when the weight of it is released by his father, Butch tumbles to the ground with it.

“G-Gosh, this’s… heavy! I don’t think—“

“F’ya wanna ride a horse, ya gotta put its saddle on! Pick th’ damn thing up.” Ernest says sternly, scowling down at his son. When his father took that tone, that’s when the fun was over.

While Butch watches his father wander off to retrieve one of the horses, he struggles to pick the saddle up. The thing weighs just as much as he does! When all is said and done, the six year old had managed to heave it onto his back, his legs wobbling with each step he takes towards the horse Ernest had led over.

“Go on.” He urges.

With trembling legs, Butch reels back and gives his best throw which actually isn’t all that great because the saddle comes crashing down on top of him, causing him to topple over with a yelp.

“Can’t ya do nothin’ right?”

Hearing a heavy sigh come from his father, he suddenly feels a lot lighter as that saddle is lifted off of him and fastened onto the horse, his father complaining all the while.

“If yer mother didn’t treat ya like a sissy, ya might actually be good fer somethin. When I was yer age…” Ernest continues to gripe on as Butch brings himself back to his feet.

He staves off the feeling of having the wind knocked out of him and moves closer to the horse, gripping the saddle just as his Pops had finished fastening it on. Then, he attempts to pull himself up onto the horse, struggling a good bit since he barely comes up past the horses mid section. He falls over more than once, losing his balance or his grip every now and again. After hearing some more chiding from his father, he manages to hop and climb his way up onto the large stallion, all by himself!

“I did it!” Butch exclaims tiredly but excitedly, carefully taking the reigns.

“Yeah, yeah—that’s th’ easy part.” His father comments with a scoff.

Giving a tug on the reigns, the horse begins to walk. A smile had found its way back on his face; he was doing it! He was riding a horse all by himself! He couldn’t wait to tell his Ma when he got back to the house!

The child’s excitement is cut short however when the horse suddenly begins to act up, as if it had been spooked by something. Neighing loudly in agitation, the stallion jerks about and thrashes, Butch hanging on for dear life and screaming all the while. Unfortunately he’s not able to hold on much longer, his fingers slip when in one rough motion, the horse bucks hard and he flies off, hitting the ground with a crack.

The moment he hits the ground, a jolt of pain runs through his body—his arm more specifically. Taking a deep breath in, the child clutches his arm and cries out, writhing on the ground in pain. Looking around frantically through blurry tears for his father, he finds his silhouette standing some ways away, just watching.

In another moment he sees his mother storming over to his father; he can’t hear any yelling over the sound of his own crying but he knows that’s what’s happening. A push, a shove, a slap, and a punch later, his mother is at his side, scooping him up into her arms carefully but quickly and rushing towards the house. He can hear his heart beat pounding in his ears and suddenly everything goes black.

When he comes to, he finds himself in his bed. His arm aches and he quickly takes notice of the splint holding his arm in place. Luckily his mother is at his side, easing his nerves with a soft song and brushing her fingers through his hair.

#as above rp #(had to channel my inner step dad for this one )#don’t chase the rabbit #tw domestic abuse #(random memory how ABOUT A SAD ONE???)#(atleast it ended on a good note 8’) sorta….)#tw child abuse implied #long post #Drabble

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imxthexhandler · 1 year

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"I've got you," - Starter opener

Send “I’ve got you” to help my muse wash off blood from their body.

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( @stilldreamingreality)

Amelia’s hands were trembling as Wanda was helping to wash the blood off them. She let out a shaky breath before attempt to take a deep one, slowly inhaling and exhaling as opposed to the thundering beat of her heart.

The adrenaline and anger was slowly leaving her, she was starting to calm down some. Even still, she didn’t actually hear Wanda’s statement, her rapid heart beat drumming in her ears at the moment.

Usually, she kept her cool, but there was just something about when this trafficker was taunting them about possibly not finding the children in time to save them... Perhaps it was because of all the stress she was under. Perhaps it was because it was so close to Joshua’s birthday. Or maybe, Amelia’s soul just finally had enough, but she snapped.

