#I can’t fucking stand it when people use the ‘is it harsh abusive level’ type of flaming arguments 😩 and when they bring up others like

[tootysweetcheeks]

[smoljamswrites]

all is fair in love & war | bts x reader | chapter 4

pairing: bts x female reader

genre: mafia!au, series fic, angst, fluff, (eventual) smut

warnings for this chapter: abuse, fat levels of angst (but then there’s a fluffy part that’s then killed by more angst), swearing, degradation, mentions of stalking, y/n cries? is this a potential trigger, idk? 

a/n: just an fyi, incase it isn’t clear, the italics in paragraphs are thoughts. Plus, I apologise if this chapter seems a little jumpy in terms of moving from scene to scene - but it’s just so I could get the story to progress quicker, so I can get into the real meat of it. Oh and I probably butchered the Korean street name system thingy so if you could excuse that, that’d be great. Thanks for reading and supporting this fic! I love you all!!

fic playlist is here x

Clutching at your hair, Sunny roughly drags you into the living room. To say she was livid would be an understatement. The anger darkened her eyes, her eyebrows furrowed, and jaw clenched as she brought you to a stop – right in front of Yunseo and some of the other members. She had phoned them when you begged her to not to tell anyone about the guy in the car, declaring you had a “contact within the outside world”. They had sent a car to pick you both up at that moment, and her hands haven’t left your hair since – gripping onto it so hard, making your eyes water.

Yunseo sits directly in the middle of the leather sofa, his crew of Syndicates placed strategically around the room. They’re expecting me to run…interesting. You’re pushed down onto the floor, your knees harshly colliding with the solid laminate.

Before you even lift your head to meet his eyes, Yunseo has already began to raise his voice. “Who was the guy, Y/N?!” his voice was filled with hatred, fires of fury smouldering his narrowed eyes. You look down onto the floor, shaking your head, not saying a word. Why the fuck would I tell them Jungkook’s name? They’re gonna have to try a lot harder than this, you muse.

A sinister chuckle escapes past Yunseo’s lips, and it makes your stomach churn. You know it isn’t long until they start getting violent, but that isn’t going to make you cave. Not yet. “Listen, we can do this the easy way – you tell me his name, how you know him and what was said between you two – or we can do this the hard way” at that Yunseo rises from his seat and the other members follow suit to loom over you.

You’re on your knees, head lifted to meet eyes with your intimidators. Your eyes wander to Juwon, and you find yourself surprised he isn’t playing with your hair or finding another way to place his grimy hands on you. A smirk toys on his lips, liking the way you look through your eyelashes at him, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Sick fucking bastard! Your blood is boiling; you are sick and tired of being treated like this. Like you’re just a possession to them. Adrenalin hits you, and it makes you feel alive. Your heart is beating so fast, you feel as if it going to fly straight out of your chest. Standing up, you notice for the second time this week you are feeling yourself getting brave.

“No. Why don’t you fucking listen to me? Fuck you! I hate all of you! Why didn’t you just kill me, huh? Kill me! Go on, I dare you!” the adrenalin is flowing through your blood, and it feels like you can’t control your limbs, which is why it is such a surprise to you as much as it is to your ‘superiors’ when you lay your hands on Juwon. Putting all the force you could muster; you use both hands to push at his figure. Due to Juwon not expecting this, he falls back, rage evident on his face as soon as he reaches the ground. Within the same millisecond, your body is dragged back by somebody else, arms restricted, and you don’t even wince when Yunseo’s fists come flying towards your face. You don’t know whether it’s the surge of adrenalin or if its because you’re used to the pain by now, but you just feel numb to his actions. Each punch, to both your face and body, sends signals to your brain that makes it feel like your internal organs should be bursting – but yet you don’t seem to feel a thing. It’s like you’re unconscious, but you can see everything that is happening. All you can feel is your heart beating loudly in your ears, and it’s almost deafening.  

“Who the fuck was it, you dirty fucking slut?!” Yunseo’s spit flies at your face, amazingly faster than the blows.

It is at this moment, that your body realises what is happening. Your mind snaps back into reality and every hit sends a painful jolt through your body. Your face is soaked from the tears, and you’re screaming, finding it hard to hear your own screams over their harsh words. You need this done with, and you need it done with now.

“F-fine I’ll tell you! Just don’t hit me again, please!” you whimper out. The member who was propping up your body lets go, leaving your limp form to fall to the ground. You can hear snickers coming from around the room. They really think they’ve won, huh? Cute.

“I-I met him at ‘Angels’ and to be honest I don’t really know him. But for the past few days, he seemed really obsessed with me. When I saw h-him outside the shop, it creeped me out, I didn’t expect him to be there, and I lost my cool, I guess.” You begin, trying to simultaneously catch your breath, “I went up to his car and literally asked him why he was following me. And when he wouldn’t answer me, I called him a creep and left. That was when I saw Sunny there.”

They all hold the same look on their face – like they want to believe you but they’re not quite sure yet. Your throat feels on fire from all the screaming and crying, but you find it in you to continue, wanting to finish your web of lies perfectly, “I didn’t want to tell you because I see the way you hurt people, and he seemed like an ordinary guy, just too caught up in his own horny feelings and I didn’t want you to hurt him because of that. I guess I felt scared for him.”

The Sin Syndicate members all look towards their leader, awaiting their new order, and you do the same, praying that they believe your story. Yunseo scratches at his stubble on his jaw, seemingly deciding on his next step. He addresses the members first, not bothering to look in your direction, “We’ll keep an eye out for him – Sunny you know what he looks like right? Perfect.” And then he spares a glance at you, “As for you, get to bed, I don’t want to see you right now.”

Your legs shake and your whole body feels extremely sore. Clutching at your own waist, as if you were stopping your intestines from falling out, you drag yourself to your room. You flop down onto your bed, head pounding. Yet all you can think about is Jungkook’s safety – what will happen if they find him? God I shouldn’t even care about him, he’s a fucking stalker! But yet you still reach into your drawer fifteen minutes later to retrieve your phone, deciding on warning Jungkook.

Fuck. Your phone shows you that you have already had missed calls and many text messages from him. You move your thumb to press the correct button to get onto the messaging app, then instantly press again to pull up the conversation between you and Jungkook.

Jungkook: please don’t be mad! I can explain, I promise. It’s just not something that I can explain quickly x [19:26]

Jungkook: ‘You have missed calls from ‘Jungkook’ at 19:29 and 19:41. This is a free call alert.’

Jungkook: please don’t ignore me Y/N, it’s important that I know that you’re okay x [19:59]

Jungkook: ‘You have missed 3 calls from ‘Jungkook’. This is a free call alert’.

Jungkook: Just hear me out Y/N x [20:04]

You feel your heart fall to the pit of your stomach. You can tell Jungkook is worried about you and you hate that you made him concerned. But you still need to think about his actions, following you around is not okay. You have every right to feel mad. It’s because of him that you just got the beating of your lifetime!

You: I don’t understand how you’re eager to give me answers all of a sudden, when earlier you wouldn’t give them me!? What’s changed now? Finally worked out an excuse? [20:13]

He messages back relatively fast, which draws your mind back to feeling guilty for worrying him. Oh God! I still have to warn him!

Jungkook: I get that you’re mad but not replying for almost an hour after I last seen you isn’t funny! You had me so fucking worried! I literally thought the worst, okay! I thought something had happened to you. WTF?! As for the answers you want (and deserve) I will give them you, I promise. All you gotta do is meet with me because I need to explain things face to face, it’s easier. The situation is too complicated for me to rush the explanation or to type it out on text x [20:15]

Leaving isn’t a problem. It’s the making sure Jungkook remains safe and that he isn’t seen by any Sin Syndicate member that’s the issue.

You: I’d be happy to meet you so I could finally know wtf is going on, but I don’t know how I’m going to be able to. [20:16]

You know that you have to go; this could be your opportunity to explain to him that he needs to be careful – maybe you could explain to him the full situation…can you trust him with that?

You: Okay so I have an idea. But for it to work, you gotta be able to work with me or this could end terribly, trust me! (I’ll explain later!) Make sure you are by your phone all day tomorrow, if you can, and when I have the chance to meet you, I’ll message you to let you know. I don’t know what time it will be but it will definitely be tomorrow because I really need to tell you something too! [20:18]

Jungkook: deal. x [20:18]

Not wanting to be the cause of his fretting again, you ensure to message him one last time before turning your phone off and getting some well-deserved sleep.

You: Goodnight x [20:19]

--------------------------------------------------------

You haven’t been able to concentrate all morning. You haven’t got a performance on main stage today, but you still had to show up for work, especially with what had happened the night before. So you’ve been preoccupying yourself with speaking to clients and helping the waiters and waitresses. There is no way you’ll be practicing today, let alone performing for everyone. Currently, you’re sat at the bar, swirling your tiny umbrella around in your glass.

Getting yourself out of bed this morning was a nightmare. As soon as you sat up and swung your legs over the side of the bed, it had sent an aching pain right through your entire being. Your head felt too heavy to carry from the offset, and all you wanted to do was to lie back down again. But you knew you couldn’t. If you wanted everything to go smoothly you knew you had to start moving.

You feel almost criminal – your phone being hidden in the fluffy slipper sock that your wearing, planning to sneak out for a while. The girls haven’t spoken to you yet, but they don’t miss the opportunity to send malicious glares in your direction. Not that you want them to speak to you; you know they hate you and the feeling is mutual. Just then someone places their hand on your back, and you jump at the feeling.

“Hey hey, what’s wrong? You’re all jumpy…is everything okay?” a familiar voice begins to calm your worries, and the way his comforting tone spills past his lips with ease sends a foreign sensation to your core. You move to meet his eyes, and a concerned look adorns his face.

“I’m fine Jin. Just got a lot on at the moment, I guess.” You decide to play it safe, considering you blurted out probably more than you should have done, the last time. But still, his evident worry doesn’t fade.

Taking a seat next to you at the bar, he ghosts his hand over yours- almost like he was deciding whether he should take your hand in his, but then chose against it. “Is there anything that I can help with?” You snap your head in his direction. Oh my god, what a fucking genius!

Your emotions must have shown on your face, because his brows drew together like he was wondering what you could be thinking about.  

“Yes! Woah okay so,” you begin turning your body and bringing your hands together in excitement. Your voice instantly lowers as you speak again, “I need to meet a, well uhm-, a friend. But the problem is, I can’t leave. It’s super important that I meet with him today, so maybe, if you could help me that would be amazing! I’m thinking that you could wait half an hour or so, then request a private dance from me? And that way then they’ll think I’m preoccupied elsewhere, meaning that I could leave? What do you think?”

“Yeah sure, I’d be happy to help.”

---------------------------------------

Making yourself look busy with other clients for the next 30 minutes was harder than you had anticipated. You struggled to focus on the conversations you were having with them, as your mind kept flitting back to your previous chat with Seokjin.

God he’s a lifesaver! I seriously owe him one.

After what seemed like centuries, Yunseo calls your name. Making your way to him, you tried to look as sheepishly as possible, knowing it’d be best to make this stunt look believable. “Y-yes sir?” Nice! Make him think you’re scared after yesterday.

He doesn’t bother to speak for long, evidently pissed at your antics this week, “A gentleman has offered me a pretty large sum of money to book two back-to-back private dance slots with you. I’d be an idiot not to accept, so you’ll be in there for an hour. Keep him happy.” And with that he’s gone. You have to look at the floor to prevent anyone watching from seeing the smile forming on your lips.

Entering the same private dance room as last time, you quickly shut the door and squeal as you make your way over to where Jin is sitting.

“You are currently my favourite person ever! You’ve given me a whole hour! You’re the best seriously!” You know you look like an idiot because you just can’t stop smiling. You pull out your phone from the side of your sock and begin to text Jungkook.

You: Hey, I’m okay to leave now, but I must be back before half one x [12:33]

Bringing your attention back onto Jin, a sudden realisation hits you. “Shit! You’re gonna have to hide for an hour while I’m gone!” The smile is instantly wiped off your face, as you prepare yourself for an annoyed Seokjin. Yet, he doesn’t appear annoyed at all.

Shaking his head and continuing to smile, he stands up, “I know. Don’t worry! If you wanted, I could drive you to wherever you needed to go to meet your friend?” he goofily shakes his car keys and you giggle.

------------------------------

Sitting in the passenger seat of his car, you are speechless. This dude must be earning the big bucks if this is his own fucking Chevrolet Corvette! The shutting of Jin’s door brings you back to reality, “So where are we going?”

Oh right, duh. Removing your phone from your sock once more, you turn on the screen to read Jungkook’s message and position it so Jin can see.

Jungkook: okie dokie, do you know where the café is on Myeongnyun-ro? It’s only a few minutes away from Angels x [12:35]

“ahh right then, lets go!”

-----------------------------

Getting out the car and thanking Jin, you make your way towards the café door. Instantly you start fretting as Jungkook is nowhere to be seen. Sitting down at a booth, you begin to text him, but you’re interrupted by the door in front of you opening, making the little bell above it ding!

Jungkook walks through the door and you swear to God you stop breathing for a second. Your eyes trace his tall, well-built figure; from his chocolatey tousled hair down to his two-toned, bulky shoes. When his eyes meet yours, they instantly light up, and he moves his hand; gesturing for you to come over. As you get closer, the more nervous you feel. You notice the way he bites his bottom lip, and starts wringing his hands together, and that made you relax. He was just as nervous as you were. Reaching his figure, you took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. Your mind wanders to the night that you met, and a goofy smile overtakes your features.

“Hey, what drink would you like?” he says, nerves still evident in the way he spoke.

“You’re sounding like Mr. Persistent Bartender again” you giggle, proud of the way he visibly loosens up at the sound of your joke.

Jungkook lets out a chuckle, as he rolls his shoulders back, “Shut up, lemme buy you a drink” he whines. His voice cuts straight through your heart, sending warmth through your body. Yet you can’t let him give you another drink for free.

“No no it’s fine! I’m not thirsty. Don’t spend your money.” You reach to grab his arm, as he moves in direction of the employee standing at the till.

All your efforts go to waste when he shakes his head at you, dismissing your previous comment, “Hey, I’ll take a coffee and… she’ll have a hot chocolate.” You pull on his arm like a child and tell him you’re fine, but this only spurs him on further. A smirk sits on his lips as he continues, “and can the hot chocolate have whipped cream and marshmallows too please?” He looks down at your unimpressed face, and he coos ruffling your hair. God, you’re going to be the death of him!

“Would you like sprinkles too?” you hear the barista ask, but you’re too late to reject the sprinkles as Jungkook has already beaten you too it. And of course he says yes.

“That’ll be £7.85 please. And I must say, you guys are such a cute couple!” the barista gushes and you feel heat rise to your face. You peer over to Jungkook and see him giving her the money with the biggest smile on his face.

“Thanks! Keep the change.” Grabbing both of the drinks, Jungkook walks back to the booth, with you trailing behind him, embarrassed. You slide in the seat opposite him and he pushes the hot chocolate towards you. Sarcastically rolling your eyes, you move the cup towards your mouth to take a sip. It tasted so heavenly; you swear you could have orgasmed. Lifting your eyes from the cup to look at Jungkook, you see he’s already looking at you – and he’s looking at you expectantly.

“….what?”

“You first.” The two words sends you into a frenzy, reminding you of why you’re actually here. Fidgeting in your seat slightly, you remove eye contact as you think about how to tell him. Okay so you’re gonna have to never ever speak to me again because I don’t want you to die. So, it’s been nice knowing you! Thanks for the hot chocolate.

You cough, ensuring your voice still works before lowering your voice, “Okay so what I’m about to tell you is really serious. I’m not joking or lying or whatever. I really need you to believe me, okay? I’ve lied to you – I don’t live at a stupid dorm, and I don’t go to college. In fact, the only proper schooling I have ever had was only for 2 years and it stopped when I was like 5. And from then, ‘til the age of 11 I was home schooled, if you could even call it that.” You realise you’re rambling, and you quickly decide to get to the point, “I live with these people. They’re not really nice and they hurt people and sometimes they hurt me,” You don’t notice as you’re not looking at him, but Jungkook tenses at this admission. “they don’t let me have proper contact with anyone. And um- they saw you speaking to me yesterday. Well, Sunny did, and she told the others, and I’m so fucking sorry but they’re looking for you now. And well, I need you to delete my number, stop talking to me, and forget about me forever just so I know that you’ll be safe-“

Your little speech is cut off by a giggle, and your eyes dart up, finally, to meet his. Why the fuck does he find this funny? Does he think I’m joking? Furrowing your eyebrows together, your whispering voice harshens, “Guk, I’m being serious here! I can’t believe-“

His voice is considerably loud compared to your quietened tone, “Y/N calm down, I’m pretty sure I can handle Syndicate” Jungkook finds your state of confusion very amusing, as he rests his head on his hand and smiles right at you.

Before you can interrogate him on how he knows Sin Syndicate, he cuts you off, “My turn yeah?” he moves his hand to take a hold of yours, “I’ve been following you since you came to our club because I’ve been worried. We all have. And by we, I mean…Bangtan. I’m sure you’ve heard of us…” his eyes search yours and all he sees in return is pure panic. “Please hear me out! We don’t want to hurt you, I promise. Bangtan doesn’t hurt innocent people – we protect the innocent. All through my training, I was told the chilling story of the young girl, who had to be kidnapped due to a slip up in the Syndicate’s System, tortured not just by the grief of losing her family, but by the men who held her captive. When the new generation of Bangtan took over 7 years ago, we vowed to find that girl, and keep her safe. And here you are. You don’t need to worry about me, yeah? Syndicate doesn’t know our true identities, and it’s gonna stay that way, right?”

Your heart is thumping so loud, you’re certain he can hear it, “…oh yeah. I won’t tell anyone, I promise” your voice is barely a whisper. You feel so fucking numb, it feels like you’re dreaming.

“So, do you have any questions?”

Do you? “Um, I don’t know, my mind’s a little blank at the moment. This is a lot to take in. Um- do you kill people then?”

He lets out a breath, and gently moves his hand to intertwine his fingers with yours, “not in the way Syndicate does. Syndicate will kill anything that breathes, just to make a point. We kill people that are like Sin Syndicate. Does this make sense?” he looks up from your hands to meet your gaze, and you quickly nod, “The best person to have explain to you all the technical stuff is our leader Namjoon.”

Now it’s your turn to divert your gaze again, as you ask a question you really don’t want the answer too, “ahh, so you all have roles then?”

“Yeah.” Gulp. ”I’m Bangtan’s assassin.”

You immediately tense. Assassin? Like the one in charge of killing people? Like the guy who murdered my family? No way. I can’t do this.

“Y/N-“

You flinch at the sound of his voice, standing up and instantly ripping your hand away from his. You feel sick to your stomach. “I gotta go, they’ll be wondering where I am” you say quickly, trying to blink back the tears that were starting to form. And just like that you exit the café and leave Jungkook behind, wondering what on earth he’s just done.

---------------------------------------

You enter through one of the fire exits at the back of the club and head straight for the toilets. Running into a cubicle, you quickly lock the door behind you and sit on the closed seat. The tears that you had held back were now escaping, causing sobs to rush past your lips. With your head in your hands, tears drip through your fingers, onto the tiles below. Your breathing hitched as you hear his confession again.

‘I’m Bangtan’s assassin.’

Thud! Thud! Thud! You’re interrupted by a banging on the stall door.

“Y/N is that you?” the voice called, and you recognise it to be Grace’s.

“..yeah..”

A breathy laugh sounds out into the room, “good! We thought you did a runner!”

You stay in the cubicle for a while longer – only coming out when you know Grace has left. Letting the door swing behind you, you head straight to the sink to wash your face.

------------------------------

Meanwhile, Jungkook is walking aimlessly around the city. Filled to the brim with rage and self-loath, he is wandering various streets, the only company he has is his thoughts.

Why the fuck did I tell her that I’m an assassin? I’ve fucked everything up. Now what’s she gonna do, huh? She could snitch on us all, which is unlikely but not impossible. Or she could cut contact with me. Either way, the guys are gonna be pissed. Oh god, what if she got caught heading back? What if they’re beating her right now? I swear to God if I find-

“OI!” someone yells from behind him, making him instantly turn to find out who’s shouting. Two guys and one girl stalk towards him – is that the Sunny girl?  They head straight towards him, but Jungkook’s never been one to back down from a fight.

“Yep, that’s him boys. Get him!” Sunny remains in her spot, about 3 metres away from Jungkook. She crosses her arms as she watches the drama unfold.

The two men lunge for Jungkook, but it’s him that gets the first punch. Hitting one of them, they stumble back, whilst the other slams Jungkook, head first, into some near by shutters. Punching the man in the gut, Jungkook gets his own back; but it’s not long until the duo gets the upper hand. Jungkook is left in a bad shape, as he slides down the shutters. The 3 Syndicates laugh menacingly as they leave – unaware of who they’ve just laid their hands on.

Pulling his phone out from his pocket, he quickly dials the number he was searching for.

“Hyung...?”

next chapter update: Wednesday 19th February 2020 9pm gmt

tagging: @dearlydreadful​ @honeydewseoks​ @whimsicalwoodlands​ @toddsgirl27​ @wendyiiwl​ @asifetch7​ @barbyisafangirl​ @miraculyfe​ @btsxdoll​ @laluzdirectioner​ @slutkoo​ @bubbletae7​ @h5naaa​ @smollmonajinsa​ @vivpurple7​ @purplelady85​ @vi-hoshi​ 

let me know if you wanna be tagged in future chapters!

Thank you so much for reading

all rights reserved © smoljamswrites | 09/02/2020 | reposting my work or modifying of any kind is strictly not allowed. Translations are also not allowed. 

[iwritesickfic]

boy who cried flu

(yes I am aware of how stupid this title is leave me alone)

Peter rarely - if ever - got sick. Nobody who didn’t know him well would believe it though - he had a long track record of absences and missed assignments, despite being a 3.9 GPA student. He’s flaked from social events and parties countless times, always citing he’s not “feeling well.” It’s not technically a lie, though he does lie sometimes. 

People understand physical illness - they know what it feels like to be stuck in bed with a bad cold - but mental illness? Not so much. So...he bends the truth. A professor won’t be very forgiving if you say you spent all weekend in bed because you couldn’t find the motivation to move, but say you had a bad cough? No one bats an eye.

So most people assume Peter has an awful immune system. That or he’s just a pussy who won’t leave the house with so much as a sore throat. Everyone except a select few - Simon, Ashlynn, and Alex. 

Simon’d been his friend since undergrad, and they’d been roommates for a time, so he knows exactly what Peter means when he says he “doesn’t feel well.” Ashlynn is the type to show up unannounced with a quart of homemade soup. And Alex...Alex was there when things had gotten out of hand. 

But just because they knew he was lying when he said he was sick didn’t mean he stopped using it as an excuse. Ashlynn, despite herself, would usually not question it. Simon wouldn’t think twice about the lie, almost taking it as a direct confession. Alex would usually get pissed off and demand some kind of proof.

They were supposed to go to the beach tomorrow - get up early and take the train together to rockaway. But somehow, for the first time in years, Peter has something more than some congestion. Something way more.

It started a few days ago, a runny nose and swollen sinuses. He slept like shit, and the next morning his throat was raw and he absolutely could not breathe through his nose. But he had class, so he took the train in and sat in his lecture and tried to keep his sniffling to a minimum. By the time he was headed home, he’d long since run out of clean tissues, so he tends to his nose with a damp scrap of napkin he found buried in his bag, his nostrils red and irritated from the abuse. 

By the time he gets home, his congestion has gone from a clogged, static brick in his head to leaky, runny mess, but he’s well aware he can’t take a day off from work on his thesis, so he sits in bed working until 2 AM, one hand wiping the mess from his upper lip, the other scribbling notes in his worn out pad. 

He wakes the next morning not sure when he fell asleep, his head pounding heavily behind his eyes, sinuses throbbing and inflamed. His throat feels swollen and hot, and the relentless sneezing that started the night before isn’t helping any. The two days prior, everything seemed to be concentrated in his head, but now it’s clear it’s migrating into his chest as well. Halfway through his day at work in the library, he starts to cough, wet and harsh. 

It doesn’t help that his body aches like he ran a marathon, and chills are coursing through him like ice water in his veins. By the end of the day he can’t wait to finally sit down and rest. His body’s been screaming for it since the moment he got out of bed, and all day shelving books has really taken its toll.

Unfortunately, he’s got an hour long commute and lucky for him, it’s standing room only. He grips the subway pole like a lifeline, his head spins every time the train rocks. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the darkened window - he looks awful. Bags like bruises under his eyes that are rimmed in pink and half lidded, his nose irritated and red. A coughing fit tears through him, and he tries his best to catch it in his sleeve. His knees start to tremble as he tries to take deep breaths, and he’s startled when someone taps him on the shoulder.

“You wanna sit?” the woman asks, and it takes him a minute to realize she’s offering her seat. Normally, he’d suck it up, but he’s too miserable to refuse. He mumbles a thanks, and sinks down.

It takes all his self control not to fall asleep then and there.

By the time he’s back at his building, he’s seriously doubting he can climb four flights to get to the apartment. Part of him would rather just lay down in the lobby but he knows this is the final stretch before he can climb into bed and sleep.

He’s interrupted by several fits of coughs, and by the time he’s reached the fourth floor he’s practically gasping for air, and soaked in sweat. The chills he had all day have swapped with an oppressive heat that makes him feel almost lightheaded. 

Somehow, he’s quite sure, he manages to stumble to bed, stripping off his damp clothes, the cool air on his slick skin throwing him back into shaking chills. Just as he’s about to let himself be sucked into sleep, his eyes fly open. Tomorrow. 6 AM. He’s supposed to go to the beach. There is no fucking way he is going to the beach.

He texts their group chat with trembling fingers.

hey im real sick i cant go tomorrow

There’s an immediate reply from Alex.

don’t fuckin do this man. we’re going.

A text from Simon.

you’ll feel better if you leave the house, you always do.

He sighs, cursing himself for using this shitty excuse so much now no one will take him seriously.

im serious i feel like trash

Alex answers immediately.

PETER. youre not sick youre being a pussy. we’re going to the fucking beach and we’re having a good time.

Simon responds.

chill alex.

if youre depressed thats fine but maybe consider coming still it might help.

i mean i’d feel better if you came

Peter groans.

im sick. like sick sick. like flu sick.

Alex shoots back quickly.

ok then what are your symptoms?

Peter rubs his eyes, trying to relieve some of the throbbing. 

fever, chills, aches, cough, runny nose, headache, tired.

There’s a moment of silence and he places his phone on his bedside table with a sigh. He’s about to go under when his phone starts to buzz. Once. Twice. Three times. He swears, grabbing it. Three texts from Alex. The first is a screenshot of the symptom list that appears when you google “flu” which just happens to be in identical order.

you need to be more creative

seriously man im not letting you miss this. we planned this months ago. dont be a dick.