She was vaguely aware of Barton’s startled remarks that she nearly ‘beat the piece of shit to death’ with her own bare hands.

...She would not make any apology for it. Not a single one.

#stilldreamingreality #wildthiiing #Wanda taking care of Amelia #tw blood #tw human trafficking #tw child abuse implied #injury report (nsfw)#damnit Barton do your paper-queue

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girlyteengirl16 · 8 months

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yes ofc i’m normal and can be trust around sharp objects

#tw sh destructive behaviour #tw sh implied #tw selfhate #trauma #mentally unstable #tw depressing stuff #mental abuse #i wanna kms #childhood neglect #mentally tired #child neglect #i want to be okay #tw depressing thoughts

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chronicsymptomsyndrome · 4 months

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Nobody is “too young” to be cynical or jaded or hate their life. There is no appropriate age for that. If someone is experiencing that at any age, their mental health is at risk. Doesn’t matter how young they are, or how easy their life seems. Just because existential dread didn’t hit you until later in life, doesn’t mean everyone else gets to be so lucky.

“You think life sucks now? Just wait until you’re grown” okay grandpa what if they don’t make it to adulthood? What if it gets worse until they only see one way out and they take it? Stop being dismissive. Stop forcing your problems onto young people and start taking them seriously about things. Period.

(Inspired by this post)

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mousebone-s · 5 months

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It’s not my fault / It’s my own fault

I’m not human at all / I have no heart

(Lyrics from Sleep Party People - I’m Not Human at All)

#tw implied abuse #tw child abuse #undertale #utdr #chara dreemurr #chara #digital art #my art #chara undertale #undertale chara #tw bruises

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unclewaynemunson · 1 year

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

'Fuck,' he said, emphatically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, well, that hit a sore spot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'What do you mean?' he finally said.

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

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

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

'I know you wouldn't –'

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

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

Steve nodded, still looking slightly past Eddie.

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

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

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

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

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

'Your dad, too?'

Eddie nodded. 'Mhm.'

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

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

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

'What kind of rules?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Okay, I can do that.'

Eddie squeezed Steve tighter. 'Thank you.'

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

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

'I'm sorry for startling you.'

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

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

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

'You wanna stay the night?'

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

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

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

'You sure?'

'Hell yes.'

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

'Yeah, I'll stay.'

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

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qcoded · 1 month

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Redrew a panel of Makima and Denji w/ these two :P aghhh the blood on their clothes looks a bit weird 😭

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nerves-nebula · 10 months

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start | Prev | Next

pages 41-43

it’s donnies turn to be an asshole and little leo has a little baby breakdown about it. hahhhh ok im gonna go play wizard101 until like 6 AM or something.

#nnstuff #nnart #teenage mutant neglected turtles #neglected art #sa tw #csa tw #victim blaming #implied csa tw #implied sa tw #child abuse tw #rape tw #tmnt comic #incest tw #Leo memory comic

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l-herz · 3 months

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Do we want to talk about the implications of how the teachers (or at least a teacher) at Hudol were literally physically abusive??? And how Adaine and Aelwyn talked about it so casually??Glad we got the Abernant Sisters out of there cause holy shit

#dimension 20 #d20 spoilers #fhjy spoilers #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #dimension 20 fantasy high #tw child abuse #implied child abuse #more accurately

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fastcardotmp3 · 1 year

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thinking about Max and the Munson's living across the way from each other post s3 again, but maybe specifically Max living across the way from Wayne post s3.

Wayne Munson knows what a kid looks like when they hide behind well practiced and carefully crafted defense mechanisms, after all, and he recognizes a kid with too much responsibility on their shoulders.

He sees this teenage girl with the pigtails and the hard eyes who doesn't answer the door when her friends come to call even though Wayne saw her sitting on the porch twenty minutes ago; who is always the one bringing groceries home on foot even when her mom's car is there; whose bedroom light is too frequently on when Wayne gets home before the sun even has the chance to think about rising.