Finally, Ashlynn chimes in.

you dont need to lie p, its ok if you dont wanna come.

While Peter would like to further argue that he’s not in fact lying, he just doesn’t have the energy. At this point, it doesn’t matter what they think. He’s not going - who gives a shit why? He’s able to fall asleep almost immediately, but unfortunately, he doesn’t really stay asleep.

He wakes up about every 45 minutes, coughing or shivering or burning or all three. After his fourth or fifth jolt awake he can’t for the life of him seem to get any rest. Every time he’s about to drift off, another coughing fit explodes from his chest and leaves him trembling. He’s hot, but he’s not sweating, which he realizes vaguely must mean he’s dehydrated. As the night wears on and his condition continues to worsen, he wonders if he should call an uber to take him to the ER. He can’t afford it, not in the slightest, but he’s not sure he’s ever felt this terrible before. Somehow, he remembers there’s an old thermometer in the kitchen. An old roommate had bought it thinking it would work for deep frying but didn’t realize the range only spanned from 95 to 107.

He needs to take his temperature. See how serious this actually is. He can’t remember the last time he actually ran a fever, so he’s not sure if this is just par for the course or whether this level of misery is cause for alarm.

He stumbles into the kitchen, and for once he’s glad to live in such a god-awfully tiny studio. He lands heavily against the counter, and rummages through the drawer to find the small device. After what feels like an eternity, he manages to grab it with shaking hands, fumbling with the buttons for a moment before flipping on the small kitchen light. 

He sticks it under his tongue, it feels like ice. He tries to coach himself on what he’s going to do. If it’s over 100, he’ll go to the hospital. No, that’s too low. 102?Still maybe too ambitious of a goal. It’s then he realizes he’s really just trying to justify what he’s going to do anyway - save himself an ER bill and stay in bed. He’s jerked out of his thoughts when the small device beeps and he removes it carefully from under his tongue. 

The display flashes 103.2. He doesn’t really know what that means but after a quick google search it’s not exactly any clearer. It’s bad, but not bad enough to cause brain damage, supposedly. Fuck it, that’s good enough for him. He climbs shakily back into bed, the small excursion has left him absolutely exhausted. 

He needs medicine. He knows that. Some tylenol at the very least, but if he can barely walk to the kitchen he doesn’t know how in hell he’s getting out the door, down the stairs, to the pharmacy, and back again. So, he’ll just have to live with it. 

He spends the rest of the night in and out of half-sleep, each coughing fit seeming to drive the illness deeper into his lungs. His nose has started to run again, and each rub with the already-used tissue makes his poor sensitive nostrils burn in protest.

The next morning he wakes to the harsh, deafening drone of his apartment’s buzzer system. He cracks his eyes and checks the time. 6:42 AM. Whoever the fuck it is can wait, he’d like to suffer in peace. Still, as he tries to slip back into the sleep the buzzer continues to go off and after about five minutes, he sits up in bed, fighting the wave of dizziness that washes over him. He stumbles to the keypad and presses the button that opens the lobby door, and the buzzing finally - mercifully - ceases. 

He grabs a t shirt from a pile on the floor and pulls on a pair of boxers - he doesn’t know if he’d be able to stand anything more with the way his fever is raging. He sits on the edge of his bed, trying to catch his breath, quickly breaking down into another awful fit of coughs. Just as he’s finished, he hears a heavy knock on the door. Sighing, he forces himself up, padding slowly over to the door, trying not to aggravate the dizziness any further. He pulls open the door and is confused to see not an overzealous delivery person, but his three friends. 

He stares dumbly for a moment before a breath catches in his throat and he breaks into thick, wet coughs. He sniffles, wiping his nose with his wrist, before looking back up at them.

“What?” he mumbles, and there’s an awkward silence. 

“Shit,” Alex finally says and Peter sniffles.

“What do you want?” he repeats, surprised at the hoarse, broken quality of his voice. Does he really sound that bad? Ashlynn pushes forward, wrapping him in a tight hug. She’s short, so her face is pressed into his chest, and he stumbles back slightly.

“Oh Peter,” she whispers, and he swallows, closing his eyes. She pulls away, and he has to force them open again. She she presses a hand to his forehead. Her palm feels cool but uncomfortable against his oversensitive skin. “You’re burning up.”

“I know,” he murmurs, wishing the conversation could be over so he can go lie down and not have to explain himself to his friends. He sighs, and narrowly avoids another coughing fit. “Are you gonna come in or you just all gonna stand there?” They exchange looks. “Well?”

Ashlynn pushes past him, followed by Simon and finally Alex. Peter shuts the door and tries his best not to look as fucked up as he feels walking to sit in one of his kitchen chairs. 

“What do ya’ll want?” he asks Simon and Alex, Ashlynn already digging through the medicine cabinet.

“We don’t want anything we were just concerned,” Simon says.

“Then why do you look so fucking shocked?” Peter snaps, even though he knows Simon is only telling the truth.

“Because I was 100% sure you were bullshitting,” Alex says. Peter is far too tired to get into a verbal sparring match with Alex, but he tries halfheartedly anyway.

“Still sure?” before Alex can reply Ashlynn is back with a damp washcloth and the thermometer he’d used the night before. She lays the cloth on the back of his neck, and he can’t help the small whine that escapes. 

“Open,” she says, and he does. She places the thermometer under his tongue gingerly, and strokes some of his hair off his forehead. “You don’t have anything? For this?” Peter shakes his head. She presses her lips into a line. “Simon and me are gonna go out and grab some stuff, ok?”

“That’s not necessary.” His voice is almost slurred with the fever, and as if on cue the thermometer beeps. Ashlynn frowns at the reading. She shakes her head.

“Christ, Peter.” She touches his forehead again, this time with the back of her hand. “103.6 and it’s not necessary?”

“I don’wanna be lectured.”

“I’m not lecturing.” She spends another moment fussing with his hair before getting up, grabbing Simon. “We’re going to get some stuff, we’ll be back. Alex, make sure he doesn’t die, ok?” It’s clear Alex is about to protest, but Ashlynn levels him with a glare. They leave, and then it’s just Peter and Alex.

Alex stands by the door, hands in his pockets. It’s a while before either of them speaks.

“What was I supposed to think?” he finally says, and Peter tries to swallow his anger.

“I don’t know, man.” He runs a hand through his greasy, sweat damp hair. He starts to shiver again, wrapping his arms around his torso. Alex takes a careful step forward.

“You get why I wouldn’t believe you, right?”

“Yes, Alex.” The chills are now back in full force, he’s sure he must be shaking like a leaf. He wants nothing more than this conversation to be over, but Alex doesn’t seem to be getting to message.

“You never get sick. Ever. So what am I-”

“I get it. It’s fine. Just...stop talking. Please.” He’s shaking so bad he can feel his teeth chattering. He pulls his knees to his chest. He closes his eyes, praying something - anything - will warm him up. He hears footsteps and fumbling, then feels a dry, warm blanket being tucked around his shoulders. He looks up, and Alex is standing there, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Do you wanna lay down or something?” The thought of climbing back into his sweat damp sheets makes him cringe, so he shakes his head. “Why not?”

“S’gross, I sweat a ton.” 

Alex nods.

“Right. What about the couch? You can lay on the couch and I can do your laundry.” 

Getting horizontal sounds heavenly, so he nods, and Alex touches his shoulder, quickly pulling his hand back.

“What the fuck - dude, you’re like...on fire. Shit.” He tests the side of his neck and winces. “Fuck.”

“Can you just help me?” Peter is embarrassed at how small and sick his voice sounds, and the fact he’s asking Alex of all people for help, but he knows if he tries to do it on his own he’s going to fall and crack his skull.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” He wraps an arm around Peter’s waist, and supports him the few feet to the couch. It’s not very far but his knees go weak about halfway there and he’s glad Alex is holding him. As soon as he gets onto the couch, he curls on his side and closes his eyes. “You’re ok?” Peter nods, and Alex pats his shoulder awkwardly. “Ok. Cool. Just...stay there, I guess.” Peter can hear him starting to strip the bed.

“I was maybe gonna go for a run,” he mumbles, and Alex laughs softly. 

“Definitely. Then I’ll enroll at NYU for my bachelor’s.”

“You’re just jealous you don’t have all my debt.”

“You’re right. I’ve been trying to rack up some credit card bills but so far no luck.”

Peter opens his eyes to see Alex with the bundle of sheets in his arms and the bottle of detergent. He pauses for a second, shifting from foot to foot.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Peter swallows hard.

“I know man, it’s ok.” Alex smirks.

“Alright. Don’t die while I’m gone.”

[bearly-writing]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, DCU Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, implied Roman Sionis/Jason Todd - Relationship, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Slade Wilson, Jason Todd & Dick Grayson & Slade Wilson Characters: Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson, Deathstroke, Jason Todd, Roman Sionis, Black Mask Additional Tags: Child Abuse, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Dick Grayson is Renegade, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Protective Slade Wilson, Protective Dick Grayson, Hurt Jason Todd, Parent-Child Relationship, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Except Jason isn't a baby, Good Parent Slade Wilson, Good Parent Dick Grayson, Minor Character Death, Blood and Injury Series: Part 3 of SladeRobin Weekend 2020 Summary:

"Most of Black Mask’s recruits are adults - or at least teenagers. They’ve never been asked to train someone so young before.

Because the boy Black Mask has brought with him this time can’t be much older than ten."

In a world where Robin doesn't exist, Deathstroke and Renegade are asked to train Black Mask's latest recruit.

A super late entry for the @sladerobinweek Weekend prompt Accidental Co-Parenting.

It isn’t the first time Deathstroke and Renegade have been asked to train one of Black Mask’s new lackeys. As good as Sionis is at what he does, he isn’t a fighter, and he certainly isn’t anywhere near the level of the two highly-trained mercenaries. The man can handle a gun decently and even Deathstroke can’t deny that he has a talent for inflicting pain, but actual fighting skills? Well, he wouldn’t last long against anyone that Deathstroke has trained - even those without any natural aptitude.

But one of Sionis’ better skills is knowing when to delegate and Deathstroke, no matter what, is a mercenary at heart. Black Mask pays good money for them to turn whichever new passion project he deems worthy into something worth keeping around. Not that Black Mask tends to actually keep them for long. It’s a dangerous job, being one of Black Mask’s soldiers and even being trained by the best can’t keep them safe from Sionis’ boredom.

So there’s usually a new one every other year or so. Both Deathstroke and Renegade are used to it by now, and the money is good, even if it usually means having to take a few weeks - or months, depending upon how much instruction is necessary - out of the rest of their work. Dick kind of looks forward to it. Sometimes it’s nice to spend time with new people. Even Slade can get boring after a while.

Still, most of Black Mask’s recruits are adults - or at least teenagers. They’ve never been asked to train someone so young before.

Because the boy Black Mask has brought with him this time can’t be much older than ten.

“Little small for a fighter, isn’t he?” Slade asks, mirroring Dick’s thoughts exactly. There’s none of the judgement Dick feels in his tone though. Deathstroke’s own moral line in the sand can be a little blurry at times but it doesn’t pay to be judgemental in this line of work.

Despite that, Dick can feel his own disapproval rising in the back of his throat. With Black Mask looming behind him, one hand clasped on a thin shoulder, the kid looks tiny. Even the expensive suit Roman has wrangled him into can’t disguise the fact that the boy is way too skinny. When he lifts his head to glare at Deathstroke - brave, Slade will like that - Dick can see a dark, wine-stain bruise purpling his eye, the yellow edge of another peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

“I can fight,” the kid snarls, all bravado, even though his hands are trembling where they’re fisted against his thighs.

“Yeah?” Slade steps close enough to reach out and catch the kid’s chin between long fingers. The kid flinches and Roman’s hand moves possessively to the back of his neck, but Deathstroke has never been afraid of Black Mask, Dick knows. If Slade wants to touch, Roman won’t stop him. “That how you get that bruise?”

The kid jerks his head again but Slade’s doesn’t let him go. There’s a flash of fear in the boy’s eyes that makes Dick’s stomach turn uncomfortably. Renegade is used to fear, but not like this. Not from a child.

“Little Jay fell down the stairs,” Roman says, before the kid - Jay - can answer. His tone is full and indulgent. When he looks up from Jay’s scowling face, his smirk is an invitation, an offer to share in his little inside joke. It sparks something sour across Dick’s tongue. He’s never liked Roman.

“Didn’t you, pumpkin?”

“Yeah,” Jay mumbles. Dick thinks he would drop his gaze if Slade wasn’t still holding onto him. Instead he settles for glaring at the mercenary with impressive heat. “I’m clumsy like that.”

Slade just hums. He tilts Jay’s head from side to side like someone examining a horse. Dick half expects him to lift Jay’s lip up and look at his teeth.

“We don’t train kids,” Dick says, eventually, because it doesn’t look as though Slade is about to put a stop to this. And there’s a lot of things Dick will do for Slade but not this. Training a kid to become a killer - a killer for Black Mask - isn’t something even Renegade is comfortable with.

If Black Mask’s expression changes, it’s hard to tell. But Dick thinks he stiffens a little. Thinks his fingers might tighten where they’re pressed over the back of the kid’s neck. The kid grunts, caught between Deathstroke and Black Mask, but doesn’t try to pull away. Dick can’t tell if it’s because he’s too afraid or if it’s because he isn’t afraid enough.

“You train who I pay you to train,” Roman says, pleasantly enough, but with an edge of warning.

That finally makes Slade drop the boy’s chin. The kid immediately drops his gaze, then seems to think better of it, lifting his eyes to watch Slade warily. It’s obvious that he considers Dick a lesser threat.

“You haven’t paid us yet, Mask,” Slade says in equal warning. “How old is he?”

“Old enough.”

“We’ll decide what’s old enough,” Dick snaps. “How old is he?”

It’s probably not a good idea to lose his temper with the man who pays a substantial amount of their paycheck, but Dick is tired of Black Mask thinking he owns them. Thinking he can snap his fingers and they’ll come to heel. He’s tired of working with Black Mask’s men - of having to deal with all of the useless, arrogant assholes that a man like Roman Sionis employs. Or worse, having to watch the ones he actually likes be utterly destroyed by the man in front of him, for greed or power or sometimes just for fun.

Dick doesn’t want to help him destroy this child.

“I’m twelve,” the kid says, before Roman can answer.

Dick almost does a double take. With the kid’s size, he had expected younger than that. But then, this wouldn’t be the first child stunted by a lifetime in Gotham.

There’s a considering silence then. Dick wants to refuse again but he knows he’s already spoken out of turn and Deathstroke might not be Roman Sionis, but he doesn’t appreciate being shown up by his subordinates any more than Black Mask does. Still, Dick wishes there was a way they could speak in private, so Dick can let him know exactly how much he hates this idea.

“It’ll be double the usual amount,” is what Slade finally says and Dick feels his heart sink in his chest. That means the man’s mind is made up - if Black Mask pays up, they’ll have to train the kid no matter Dick’s objections.

“Double?” Mask scoffs. His grip on the kid hasn’t loosened. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Take it or leave it. You know no one else will train him the way we will. But if the price is too steep feel free to take him elsewhere.”

“He’d better be the best Goddamn fighter in the business,” Mask growls.

Slade only smirks, even as Dick’s stomach twists itself into a painful little knot. That’s settled then - Dick never really had a chance if Slade had made up his mind, but Dick honestly hadn’t expected him to agree to it. It’s not as though Slade has ever shown any real interest in kids before - even his own. It’s not as though they need the money.

“Be a good boy then, sweetheart,” Roman says, finally relinquishing his grip on Jay’s neck.

He strokes a hand through the boy’s curls in a surprisingly tender gesture before his fingers tighten hard enough to have the kid whimpering, yanking his head back to expose the column of his throat. There are more bruises there. Dick can see black stripes that look like finger-marks, purple and green smudges that could be anything but that make his stomach roll.

“When we’re reunited, you’re gonna be something special, baby. So don’t fuck this up. You don’t want to disappoint daddy, do you?”

“No sir,” the kid grits out, voice small and strained.

Roman hums, then he leans down and presses a mocking kiss - or as much of a kiss as he can give without any real lips - to the kid’s forehead. Jay goes rigid but doesn’t try to pull away. Dick can see him shaking.

Finally, Black Mask lets go of him. For a moment, the kid just stands there, clearly unsure what’s expected of him. Then Sionis gives him a harsh shove that has the kid stumbling.

“Go on sweetheart,” he says. The kid doesn’t look back at him, but Dick can see the tension in his shoulders. “Be good.”

⁂

Slade gives the kid the same speech he gives everyone they take in to train. No special treatment here. The whole time, the kid is quiet and sullen, but he’s clearly listening attentively to Slade’s little speech. Dick follows behind them whilst Slade leads Jay on a brief tour of the compound. There’s not much to show: a communal kitchen, a shower block, and a bare guest bedroom. The only area of any importance is the dojo and training room. It’s where Jay will be spending most of his time with them.

“We start training at 8am,” Slade explains. He sounds bored, apathetic. But Dick knows he’s watching the kid carefully. “Breakfast is from six. Evenings are your own free time. Do with it what you will.”

“Anything?” The kid asks.

“Within reason,” Slade clarifies, obviously catching the look in his eyes. “And you can’t leave the compound.”

It’s not a rule they’ve ever had before. Dick is a little surprised by the concession to the kid’s age, even if it is as minimal as not letting him run off on his own, Slade hadn’t seemed like he cared.

The kid scowls, obviously unhappy with the ruling. Is he just annoyed at having Slade exert his control? Or had this been a chance for the kid to slip Sionis’ leash? Something cold tightens Dick’s stomach. He doesn’t like the idea of holding the kid here against his will. Likes the idea of keeping him prisoner for Roman Sionis even less.

“So I can’t do anything then?” The kid grumbles.

Slade’s eyes narrow. It’s a look that Dick’s had directed at him countless times but the kid seems to quail under it in a way Dick never has. Not that that’s a surprise exactly, very few people can stand up to even a mild look from Slade.

“You can train. Let’s start now. Take off your shirt and jacket, Renegade will show you the ropes.”

Dick shoots Slade his own narrow look. None of this is unusual - they almost always do the introductory spar with Dick as a way to test their current abilities. And Dick usually enjoys it. He likes to show off, likes to get a feel for the people he’s going to be training with for the next few weeks. Likes the excuse to beat on the arrogant assholes that Sionis usually employs. But he doesn’t like the idea of fighting a twelve year old - especially not one as small and scrawny-looking as the kid. Slade must know that.

Still, with Slade it’s best not to voice your displeasure too openly. The man can be surprisingly petty. So Dick doesn’t put up any more of a complaint.

The kid shucks his suit jacket immediately, following the command as if he hasn’t even thought about it. But he hesitates when he gets to the buttons of his shirt. Undoes the button at his throat, then does it back up again, biting his lip and throwing Slade a nervous look. His fingers are trembling.

“You can leave the shirt on if you prefer,” Slade says, eventually, when it’s obvious that the boy is just going to stand there. It’s another uncharacteristic move on Slade’s part - usually, if he gives an order, he expects you to follow it. Somehow, Dick hadn’t expected him to be soft. Slade doesn’t hurt kids, but he had agreed to this - Dick has so rarely seen him make concessions before.

The kid lets out an almost unnoticeable sigh of relief, some of the tension softening out of his shoulders, before he turns his focus on Dick.

“This is just to get a feel for how you move,” Dick tells him. He circles the kid as he says it, taking in his form, his size, the way he’s holding himself, trying to figure out how best to start. “We don’t expect you to know how to fight right now, but it’s good to get an idea of how you move. What your instincts are.”

Jay follows Dick with his eyes, twisting to keep him in vision, but otherwise doesn’t move. He’s so stiff that he’s trembling. Dick doesn’t have to be an expert in body language to read the anxiety in it.

He strikes.

All in all, Jay isn’t a bad fighter. There’s no strategy to it, no real thought, and definitely no expertise, but his instincts are good. It’s painfully obvious that the kid has no training, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know his way around a fight. He can take a hit. Can deal them out too, when Dick leaves himself purposefully exposed. And he isn’t afraid to fight dirty.

It makes sense with what Dick knows about the kid - even more sense with what he can guess. Most likely, Jay had to look out for himself on the streets before Black Mask took him in; he fights like a street rat, all dirty tricks and mindless desperation. Dick’s seen it before.

It’s something they can work with.

By the time the fight ends, Jay is drenched with sweat. The expensive shirt he’s still wearing is so damp that it’s sticking to him, moulded against too-skinny ribs. The wet strands of his curls are practically dripping. His movements, already wild and unpredictable, turn frantic. It allows Dick to catch the kid’s arm when he makes a poorly-timed attack that leaves him open, gripping his wrist and using the leverage to force Jay to the floor.

For the first time in the fight, Jay flinches. A sharp, wounded sound bursts out of him even before his knees hit the floor. If it weren’t for his own training, that might have had Dick letting go. Instead, he tightens his grip, losing himself to instinct and muscle memory as he follows Jay to the ground, twisting his arm behind him in a loose pin and pressing a knee into the small of his back to keep him there. Jay goes stiff beneath him. The only movement is the heave of his ribs as the kid pants for air, otherwise surrendering himself to Dick’s hold.

Then, tight and panicked: “Get off me.”

Dick lets the hold drop immediately, sitting back on his heels and lifting his hands in surrender. He’s won the fight. There’s no need to lord it over the kid. Jay had done well, even, all things considering. And Dick remembers that sharp little noise of pain the kid had made when Dick had grabbed him. The way Jay had flinched at the grip of Dick’s fingers when he’d taken all the previous blows with barely a twitch. It makes Dick’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, as the kid pushes himself upright.

Jay scowls. “No,” he snaps. But Dick can see the way he’s cradling his wrist in one hand, his face tense with pain.

“Let me see.”

Dick reaches out but the kid draws away from him. There’s such naked fear on his face that it takes Dick’s breath away. It’s gone almost as soon as it comes but Dick pulls away anyway.

“Don’t lie.” Slade is suddenly looming over them. He snatches the kid’s wrist in one huge fist, pulling him half off the floor, ignoring Jay’s pained squeak. “Hiding injuries gets you killed out in the field.”

Jay struggles, but if he’d lost the fight to Renegade, there’s no chance he’ll overpower Deathstroke. Slade just drags the kid’s sleeve down his skinny arm, ignoring the weak protests. The skin revealed is pale and smattered with bruises. A dark ring of them circles the kid’s wrist, some of them an angry purple, others faded to sickly yellows and greens. Dick’s stomach clenches. There’s no way his hold caused an injury like that - this is something the kid has had for a while. Something inflicted on him again and again if the variation in colour is anything to go by. Some of those bruises are at least a week old. Some of them are clearly fresh.

Slade doesn’t let go of Jay’s wrist, but there’s a sudden tension to his face as he eyes the marks on the kid’s skin. It’s difficult to tell with Slade, but Dick can’t help but wonder if he’s feeling the same hollow disgust in his gut as Dick is. Someone has clearly hurt the kid and not in the controlled way Dick was just moments ago. Those marks aren’t from any training Dick has ever been a part of.

It shouldn’t be a surprise, really. Dick knows exactly what Black Mask is like. Knows exactly the sort of thing that man is willing to do. It’s hardly a shock that Roman is a child abuser, along with every other terrible thing the man has done. He’d asked them to turn Jay into a killer, after all. And they had agreed to it.

“Any other injuries?” Slade asks, and his voice is softer than before, although Dick thinks he can only tell because of the years they’ve known each other.

“No,” the kids lies. He tugs against Slade’s grip, his face twisting when there’s no give. “Are we done here?”

For a moment, Dick thinks Slade might call him on it. There’s little doubt in Dick’s mind that there are more bruises under the sweat-drenched cotton of Jay’s shirt. He remembers the kid’s hesitance to remove it - thinks now that it was probably more than just self-consciousness. Slade doesn’t like to be lied to. Likes being disobeyed even less.

But, for whatever reason, Slade doesn’t. He releases his grip on the kid with a grunt, letting him slide back to the floor. Jay stays there, a crumpled little heap, watching Slade from under furrowed brows.

“Go clean up,” Slade growls. “You’re done for tonight.”

Jay scrambles to his feet with the air of someone who’s been pushed out the path of a speeding truck and disappears before Slade can change his mind.

⁂

“Why did you agree to it?” Dick asks, later, once they’ve turned in for the night.

Slade hums as he pulls his shirt over his head. From his position on the bed, Dick gets to watch the muscles of his back slide and flex as he does so, scarred skin bared to the dim light of their room. Normally, the sight would have heat fluttering low in Dick’s belly. Tonight, he’s too angry to really appreciate it.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Slade throws back, as he slides into his side of the bed. The mattress dips heavily with his weight. Cool air brushes against Dick’s skin as Slade disturbs the blanket, settling it over his own legs. “The money’s good. You’ve never had a problem with it before.”

“They’ve never been twelve before,” Dick snaps, icily. In the privacy of their own bedroom, Dick isn’t afraid to let his opinion known. Slade might not like to be shown up in public, but he’s never begrudged Dick an argument when they’re alone. Sometimes, Dick thinks his temper is one of the reasons they work so well together. Slade wouldn’t want to lose that.

“It’s no different from any of the others we’ve trained.”

“Yes it is, Slade, and you know it.” Dick crosses his arms over his bare chest, feeling like a child himself, angry and petulant under Slade’s heavy gaze. “He’s a little kid and now we’re training him to be a killer. It’s not right.”

Slade is silent for a moment, as if he’s actually considering that. Then, “You were a kid when you started.”

Dick’s shoulders tighten. “Yeah, and look how I turned out.”

Slade hums again. Then he shifts, leaning across the space between them to press warm lips against Dick’s jaw. Despite everything, Dick still melts at the touch, eyelashes fluttering, some of the tension sliding out of his muscles.

“You turned out perfect,” Slade murmurs. Those hot lips ghost across Dick’s skin, leaving little tingles of desire in their wake, until they’re moulded over his mouth. Dick sighs into the kiss. Lifts a hand to Slade’s throat and rests his fingers there, feeling his pulse beating against Dick’s palm. Then he uses his grip to gently push Slade away.

“Says you.” But he can’t help the little smile he can feel tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Besides, it’s different. You gave me a home, a life. Black Mask is going to destroy that kid and we’re helping him do it.”

Slade is still close enough that Dick can feel the huff of his breath against his cheek. His single eye gleams in the dim light as it flickers over Dick’s face, taking in whatever it is the man sees when he looks at Dick. Then he sighs, a hot gust across Dick’s skin, and pulls back a little further, breaking Dick’s grip. Immediately, Dick misses the heat of him so close.

“What do you think would happen if we didn’t agree to train him?” Slade asks. “What do you think Black Mask would do to a kid who he doesn’t see as worth keeping around? Do you genuinely think we would help the kid by refusing?”

Dick grinds his teeth hard enough that his jaw aches, because Slade is right - he knows Slade is right - but it doesn’t make the situation any easier. Knowing that this is the best of a bad bunch doesn’t exactly ease Dick’s conscience.