And he's not gonna overstep about it, he has no intention of making this girl uncomfortable because he is a stranger to her and he knows how both he and Eddie look on a first glance, wouldn't blame her for not being entirely trusting, but he keeps an eye out for her anyway.

Tells Eddie too-- "She's home alone a lot, you make sure no one tries takin' advantage, hear?"-- even if Eddie is mostly preoccupied with his own shit most of the time, because if Wayne can recognize a kid hiding, a kid carrying too much around on that skateboard of hers, then Eddie certainly can too.

"You adopting another stray, old man?" is Eddie's response, but he glances out through the blinds at the trailer across the way with a heaviness to his shoulders in understanding at the sight of that girl sitting on the porch with her headphones on and a school book in her lap that she's decidedly not paying any attention.

"Something like that," Wayne claps him on the shoulder, squeezes as he passes by, but he doesn't think anything will really come of it.

There's not much they can do except keep an eye out, carry the Mayfields' paper up to the porch on rainy days so it won't get soggy and unreadable, offer a wave and a kind word and a reminder that "if your Mama ain't home and you need something, you just give us a knock," despite the brush off he gets every time.

And then one night-- one morning really, before the sun is about to rise-- Wayne pulls up at home after his shift to find Eddie standing out in the snow, odd enough in and of itself made odder by the fact he isn't alone.

"--don't know what you think you're gonna accomplish here at four in the goddamned morning, Harrington, but--"

"I mean, that doesn't feel like any of your business."

"You're parked outside my home, yeah it's my business," Eddie gestures broadly at the unfamiliar BMW the two of them are standing next to as Wayne clambers out of his own truck on tired legs and overworked shoulders.

He needs a hot shower, a good, long sleep.

But Eddie is getting in this other kid's face and it's--

"I'm parked outside that home," Harrington, big coat and gloves but thin pajama pants poking out underneath it all, points at the Mayfield trailer with exhausted exasperation and something tinged with a bit more urgency too, "and I don't know you, man, nothing I do is any of your business--"

"Steve come in-- do you have visual yet, over?"

"Jesus Christ," Harrington reaches into the front seat of his car, yanks out a radio that has Wayne's eyebrows shooting up even as he approaches them, the impatient and anxious shift of Eddie's untied sneakers in the December slush. "Gimme a minute," he says into the walkie-talkie, "I told you I'd call when I did."

"Yeah, but it only takes you ten minutes to drive to her place and--"

Harrington shoves the antenna down and shuts the thing off, just as Wayne finally stops beside his nephew with a hand at his elbow.

"Everything alright here, boys?"

Wayne knows his kid, is the thing, so he knows the protective tension in the cross of those arms, the furrow of his brow, knows that Eddie is maybe seeing himself in Max Mayfield a little too fully on this night, dragged out of his bed by god only knows what to argue with a Harrington in the brisk wind of winter.

And Wayne knows his kid, so he recognizes the work of his jaw when he's about to burst out into a spiel to make himself the target instead of whoever he's put behind him this time around, but he doesn't get the chance to start before he's being interrupted.

"Steve, why are you harassing my neighbors."

Flat and unimpressed but shaky around the edges like she's not quite getting enough air, the orange glow of the light inside her trailer spilling out past her into the blue of night as Steve Harrington's legs all but give out with a breath of--

"Oh, thank god," he shuts the door to his car behind him as he takes a few steps closer to him, Eddie trailing like he's ready to literally put his body between them instead of just figuratively, "are you okay?"

"I'm not the one driving around town in the middle of the night, what are you doing here?" she crosses her arms, doesn't leave the cracked doorway at the top of the steps and Harrington doesn't try to climb them either.

And then it's a quick, well-punctuated punch of a conversation in which Wayne feels like he's missing about half the facts, standing by nonetheless.

"Lucas walkied."

"I told him I was fine."

"You called him at three A.M. and hung up on him without explanation," Steve points out surprisingly levelly.

"Yeah. After I told him I was fine."

"Max."