Strong fingers stroke over Dick’s jaw, loosening some of the tension there. Then they slide around to cup the back of his neck, massaging at the muscle before gently tugging Dick forward, against Slade’s chest. Dick lets himself relax, tilting his head up to nuzzle against the older man’s throat.

“I hate this.”

“I know,” Slade murmurs.

Dick can feel the vibration of it through Slade’s broad chest and it stirs something in his gut. When Slade presses a kiss against Dick’s temple, Dick turns his face into it, slipping his tongue out almost immediately to run it over the seam of Slade’s mouth. The older man opens himself up to Dick with a groan. Warm hands slide up Dick’s side as he twists to straddle Slade’s lap, tunneling his own hands through Slade’s white hair. The solid weight of Slade between his thighs always does something to him. It’s why they almost always end up fucking after sparring.

“Dickie,” Slade breathes, dropping a wet kiss to the curve of Dick’s collarbone.

Dick shivers, tilting his head back to allow Slade’s mouth access to the span of his throat. Lets out a soft little moan as Slade nips at the skin beneath his jaw and-

The door opens.

It’s quiet, but neither Slade nor Dick got where they are without developing an obsessive awareness of their surroundings. The soft sound of the door gliding across the thick cream carpet might as well be a shout. Beneath Dick, Slade stiffens. Dick is already sliding off of his lap, twisting to face the intruder. He isn’t concerned, particularly, because he knows who’s going to be standing in the doorway before he even turns around. If they were dangerous, they wouldn’t have just waltzed through the door.

Still, he is a little annoyed at being interrupted. Jay hadn’t even knocked. If he’d walked in just a little bit later, he might have got an eyeful.

“What do you want?” Slade grunts, low and dangerous.

It’s difficult to see the kid’s face in just the dim light of the bedside lamp, but Dick sees him stiffen. Can see that he’s trembling even though half of him is still hidden behind the door. It’s obvious that the kid is frightened. Dick frowns. Did he have a nightmare? It wouldn’t be a surprise if he was unsettled, but Dick finds it hard to believe that the kid would come to Deathstroke and Renegade - practical strangers beyond the knowledge that they're going to train him to fight - with this sort of vulnerability. Is twelve too old to be crawling into someone else’s bed? Dick stopped being able to seek comfort like that when his parents died - long before that age - and he hadn’t been able to again until Slade had first taken him to bed, well after he’d reached adulthood.

Jay doesn’t answer but he does step into the room, letting the door close behind him with a soft click. He hesitates for a moment, shuffling his feet, his hands twisting in the material of his shirt, until Slade growls and he startles, covering the rest of the distance to the bed in a few quick steps.

“Jay,” Dick tries, bemused. “What are you doing?”

Because the kid is pulling his pyjama top up over his head, discarding it carelessly on the floor as he clambers up onto the bed. Dick gets a brief look at the determined set of the kid’s jaw before he’s crawling into Dick’s lap. One hand settles on Dick’s blanket-covered thigh. The other clutches at his shoulder as Jay leans up to press his lips against Dick’s throat.

Dick pushes the kid away automatically, instinctively. One moment, Jay is a warm, uncomfortable weight in Dick’s lap, the next he’s lying on his back at the foot of the bed, blinking up at the ceiling. Shock tingles like electricity through Dick’s veins. For a long moment, all he can do is sit there in stunned silence.

Jay doesn’t move either. Not until Slade shifts, looming up over the bed, dragging the kid upright by the arm and shaking him lightly.

“What the hell was that?”

The expression on Jay’s face as Slade pulls him to his knees is pure fear. Slade looks huge in the darkness, kneeling on the bed in only his boxers, Jay tiny in his grip. Despite knowing that Slade wouldn’t hurt him, Dick can’t stop the clutch of fear in his own chest. The kid looks so small. So easily hurt.

“What?” Jay gasps, cringing away from Slade, although he doesn’t try to pull free from his grip. “I thought…”

Slade growls. “You thought what?”

“Slade,” Dick interrupts. He can’t sit here and look at the terror on the kid’s little face any longer. Whatever Jay had been trying to accomplish - and Dick’s mind keeps stalling over that because the idea makes Dick feel sick to his stomach - manhandling him like this is not the way to respond to it. “Let him go.”

There’s another perilous moment where Slade’s grip doesn’t loosen. Where the kid stares up at him with huge, wet eyes and Dick’s heart throbs on his throat. Then Slade drops the skinny arm in his fist and the kid sinks back against the bedsheets with a scowl.

“You said you wanted double,” Jay says and his voice is tight. There’s a hint of a whine to the words, as if Dick and Slade are being unfair. “You said...I thought…”

He crosses those skinny arms over his chest. The movement draws Dick’s eyes to all the pale skin on show - the hint of ribs visible even in the semi-darkness, the jut of his collarbones, the dark bloom of bruises. If it hadn’t already been clear that the kid was lying earlier, this is all the proof they need to know he is injured.

Because the bruises are everywhere. Littered up and down his arms - and Dick swallows thickly at the knowledge that Slade has probably contributed his own there - splashed across his ribs, dotted over his throat. There are more braceleting the kid’s wrist - a matching cuff to the ones they had found earlier. Still more staining the crest of his hips, sneaking under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

Dick feels suddenly, violently ill. Has to tighten his throat against the horror surging through his chest. The sheer volume of bruises is bad enough but it’s everything else they imply that has Dick’s stomach clenching painfully.

Jesus, Dick had known Roman was bad but this...this is something else.

“You thought we wanted you as payment,” he manages, squeezing the words through the tightness of his throat. They sound....odd, even to his own ears, strangely distorted.

Jay shrugs, a sharp, jerky movement, scowling so hard that moisture leaks out of the corner of his eyes - not proper tears, but on the edge of them.

Slade leans away from him and the kid flinches at the movement before going still, stiff and trembling like a rabbit under the jaws of a fox. Dick can’t even blame him - the fury on Slade’s face is frightening.

“I don’t rape children,” Slade growls. “Or anyone.”

Jay’s head jerks, his expression transforming with surprise. “It’s not -” And even in the darkness, Dick can see the kid’s face flush, red blooming across his cheeks and chest. “It’s not - “

“What isn’t it?” Dick asks, gently. Nausea claws at the base of his throat, but he manages to flatten most of it out of his voice. This is not a conversation he ever wanted to have. This is not a situation he wants to be in.

Jay’s face scrunches up again. “It’s not rape!” he shouts. Then he starts to cry.

Dick’s heart breaks. He wants to reach out so badly. Wants to pull this poor little kid into his arms and soothe away his distress, his pain. But he knows that his touch won’t be welcome. Not right now. Not considering the kid had, just moments ago, believed that Dick and Slade were going to hurt him.

Slade sits back fully on the bed, making himself smaller and less intimidating in a way that Dick remembers from his early years with the man, putting more space between them. “Why not?” he asks and it’s as gentle as Dick has ever heard him.

At first, the kid is crying too hard to answer. It hurts to listen to - huge, gasping sobs that sound as if they’re being wrenched from his chest, little whimpering cries that he muffles with his fist. Tears stream over his red cheeks, streaking all the way down his neck, over all those terrible bruises.

Then, in a small, hiccupy voice: “I owe you, for - for the -” a wet swallow “- the training. I owe you.”

“Oh Jay,” Dick whispers, at the same time as Slade growls, “You don’t owe us anything.”

The kid sniffles, scrubbing a boney, bruised wrist against his eyes. The tears don’t stop, still leaking steadily down his face.

“Is that what Roman told you?” Dick asks, swallowing against his revulsion. “That you owe him for taking you in? That it makes it OK for him to touch you?”

“He didn’t have to tell me.” Jay’s voice is still small and wet, but there’s an edge to it too. Dick cant tell who he’s angry at - Dick, Roman, himself, the world. “Nobody does shit for free and I ain’t got anything else to give him. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to go with him. I’d be - I’d be doing worse on the street.”

Somehow that doesn’t make Dick feel much better. Somehow, knowing that a twelve-year-old had been forced to make the decision between Roman Sionis and starving to death on the street, only makes Dick feel sicker.

“Get that shit out of your head,” Slade says, gruffly. Dick can tell he’s as disturbed as he is, despite all the shit Deathstroke has seen as part of the job. “You don’t owe anyone anything, OK kid. Not us and especially not Roman. Your pedo boss owes me a lot of money and I owe him a bullet in the head.”

Jay flinches at that but he falls silent, barely even sniffling. He scrubs at his face again. Stares at the blanket with wet eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, finally.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Dick tells him. Then, taking a risk, he brushes the back of his hand across the kid’s wet cheek. Jay doesn’t pull away - in fact, he leans into the contact, his eyelashes fluttering, letting out a quiet sigh.

“Go back to bed kid,” Slade says. “Forget this happened.”

Jay bites his lip, looks between the two of them quickly, like he’s looking for something, before sliding off the bed. He hesitates at the door. “It’s Jason,” he says, softly. “My name’s Jason.”

Dick’s heart hurts.

⁂

Jason stays with them for longer than anyone has before. It’s not that the kid is a slow learner or a bad fighter or anything like that. Jason is actually good at the training. He’s smart and eager to please, young enough to absorb correction but with a solid enough foundation that they aren’t starting entirely from scratch. Usually he would have been out of there in a few weeks - a month at most - but Jason has been with Deathstroke for over two months now and it’s getting harder to justify why.

The thing is, Dick doesn’t want to give him back. Not to Roman. Not to the life he knows is waiting for the poor kid. Dick couldn’t justify allowing that to happen to any child, but Jason - he’s grown on Dick in the time he’s been with them. Dick likes him. Yeah, he can be a brat, annoying and mouthy and rude. Yeah, he can throw tantrums, kick and scream and yell (although only with Dick, never with Slade, he notices). But the kid can also be painfully sweet. In his spare time, he likes to read. So ferociously that he’s gotten through a good portion of Slade’s library. He likes to cook too. Likes, most of all, to follow Dick around like a little puppy or an imprinted duckling. Slade too, sometimes, when he’s feeling brave enough.

It’s clear that the kid still doesn’t trust them. Not fully. He never initiates contact with them unless it’s required for training. He still flinches at sudden movements, cringes and cowers if he thinks they’re angry at him or he’s done something wrong. Dick can’t imagine him ever asking for a hug or wanting to hold their hands. But he’s still a kid. A sweet, sad, traumatised little kid. And Dick can’t stop the slow, creeping knowledge that he’s starting to think of Jason as his.

“Will you read to me?” Jason asks, one night, crawling up onto the sofa Dick had been lounging across. When Dick sits up a little, the kid slots himself against Dick’s side, offering up the book for him to take and Dick is frozen for a moment by the shock of the contact.

“Sure,” he says, taking the book with one arm, letting the other one rest across the back of the sofa, not confident enough to actually put it around Jason’s shoulders like he really wants.

Jason falls asleep like that, curled against Dick’s side, Dick’s voice slow and steady as he reads.

After that, Jason seems noticeably less frightened. As if it was some sort of test that Dick managed to pass. It’s not as though he’s suddenly touchy-feely with them, but there’s a tangible easing of tension, a shifting in the atmosphere between them. Dick thinks, sometimes, that he could get away with a hug, if he caught Jason in just the right mood for one.

Only, it’s Slade who actually gets to hug him, in the end.

They’re working through pins and how to escape them - something that they’ve already gone over with Jason plenty of times - when it happens. During training, Jason never begrudges them the physical contact they need. He never flinches from the blows they throw at him either, even though sometimes he can be startled just by a sharp movement of Dick’s hand when they’re outside of the dojo. It’s the control, Dick thinks, even as it makes his chest throb a little, that makes the difference. If Jason knows it’s coming, he can prepare for it.

But this time when Slade pins him down, Jason goes stiff and silent. Slade sustains the hold for a minute, waiting for Jason to make his move, to pull himself out of whatever panic he’s suddenly sunk into, but the kid doesn’t surface. Even from across the dojo, Dick can hear his rough, panting breaths. The edge of fear in them.

“You alright, kid?” Slade asks, pulling away from Jason with careful movements. Jason doesn’t acknowledge him. With Slade no longer on top of him, DIck can see the kid’s face, the slackness of his expression, the way he’s staring blankly up at the ceiling without really seeing it. Dick’s stomach drops.

“Kid?” Slade reaches forward, as if he wants to grab Jason - to shake him maybe. Jason twitches at the movement, blinking rapidly as he seems to come back to himself. Dick watches his eyes flicker. Then his whole face crumples out of that scary blankness into something agonised. He looks terribly, awfully young,

“I don’t want to go back,” Jason whispers. The words hitch, like he’s trying not to cry, breathed out on a shaky exhale.

Dick watches Slade’s face soften. Feels his own crumple to match Jason’s as devastation blooms, hot, behind his ribs. Then Slade is reaching out with one muscular arm, pulling Jason up against his chest. Surprisingly, Jason lets him, limp and pliant in Slade’s grip.

“I know, kid,” Slade growls. He lifts one hand to tuck Jason’s face against his neck, settling himself cross-legged on the floor and shifting Jason around until he’s held more firmly in his lap. Jason sniffles, one little hand reaching up to fist in the material of Slade’s shirt. It’s a surprisingly paternal gesture from Slade. Dick isn’t sure if he can remember the last time Slade was so soft with someone beyond the confines of their bedroom. Isn’t sure if he can even remember Slade hugging him back when he was a kid and the man had been everything to Dick. He must have done, at some point. Dick has always been clingy.

Either way, it touches something deep in Dick’s chest to see the man he loves embracing the kid so gently. Slade’s soft side is something rarely seen, but treasured. And seeing Jason accept comfort like this is a rarity too. One that Dick wants more of.

“Do you think we’re going to let you?” Slade asks, rubbing his bristly chin over the top of Jason’s head. “Knowing what that bastard’s done? Do you think we’ll let you go back to him?”

Jason shrugs jerkily, sharp little shoulders shifting in Slade’s grip. He’s started to fill out in the time he’s been here - building up muscle where before there was just skin and bones - but the kid is still too skinny.

“Where else would I go?” he asks, voice small and wet. “I- I’m Roman’s.”

Slade growls. “You don’t belong to anyone but yourself kid.”

“And you’ve got us,” Dick adds, moving across the room to crouch beside them, not content to be left out of the moment any longer. Jason twists to blink up at him with wet eyes, peering out from where he’s pressed against Slade’s neck. “You can stay here as long as you need to, Jason.”

Dick lifts his chin to meet Slade’s gaze as he says that, daring him to disagree. It’s not that Dick expects him to hand the kid off to Roman, but offering him a permanent place here is something they haven’t discussed. Dick is stepping wildly out of bounds with that declaration. But Slade doesn’t seem annoyed. The skin around his eye crinkles with something that might be affection as he steadily meets Dick’s gaze, as if Dick has done something particularly cute.

“I can’t,” Jason whispers, dropping his eyes down to where Slade’s thick arm is curled around him. “I can’t…”

“Yes you can,” Dick says, just as softly. “I won’t let Black Mask take you back, Jason.”

It will be the end of this lucrative little agreement between them, but they’ve never really needed the money. And Dick has never liked Roman. This is no loss to him. If the alternative is sending Jason back to the man who raped and abused him, well….

Dick isn’t going to let that happen.

⁂

“You can’t be serious?”

Slade shifts, looming menacingly over Roman, despite being several feet away from him. In his full armour, Slade always looks enormous. In his fancy little suit, Roman looks a little like a child playing dress-up beside him.

“Deadly.”

“What?” Roman sneers, clearly wrong-footed but trying to claw back control, “You train him up and now you want your own little assassin?” His eyes slide to Dick, cold and cruel. “The old model isn’t good enough for you, anymore?”

“My motivations are none of your concern, Roman,” Slade growls. “I’ll waive payment.”

It’s hard to read Roman’s expressions behind that eponymous mask, but Dick can see the tension in his body. The way his muscles bunch, as if he’s considering actually attacking Slade - as if the mobster could go against Deathstroke and Renegade on their own turf and actually have a chance of winning. Roman has his body guard, of course, and probably a good number of guns on his person, but he’s never going to beat Slade. Especially not with Dick as backup. Not that Slade would need it.

“That kid is mine,” Roman snarls. “I dragged the little slut off the street and gave him everything. If you want your own little whore because the old one got too big for you, fine. But you’re not getting this one.”

Slade moves almost before Roman has finished speaking, drawing his katana in one fluid movement to press it threateningly against Roman’s unprotected throat. The mobster’s arms jerk, as if he means to grab for his gun, or maybe push Slade away from him, but Deathstroke is a solid mass on top of him, immovable.

“Don’t try my patience Mask. I should take your head off for what you did to that kid. Whatever our dealings in the past, I don’t take kindly to rapists.” The blade of his sword presses a little harder into Roman’s throat. Hard enough to draw a little trickle of blood when Roman swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously under the threat. “Even less kindly to pedophiles.”

Roman sneers again - or maybe that’s just the only expression he can pull, with a face like that. “That’s rich coming from you. Everyone knows you’ve been fucking that one since you took him in.”

Slade snarls like an angry dog. The muscles of his arm tense and Dick sees exactly what’s about to happen a moment before it does.

Roman’s head hits the ground with a dull thud before anyone can react - not Dick or the useless body guard. Blood sprays up into the air in a thick wet swathe. It soaks Slade, his hair, his beard, drenching the front of the armour. The bodyguard takes one look at him and turns tail. Slade doesn’t bother chasing him. Neither does Dick.

“Did you have to?” Dick asks. But he can’t find it in himself to be too disapproving. Just thinking about the bruises Jason had quells almost all of his ire. It’ll be a pain to clean this up - both the physical mess and the political one that’s going to follow this move. Still, Dick can’t find it in himself to care.

Slade shrugs, an effortless movement of his muscled shoulders. “Now he’ll never touch another kid again. Don’t tell me you’re not happy about that.”

Dick shrugs too. There’s a smile tugging at the corners of his lips that he can’t stop. The knowledge that Roman will never touch another kid - never touch Jason - again makes him so happy he’s almost dizzy with it.

“You’d best clean up before we tell Jason what happened.”

“Why?” And Dick kind of wants to kiss the smirk right off Slade’s face. “He’s going to have to get used to a bit of blood. He’s part of the family now.”

Family. Dick can’t stop grinning. He likes the sound of that.

[monkey-network]

The Fiasco Finale of Future [1/2]

So in the penultimate episode of Steven Universe 2, the climax of both the season and series as a whole... is a group hug. As I expected, plenty were not too pleased with this turnout. Some felt it was anti-climatic, some felt it was resonating, and others tried to own the critics by digging deep into the scene like they always do sucking this show’s co- Coming from nearly a month later, I’m... split. One hand, I didn’t mind the climax. On the other hand, it was pathetic compared to plenty of other finales I’ve seen in media. It’s like this show as a whole, I enjoy it, but I also enjoy smacking it upside the head cuz it made some Karen-esque, All Lives Matter type stupid shit that I just cannot get behind. So you know what, Perry the Platypus, let’s mix it up. I wanna express the good and bad of this climactic end to the show and see where we can go from there. You ready?

What’s Good:

You truly wanna know what makes that final hug a great scene? A real showstopper? I have the truth, the best truth behind this, you won’t believe me but here goes. The climax worked because A Hug Is Nice. That’s it, there’s nothing else to it beyond a hug being nice. “But Monkey, you incel troll, there’s should’ve been more to that. The episode shouldn’t have taken that long to get to that point.” Well, in typical fashion, let me put it this way by talking about Spider-Man 2 (better than Spiderverse, don’t @ me). The whole movie is centered around Peter’s life getting shat on. He’s getting fired left and right, his people are abandoning him, he even loses his powers, he’s just at his utter lowest. But at his apartment, while contemplating, in comes his landlord’s daughter, Ursula, who offers him some chocolate cake and a glass of milk.

We can say the scene comes out of nowhere and that this is all that happens, feeling pointless, but I say this is an important scene because after everything that happens to him before, this one gesture from somebody out of nowhere to be honest was one of the nicest things he’s received in a while. It’s the seedling of a scene that keeps Parker going before Doc Ock comes to make him truly spring back into action. Above everything, it was nice. Like a hug.

I don’t need to be philosophically deep with SU2′s meta to tell you that a hug can be a worthwhile thing to get more than anything. It doesn’t resolve all the baggage Steven has in his mind, but a group hug from the people closest to you (and the Diamonds) can be a gesture so nice, it can numb you out, if only for a moment. Only other times where Steven got a hug was when he felt everything could be okay. With Lars, Peridot, and Connie after her “rejection”, and it’s after that “rejection” where he slowly loses it in his attempts to shake off that harsh feeling of abandonment and that everything can be okay. It is something where he can turn to the others for help but the concern of their response makes him reasonably suffer in silence. That last part is a little dumb, but I’ll get to that later. He can’t really hug himself because it doesn’t work like that. The point being that Steven, at his lowest, just needed something nice to consider. And a hug from everyone who loves him (and the Diamonds) can be that piece of chocolate cake he needed to be at ease, again, if only for a moment.

Like let me tell ya, as a deliriously depressed man that constantly wishes for death, a hug shouldn’t be spat on. Whether it be from your friends or mommy, a good hug can, at the very least, keep you sane and going. It isn’t medication, let’s not get it twisted, but a healthy remedy nonetheless, especially if you’ve ever felt touch-starved like I have before. It’s an affectionate gesture that for what it’s worth, should never be taken for granted. And while Steven could’ve well gotten this big type hug at almost any time he desired, I can at least appreciate the show for saving that at the right time. Whew. But, while the moment itself is nice, it’s predictably almost everything around it that unfortunately puts the moment in a vacuum and me with a bad taste in my mouth.

What’s Bad: 

Let’s get this out the way, because I’m such a literal bastard... *inhale*

Penis. Penis. Penis. Penis. Penis. Penis. Penis. Penis. Penis. Penis. Penis.

MUSHROOM! MUSHROOM!

Congrats on those with the corrupted!steven theories who no doubt had it hard on when this horned trunk ascended, hung its head high, and beat its meaty chest with blind rage, the crewniverse certainly had the balls to go with this design and a long discussion of utilizing Monster Steven’s full potential. And if you think I’m nasty about this, hoo boy, be glad that words are all you’re seeing right now because artists no doubt had a field day potentially ruining this design for you even more. I’m surprised Tumblr’s flagging system hasn’t taken down whole posts with this. HEHEHEHAAAAAAAA!

As you can probably tell, I’m not a fan of this Diamond Dinodildo’s design (say that 5x times fast). I mean Rebecca could be as horny as she pleased with this show, but this is next level, I tell you. But seriously, it honestly sucked that this is what they came up with when it served no purpose to Steven thematically other than him being a literal peen of a monster. Said this before, but what does becoming a corrupted looking amalgamation mean to him beyond “he’s a monster”? Corrupted gems weren’t the worst things in his world, they were products of a even worse thing. Turning into a diamond like figure would’ve said something about the cycle of abuse making you not feel like yourself, but a reflection of who you not only resent more than anyone, but were the indirect causes of your newfound issues. That would’ve took his struggle in the Diamonds Days arc to its next logical extreme, and brought most of Future’s episodes centered around Steven’s issues to a sensible turning point. Being a warped Diamond version of himself would’ve meant finally embracing inhumanity, and that would’ve conveyed the peak of Steven harshly feeling less like a human over the course of the season, especially when we had several episodes and new powers centering around him being inhuman. And a previous episode had him try to shatter a Pink version of White Diamond, two beings generally responsible for everything that’s happened to him. And it isn’t the design that made this a turn off.

What was Steven even gonna do as a monster? He does nothing to the town, he never even makes it pass the cliffside. He doesn’t even try to attack anybody, the only times he does is when he’s provoked by either the Cluster, the Diamonds, or any of the gems. Spinel raised more hell than Steven. So on the look back it’s insultingly sad they hyped up this big dick energy only to do... genuinely nothing. He already didn’t deserve turning into Pinky the Phallisaurus, but having him not even do anything as a monster left far more to be desired. Mob Psycho 100 did this nearly identical, but better. You can’t deny that it would’ve worked better with 22 minutes, actually give him something to do beyond screech and stomp like he’s Scrat from Ice Age. As much as I don’t like Change Your Mind, 45 minutes worked to its favor to do everything it did. Oh wait, this episode did make good use of time... with a fucking pity party.

They wasted my baby

This is. The WORST scene in the entire series and I’ll stand by that 100%. It’s one thing to show something offensive, but it’s another to have something be completely pointless. Yes, Connie talked some sense into them, but we didn’t need to waste time having White Diamond and the others bitch about something everyone who isn’t a toesucking simp should’ve figured out at that point. Not like it mattered, the Diamonds and Spinel never show up after this episode anyways, so good job making them count for something, I guess. This as well as minorly acknowledge the fact that the gems had a lot to do with Steven’s mental trauma because hey, we don’t have to hold these gems too accountable for child neglect. Speaking of which, where was Jasp- This plays well into my previous point, we aren’t shown what Steven was gonna do as a monster, so what else is the episode to do beyond holding him back in time to just make the characters go “All is lost” for one second before getting back up like this is Marvel’s Captain Driftwood?

Friendship is Magic had this type of moment in its penultimate finale but in that, more time was given to show the villains getting the upper hand, Twilight at her low point, her turnaround with her friends, and the lead in charge to defeat the villains. While some moments felt convenient and downright insulting, they made the most of their limit. The same can’t be said for this and it makes no sense. Speaking of things that make no sense:

Was this shapeshifting or corruption? Rushing or dragging? This personally bothers me because people are saying he shapeshifted even when they were also on board with him corrupting. But what was the point where monster Steven cums cries into the ocean turning it pink?

Now if Steven got himself corrupted, this would make sense since the three Diamonds are there with so fully turning him back to normal wouldn’t be an issue. Questions would arise about how corruption can happen to a human, then again this is Steven Universe, fans never really wanted you to ask questions. But if this was shapeshifting, then why have this permanent monster form? It would’ve made a little more sense of Steven changing his shape depending on his emotions, like what we’ve seen before. Additionally, Steven should have been capable of talking normally instead of roaring and growling like he switched brains with an actual animal. Just because he kinned Godzilla’s joystick doesn’t mean he was unable to speak to anybody, that is if he shapeshifted. Lastly, and this is more implicit than my previous points:

This season shouldn’t have tried tacking mental issues and trauma onto this dickslap of a climax. I’m on the side where we should’ve seen more from monster Steven, but what does this tell me for the topic of mental health? Nearly killing people on three separate occasions didn’t help, but having him transform into a near mindless beast is a backhanded way to convey post traumatic stress. Let me put it this way, if we didn’t get that episode where we learn Steven had held up trauma and stress from Doctor Priyanka, everything surrounding it afterward wouldn’t feel as fucked up as it did. Yes, understanding a root of a character’s problems is good, beneficial even, but having your character nearly, sporadically, commit MURDER THREE TIMES only to then have him become a wildin’ creature does nothing, if not disgust. It's disgusting when you talk about PTS one minute and have your main character be socially dangerous the next. You’d feel sorry for him, sure, but I gotta say nearly killing people is not something we should just hand wave. That is not a good or realistic depiction of depression and post traumatic stress; especially when you trying to discuss this with children. And don’t try to justify it by saying it was necessary for his downward spiral. Having to think and see death before my own eyes in real life, there should’ve been a better way to make Steven hit rock bottom without putting other’s lives on the line. It wasn’t compelling or resonating to see him become a witless creature after saying he could get away with anything, it felt jarringly hallow and teeth gritting sadistic to think this was acceptable. It took him turning into a literal creature to finally go to therapy or a throwaway line about therapy in this show’s case? Are you kidding me?