"I thought I wanted to talk about it and changed my mind."

"You know he'd listen."

"I can't-- you know I can't--"

"Yes you can."

"Not about him. Not to Lucas."

"To me, then," Steve throws his hands up in exasperation, and Wayne can feel something crackling in the air.

It's the same thing that had been there the first handful of times Eddie had picked a fight with Wayne after he first moved to Hawkins, looking for the line, looking for how far he could go before it all went to shit again.

Wayne knows this girl, even if he doesn't know her, because years ago he'd brought a boy with a buzzcut for a visit and he'd never left.

Which is maybe why he speaks up even though he knows how that boy would've reacted.

"If you need something, kiddo..."

"I need everyone to leave me alone," she snaps, striding out all the way onto the porch, only the bravado of it falters when the door slams shut behind her and she all but jumps out of her skin. "Fuck. God, shit, that door--"

She opens it again, yanks it nearly off its hinges just to slam it once more like she's trying to break the thing.

And now she's definitely not getting enough air. Now she's--

"Max, hey, alright--"

"Buddy, I dunno--"

"Back off, Munson, this is really not your business," Harrington shoves past Eddie and strides up the steps as Max slumps down onto the top one, arms wrapped around herself and Eddie looks ready to fight but Wayne just.

He doesn't know Steve Harrington, doesn't even really know his family beyond the way of small towns and knowing names and the neighborhoods in which they reside, but he knows a kid in distress leaning towards safety even if they don't believe they deserve it and Max Mayfield is leaning towards him.

Not Wayne, not Eddie, but this kid with the walkie-talkie and-- is he wearing two different shoes?

Wayne waits the compulsory moment to see Max really fall apart, right there into the fabric of Steve's coat as she keeps her hands tucked under her arms but catches her breath with that one point of contact-- forehead to shoulder-- as Steve speaks gently, words getting caught in the wind. As she stutters out rattling feelings right back.

"The door slammed when she left for work and I-- thought he was-- back again-- I thought-- and I shouldn't've-- not Lucas-- not for, for this--"

Wayne crosses the distance between him and Eddie, hand on his shoulder dragging him out of his own head, wherever it is he goes when his gaze goes glassy and tired like it does now in the gray glow of this place as the snow starts up again.

"You did good," Wayne murmurs, tugging Eddie back towards their own home, just across the way. "Good job, Ed, she's gonna be okay."

"She's..." Eddie clears his throat, looks so much younger than he is for a moment.

"Being looked after," Wayne says with a certainty he wouldn't have felt about the matter a day ago, Eddie following him listlessly back up the steps to the unlocked front door. "You did good."

"I didn't do anything," Eddie frowns, the pink of his cheeks and his nose practically glowing once they're inside.

"You showed her you've got her back," Wayne tells him without room for argument, pulling off his winter coat and moving to heat up water on the stove even as Eddie peeks through the curtains again, seemingly unable to accept that nothing bad is going to happen tonight.

Wayne can't be sure what put him in this state of mind, how he even got alerted to Harrington's arrival in the first place, but he knows he'll find his way back to solid ground soon enough.

Hot tea and warm clothes, when Wayne pulls Eddie away from the window, he catches sight of Steve speaking into the walkie with one hand and holding Max to rest against his shoulder with the other.

He'll make sure they get out of the cold before he goes to bed, but for now he has his own kid to sit with in the ghosts of past hauntings brought back to life for the night.

"We gotta keep an eye out for her," Eddie mutters as he accepts the mug Wayne hands him, feet tucked up under a blanket on the couch.

Wayne sits down next to him and props his tired feet up on the coffee table with a heavy breath.

"We will," he says, because he knows there's no discouraging Eddie now.

The kid learned his habit for picking up strays from somewhere, after all.

#dot post #dot fic #this was a three sentence thought that turned into 'oh wait I have feelings to share' so whoops #eddie munson #wayne munson #max mayfield #steve harrington #tw implied child abuse #I entered this fandom having feelings about max and eddie bonding and here I remain

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