The hug is a nice moment on its own, but it took far too many kneecaps to get to this point and think it’s believably or justly earned. I can make fun of the monster design all I want, but what they put Steven through to get to this point is the most insulting writing I ever have to think about. Because you know what that hug told me, personally? It’s that you can commit near irrefutable atrocities, you can behave like a blithering rampaging beast all you wish, but that won’t matter. Because you’re valid and your people will love you. That is not only asinine, but it kinda pissed on what I went through growing up. Like, as idealistic as that felt, it didn’t add up because it made the mentally unstable come off as more unstable than they mostly are. You can disagree all you want with this, it won’t change the baffling fact that I came to this conclusion in the first place when I didn’t want to. “But the crew said in an interv-” NO, just nope. If the message the show gives is this polarizing for those that invested or were concerned with it, maybe the message wasn’t clear enough, who knows? I can believe Mr. Rogers never fucked this up when he made his show. I tried thinking of this differently, but I can’t excuse what they did and how they did it. Bojack Horseman never pulled this with its main lead and when it truly did, that was given more time to sort out; not an 11 minute epilogue in its final moments. The hug was nice, but this episode was trash.

Speaking of which, next time...

We Finally Look to the Future

Here’s Part 2, if you’re up.

[timegears-moved]

☕️ mmmm pokemon games specifically (not including spinoffs)

sorry this is late im terrible with actually answering asks. ill do this generation by generation. also this ended up very long because i have a lot of thoughts about pkmn.

gen one: okay so right off the bat im gonna say that i have a massive soft spot for gen one, considering blue was the first game i ever played. i do have a degree of nostalgia towards it which is why i can never be truly be harsh on these games. i know they're a mess of glitches and mechanics that make no fucking sense (seriously FUCK psychic types and everything they stand for) but it has a certain charm to it.

but even as a "kanto apologist" (which damien calls me) i can absolutely agree that the pandering is fucking abysmal. they're trying cater to a demographic who hasn't cared about pokemon in years and aren't going to pick up a new game just because charizard is in it. by doing this it feels like they're alienating the people who actually care, like "yeah ur support is nice but we want the genwunners to like us more than anything.

also on the topic of pandering is that their pandering is so half-assed too. all of this gen one content and not one shred of love for my boys victreebel or cloyster? bro i hate it here.

gen two: i dont really have that much to say here tbh. i have no fond memories of it at all considering i only played through gold once right before hgss came out. i can say that i appreciate all of the bullshit from gen one that it fixed but i have issues with johto as a region that ill elaborate on when i talk about the remakes.

gen three: honestly i never cared much for this gen. i played it quite a bit growing up but it's always been whatever for me. a lot of it just feels kind of.....bland for me. i really don't know what to say because it leaves me feeling conflicted. there's nothing bad about these games that sticks out like a sore thumb but they just don't do it for me, ya know?

i do appreciate frlg for shedding a much better light on kanto though.

gen four: okay so i'll fully admit that the sinnoh games are my childhood faves and are still my faves now but im not letting nostalgia completely cloud my judgement on this.

honestly? i think pokemon peaked with platinum. dp had their problems for sure and some of those still carried over to platinum but the scale in which platinum told its story feels so much grander than any pokemon game that came before or after it. i absolute adore the sinnoh mythos and i only want dp remakes just so it can get expanded upon, i could care less about any actually gameplay from it. ive said this before but you cannot make the god of pokemon and not do anything with it.

as for hgss, i have very mixed feelings about this one but not in the same way gen 3 made me feel because i do have genuine problems here. ive talked before about them but i just cannot stress how bad the level and pokemon distributions are. how the fuck can you make brand new pokemon for your johto region and not put them in fucking johto?

like these games are fine ig. i never cared about the walking pokemon mechanic but it literally feels like people only praise this game as the best because of that one thing that has no bearing on the actual game itself. you can like these games all you want, i still enjoy parts of them myself, but calling them the best is a huge reach.

gen five: right off the bat im gonna say that i do love the gen five games so nobody thinks im being overly critical or anything. i love the aesthetic of these games, i ADORE the pokemon here and they're some of the most fun pokemon games to play through. it's the story and characters (with the exception of n i will absolutely give credit where it is die there) that throw me for a loop.

i feel like whenever i praise the story or characters im just following the crowd here. i don't know if im just very stupid (i definitely am very stupid) or what but none of it felt as powerful as people claim it is for me personally. maybe i should just pay more attention but i honestly don't know. im definitely not saying theyre bad or anything i just in all hobestly dont get the (very sudden) hype.

uhhh i can't say much about bw2 because i haven't beaten it since it came out but i remember liking hugh and it made iris a champion so i remember them being good on those two things alone.

gen six: hohohohoho here we go. tbh i don't even know what i can say about xy that hasn't already been said. like gen one might be a huge mess looking back on it but at least it had character. xy introduced a few pokemon that i really liked and some amazing shiny hunting methods that should definitely return but that's the most i can say in terms of praise.

i dont think pokemon has ever gotten this boring before, and that's speaking as someone who clocked over 300 hours into my x save file. nothing has life (which in hindsight is ironic considering xerneas is the god of life) and i hate the way mega evolution was handled so much. i really don't know what else to say because everyone has already said what i want to but i think this has been pokemon's lowest point so far.

oras once again made hoenn complicated for me. they made hoenn somewhat interesting for me in a way that didnt capture me in the originals. i don't think they're stellar but ive seen people call these the worst ones and....why. i get that the originals are special to a lot of people and that they feel like oras did them injustice but honestly i would oras over the originals because they're just more fun for me.

gen seven: it made popplio. 10/10.

okay so i can understand why the very slow start and unskippable long cutscenes threw a lot of people off but i just don't understand so much of the hate it around other things. again i see people proclaiming it as the worst and you can see it as that from a gameplay element, but the story fucking slapped ass and i don't think amybody can or should deny that. maybe i just feel very passionately about them because they're very personal for me in helping me through a rough time in my life but i just also dont see why everybody is so mad at these games sometimes.

the fact that sm mean so much to me makes usum's entire existence hurt so much more. like wow i love abuse apologism: the game thank you sooooo much gamefreak! /s

aside from ultra wormhole jumping, my baby dusk lycanroc and the new ultra beasts i dont care for anything new usum brought. it feels like it back peddled so much by completely ruining lillie's character by attempting to make lusamine likable when the damage from the first games was already done. i hate usum they're the only pokemon games i can state that i hate. i don't know how you can take sm's well-done albeit flawed blueprints, take out everything that was good and only leave stuff that either doesn't matter or is actively harmful.

also let's go pikachu and eevee exist too idrc

gen eight: ive already spoken my piece on swsh but im gonna be more clear here. i dont think swsh is inherently bad and i can still have fun with them. i dont think the issue here lies with the cut pokedex. i could honestly care less about that and i always figured we would get to this point. the issue lies with nintendo and tpci pushing for yearly releases, forcing the devs to make yearly subpar games. i can think of so many ways they can remedy this situation: taking longer times between releases, hiring more staff at gamefreak or even splitting developments for different projects between multiple different studios. i hope that the reported low moral at gamefreak at swsh's releases is enough of a wake up call for change but that could just be me being optimistic.

i am SO sorry this ended up as long as it is but i have a lot of opinions and not enpugh willpower to keep my mouth shut

[chromecutie]

Not A Ghost - part 37

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. NEW WARNING - fictional police brutality. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Masterlist on my profile!

Taglist: @emma-frxst  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @holamor ​  @empressme-bitch  @marvel-is-perfection  @hazilyimagine ​ @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash ​ @whitewitchdown ​ @master-sass-blast ​ @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen @emberbent @leo-writer @silver-stormy . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

-------------------------------------

Near the Icebox was a barracks for DMC officers, and they would take a small rail tunnel to the prison for their shifts. The barracks and the prison were in a remote enough area that the tunnel didn’t have any particular protection. Storm sent a small whirlwind to clear the flattest spot they could find to land the jet. 

“They’ll probably send reinforcements soon,” Domino said as she zipped a heavy jacket and grabbed her guns.

Cable grumbled his agreement, “If they haven’t already.” 

As they disembarked from the jet, the wind howled just as harshly as it had higher in the air. Negasonic winced as the swirling snow hit her face with a hundred little stings. Below their feet, carved into the mountainside, was the tunnel. She dropped to her hands and knees and sent a powerful burst of force that fractured the rock. She sent another, and was about to send one more when Cable tapped her shoulder. 

“Pace yourself,” he said quietly, then waved for everyone to stand back. His techno-organic eye flared like a giant ember, allowing him to see the cracks running deep in the rock as he took careful aim with his gun. With a few good blasts, he had a good sized hole where everyone could climb down and drop into the tunnel. 

It was lit with LED bulbs that washed the small railway in a weak, bluish light. The team could hear vague echoes, mostly from their own movement and from the wind, but there was a foreboding stillness that whispered a chill through everyone’s bones.

Storm listened for a careful moment, then said, “Let’s start walking.”

Then they heard a rumbling, and Cable snapped a look behind them toward the barracks. “Everyone off the tracks.”

--

Rhonda’s gaze darted all over the yard and mess hall as inmates started attacking Colossus and Beast. She glanced back at Wade, Mimi, and Robinson, then grabbed the microphone for the loudspeaker. “Everyone shut the fuck up for a second,” she shouted. Her voice was strained, but strong enough that a few stopped fighting long enough to listen. “The X-Men are here to help. Work with them, and you can get out of the Icebox. Fight them, and I will kill you myself.” She took a breath and let that sink in. By now, most of the Icebox had gone still to listen to her, including Beast and Colossus. Her husband looked around until he found the glass walls of the office, and stared up at her with wide eyes.

“The collars come off by entering a code from a hard token,” Rhonda continued. Her free hand found her neck and rubbed at her skin. “Come to the office and Mimi and I can help you.”

Mimi tapped her arm and held her hand out for the microphone. “No bullshit, no screwing around,” she added. “We’ve all waited long enough to get out of here. Do anything that threatens everyone’s chances, and if Guestbook doesn’t kill you, I sure as hell will.”

Turning toward the doors of the office, they regarded the inmates who had been threatening Janks to let them through. Rhonda asked Mimi and Robinson, “How many hard tokens are there?”

“Three,” Mimi replied, holding out her hand with the remaining two tokens.

Wade still had one in his hand, Rhonda took a second from Mimi’s palm, leaving the third for the reptilian. “We’ll have everyone line up,” Rhonda said, “and each of us will start taking off collars.”

“Absolutely not,” Mimi shook her head, resting a closed fist on her hip. “We go out there, I give it about ten seconds before they start mobbing us for the tokens.” She absently drummed her fingers on the surface of a desk. “We’ll stay in here, have them pair off and they’ll do each other. If they try anything, they’ll blow their own hands off. Not ours.”

Wade tilted his head and leveled Mimi with a deadpan, “Yours don’t grow back?”

Rhonda sighed and made the effort to ignore Wade. “What about this one?” she jutted her chin at Robinson.

The defected guard smiled pleasantly enough, “Whatever Maria says, goes.”

“You’ll have to get into a yellow jumpsuit,” Rhonda said firmly. “If you look like DMC and not one of us, you won’t make it out of here alive and there’s nothing I’ll be able to do to stop that.” She glanced at Mimi, who nodded.

“That reminds me,” Mimi unzipped her jumpsuit and pulled out another that she had secreted away from the laundry room. 

Robinson went into a corner for the slightest semblance of privacy to change, “And what if someone asks me to prove I’m a mutant? I can’t fake any powers.”

Rhonda rolled her eyes. “Just say you’re a telepath and any demonstration to prove it would be a vulgar display of power.”

Wade guffawed and slapped his friend on the back, adding, “Make sure you ask for some pea soup, Linda Blair.”

“Keep an eye on the monitors, Edmund,” Mimi waved loosely at the bank of screens. “We’ve got at least two DMC guards locked in the armory who will be trying to bust out.” She surveyed the screens herself for a moment. They still had plenty of time before the morning shift would be making their way up the rail passage to report for duty. “We need to be out of here before the next shift shows up. Edmund, give a shout if you see anyone trying to pull something.” He nodded and gave an affirmative as he kept a dutiful watch.

In the yard below, Colossus and Beast maintained a firm stance, sharing a questioning glance and warily eyeing the nearby inmates who had just stopped attacking them. “It would seem we are rescuing you,” Beast offered cheerily. “Why don’t you visit our friend to get your collars off, and we can all go somewhere more pleasant.” Reluctantly, begrudgingly, the inmates took a few steps backward before turning to head up the walkways to the control office, tossing glances over their shoulders at the two massive X-Men. Quieter, from the side of his mouth, he noted to Colossus, “Not sure how we’ll fit all these people with us.”

“Freeing the whole prison was not the plan,” Colossus said. “We have to trust Rhonda has her reasons.” He was no stranger to making sensible plans and then having to throw them out the window, but a new dread crept up in him. “The others should be here by now,” he said. “Something has happened.” He took in the dingy yard - with the rusted fitness equipment that was missing pieces and grimey floors that had old smears of blood. Glass shards littered the whole area from their entrance via skylight. Weak lights and a bit of moonlight highlighted the light snow that drifted down. Despite being an open space, Colossus felt suffocated by the atmosphere - he immediately understood this was a place designed to sap its inhabitants of hope, and was amazed that anyone could survive here.

“I’m sure they’ll be along soon,” Beast assured him as he started to climb to the walkway above him, skipping the stairs.

Colossus looked up at the office one more time. He had recognized his wife’s voice on the intercom, and he was sad to note he also recognized that cold, threatening tone. He’d had just over two days to think of an apology and still wasn’t sure what he would tell her once they were back on the jet.

--

The rail car roared down the tunnel. Cable and Negasonic planted themselves in the middle, with Storm levitating just above them to send a gale screaming towards the oncoming wave of DMC reinforcements. Domino, Nightcrawler, and Yukio flanked them, weapons drawn and ready. 

The officers were shouting, readying their weapons as their rail car drew closer. Cable fired his biggest gun and an energy blast hit the car, causing it to derail. Immediately following that, Negasonic sent a low powered wave to keep them off balance. As some of them tumbled from the vehicle, Nightcrawler disappeared with a pop in the air and materialized behind them. Using the hilts of his swords, Nightcrawler punched and deflected the DMC, breaking hands and wrists so they could no longer hold their weapons. In such close quarters, Nightcrawler was at particular risk as officers tried to snap a collar around his neck - he easily disappeared at the last possible second and emerged somewhere easy to sucker-punch an enemy.

Three officers tried to rush Yukio, who was closest to them along the wall of the tunnel. She whirled her electrified chain and landed a few hits - and only narrowly avoided the collar one flung at her. “Watch out for collars!” she warned the others. If any of the team got a control collar, this rescue mission would be jeopardized. 

Storm blasted them with wind, Yukio electrified the rails, and Domino got a particularly lucky shot through the squad leader’s head as he was reaching for his radio. “We have to collapse the tunnel!” she yelled. “Cable, up there!” Domino pointed up at a crack that had radiated from the team’s initial breach. Together, Domino and Cable sprayed gunfire at the rock ceiling. Pieces started falling, and some struck the DMC officers. 

Fortunately the team of mutants handled the enemies quickly. The short fight ended with every DMC officer incapacitated. “We’ll have to hurry,” Storm said. “We didn’t expect such a long walk or a surprise fight.”

“Wait,” Domino paused, listening. She followed a faint crackle and picked up a radio that one of the guards had dropped. The voice on the other end was shouting questions about where the hell was the other squad, there were an unknown number of intruders, inmates had taken the control office. “There’s already another team of reinforcements at the prison,” she announced with urgency.

Nightcrawler flicked his blades to shake off some blood. “Ja, we blast the tunnel a little more, and run for the prison?”

Negasonic, Domino, and Cable shared a nod and blasted the rock until the tunnel in the direction of the barracks was sealed. Then the team took off running the other way, fervently closing the distance to the prison.

--

Mimi, Rhonda, and Wade stood practically shoulder to shoulder, reading off codes for pairs of inmates. Janks was in the first group. He had watched Mimi intently while she read off the code for the inmate behind him to enter into his collar. Her voice hadn't faltered, his partner's fingers moved with quick certainty. He had seen what happens when someone tampers with their collar, and he was too afraid to breathe until finally it clicked open, and Janks threw it away like it was a scorpion.

For all the contempt Rhonda had for the other inmates of the Icebox, she saw in their eyes the same fear and hope she had felt only minutes ago - and months before that. She didn’t recognize the inmate in front of her, a face full of freckles and dark veins, but she gave them a firm nod, a promise that she wouldn’t misread the code and this person would be free in a few more seconds.

“Maria!” Robinson’s voice was pitched high with concern, “We’ve got incoming!”

Shouting echoed distantly, starting somewhere past the kitchen, then grew closer. "What the fuck is that?” Mimi demanded from her spot by the door. Rhonda dashed to check the window.

Heavily booted footfalls added to the shouts. Rounding a corner from a hallway, a squad of DMC officers came barrelling through, bellowing at Colossus and Beast to stop, stop where they were, get on the ground, stop--

Colossus stole one more glance up at the office. Rhonda was too far to see her expression clearly, but he caught the brief press of her palm and fingers against the glass. Fight dirty against the DMC. All the inmates above him still had collars, and they wouldn't be able to leave until they got them off. The pair of X-Men had to buy enough time for them. 

A short few steps for his long legs, and Colossus grabbed one of the metal benches in the mess hall, which were bolted to the concrete floor. He wrenched it free and lobbed it into a wave of riot-armor-clad monsters. One officer threw some kind of canister at him that was spewing a thick, white smoke; he crushed it under the heel of his boot, breaking the dispersal mechanism.

Beast had climbed along the underside of a walkway and dropped into the middle of the throng of guards. Some hit him with cattle prods and bean bag rounds, but their armor barely held up against his claws. The mass of blue fur thrashed and kicked, launching DMC personnel into tables, weight racks, and the railing above. 

In the office, Rhonda had her first inmate freed, then a terrible boom shook the plexiglass doors and there was a flash of brilliant red splattered across the glass. Rhonda and Mimi had screamed in alarm. Wade yelled, “OH COME ON!” The women stared at him in bewilderment and realized what had happened - the collar of the inmate he’d been helping had exploded. The body fell against the glass and sagged to the floor. The inmate who had been typing the code screamed in agony and horror. He hadn’t lost his hands entirely, but a few fingers were definitely missing. 

Janks, wide-eyed with shock as the rest of them, told Mimi, “Yeah, he’s...dyslexic.”

Wade’s shoulders bounced with an indignant huff, “Okay, so it wasn’t on me!” Rhonda ground her teeth, but Mimi took charge before she could say something.

“Move the body, let’s go! We can’t help him now,” she barked, “Someone find something to wrap this guy’s hands!” The gang boss pointed at a few inmates, “You, you, and you will type the codes. Anyone gonna fuck it up?” When they shook their heads, Mimi slapped her palm on the glass a few times to spur them into action. The poor dead inmate was dragged away, the one with the mangled hands sat down and cried, howling as other collared prisoners tore their sleeves to try to cover the bleeding. Rhonda watched him for a second, hurting for him, before resuming reading codes off to free more prisoners.

Without collars, the inmates immediately started testing their abilities. Like Rhonda, some found they could hardly use them at all. One took a little hop, then stunned, started yelling about how she could still feel gravity. One or two of every ten inmates seemed unaffected by how long they had worn the collars - apparently as strong as they had ever been. Most felt their powers reduced, stunted. The one who swore he could shoot flames from his hands could now only make things hot if he touched them. 

Mimi’s gaze skipped nervously around the group. “What’s happened to them?” she asked Rhonda, even as she tested her own teeth and spat a pale yellow substance on the floor, which sizzled. 

“Something about the collars,” Rhonda explained. “When I first got mine off, I had to rehab for months, but I’ve gotten it back...mostly.”

Mimi gaped, eyes wide. “And you didn’t think to warn us?” She was seething.

She pointed at Wade, “He bounced back just fine! I thought maybe it was just me. Or that it depends on how long you’ve worn a collar.”

“Excuse me, ladies?” Robinson interrupted. “More incoming.”

There was a clap of thunder. A pop in the air. Storm and Nightcrawler tore through the same door as the wave of DMC reinforcements had. Rhonda and Wade watched as their friends rounded the corner - and when Rhonda saw the streaks of pink hair, her heart dropped. Ellie and Yukio were in the Icebox.

[buzzworddotie]

YAY Clear Pee! RDPR S10E11

Disclaimer, I feel like I’ve been writing this post for the past 10,000 years because the lovely Tumblr app keeps crashing every damn time I get my shit together! Out with the laptop and on with the show...

Episode 11 of Dr.Rupaul

To Rucap, Season 10 kicked off with one of the most interesting cast of Queens we’ve had in a long time! A cast of brilliant and interesting contestants, Ru seemed to be back in the groove, those first few episode were EVERYTHING! But when we started to whittle away those lovable Drag stars, shenanigans and tomfoolery took over and here we are, Episode 11.

Let’s take a second to see how this goes

So this episode the Top 5 Queens had to personify their “Evil Twin”, kind of but not really. What they really had to do was delve into the darkness of their subconscious minds, tap into their psychological scars and unearth their inner demons as part of a super fun reality TV show!

I get the reasoning behind this one on paper. Give the inner saboteur, that Ru consistently tells us about, a voice - confront it. Allow yourself to be vulnerable, because apparently vulnerability is : 1. About hating yourself and 2. is what it takes to win the show!

But sweet baby Jebus, was this really the time or place? When the Queens are probably the most stressed out they have ever been, minus who knows how much sleep? If the challenge had been to look at it in a fun way, take the piss a bit maybe it would have felt a little less... triggering! But Ru was pushing these girls with some armchair psychology and it didn’t exactly scream “this is a fun moment!”

You really need to hate yourself, and I’m gunna tell you why 

What was slightly off putting about this episode, for me at least, was the Ru visits in the workroom. He pushed the Queens to go deep into his psychosis. When he spoke to Queens such as Aquaria or Kameron, he refused to accept how deep they were willing to go.

Ru is great, I love Ru. Without Ru I wouldn’t have a show to give out about! I love What’s the Tee, there are times when I find the things Ru says to be inspirational and offer a chance for introspection that I may not have considered before. I have been in deep levels of anxiety and depression and have found Ru, and this show to be such a help in picking myself back up again.

BUT, and it’s a big butt, in those moments Ru has been relaying a story about his own life and how he got himself through it. The issue for me in this episode was that he didn’t really do that here, he didn’t offer the Queens something to relate to. Instead he told the girls how he believed they should feel and how ‘evil’ their inner voice should be.

Should is a dangerous word. No one can ever tell you how you should feel, what you should think, should do. 

So in the end, in a challenge where they wanted to see the Queens let go and stop producing themselves, Ru took hold of the puppet strings and tried to produce these girls himself.

Source

What’s Even Happening?

Something that has confused me throughout this season is what exactly the judges are looking for. When we got to the runway, Kameron was read for her looks being too similar, Cracker for the looks not being similar enough, Eureka received praise for the looks being similar... 

What even was the criteria? Was performance ke? Was it about the voice over? In which case why was Asia not the winner and why didn’t Cracker get stronger praise? Was the look all that mattered? Was it about having comedy or about being as harsh as they could be? Did the looks matter? Was it supposed to be about making looks? Why did Ru ask them all if they were making a look if it didn’t matter? What is going on in here on this day?!

Let’s get Eval

In terms of the runway, I thought Kameron was going to get the classic read from Michelle, “How are you going to stand out here, Top 5 of RuPaul’s Drag Race Season 10 in a bra with a piece of fabric wrapped around your waist?!” 

She got read for the look a bit but I was surprised we didn’t see Michelle go full Visage on her ass. Kameron’s evil performance seemed to, from memory, focus mainly on more aesthetic self-reads, which I don’t think was key to the challenge.

Cracker’s first look was adorable and had she had the time to put together the second, we all know it would have worked, we’ve seen Instagram. But I have to wonder, would that have saved her from the bottom 2? Because Cracker was pretty fucking mean to herself in the voice over, deep cuts. That she is unoriginal, that she coasts to the middle. So would an outfit that worked combined with that have kept her safe, or kept her in the competition - who knows? 

Eureka’s voice over to me read more of the few things she knows she has been called out for, being loud, attention seeking and it didn’t really feel like an introspective moment. She did have a couple of things but she played up a character and maybe that means vulnerability?

Aquaria looked stunning. She really, really did. I loved her performance, personally, it was drama mawma, but did it meet the criteria of the challenge?

Surely Asia really ticked the boxes? She bared her insecurities and did it with two great looks. I’d argue Asia had the most “evil” looking twin of all of them.

Celebrate Mediocrity... 

It’s strange to see Eureka sail by and Kameron stay. I like Kameron and I’m mostly fine with Eureka but neither has blown me away, ever. Well, to be fair, I have on numerous occasions enjoyed their performances but overall I didn’t feel like these two were top, top Queens.

Cracker’s run confuses me most. From the off, Cracker was in the Top consistently. She had interactions with Ru and the judges that I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Queen have before, the banter and the back and forth. And if Review with a Jew is correct, there is footage on the cutting room floor of far more interactions that we never got to see,

Does this tinfoil hat make my ass look big?

I think Miz Cracker was screwed as soon as she didn’t go in for the Cracker vs Aquaria storyline. This may be a total reach but I felt like the show wanted to push that, it’s a reality TV show, they need drama, they need to be able to create characters and Cracker was not having it. Cracker never really took the bait, Eureka tried to stir it with Aquaria in the first episode and it almost worked as Aquaria had a moan but The Vixen stepped in and blew it all up when she tried to get Aquaria to face it head on.

But ultimately, this potential feud was not in Cracker’s favour, she didn’t want to be known as some copycat Queen. So does that mean Cracker gave us nothing? Well, not exactly, as I mentioned she had more interactions with the judges than we ever got to see, she was in the Top consistently and never got the reward, unjustly at times. She also had fun moments with Monet that again, we never got to see. Without a back story how would a casual viewer know that Monet and Cracker were so close? Why did we not get to see any of that? Is it because people complained with Season 9 being so sisterly? 

If anything Asia convinced me more that Cracker was actually doing well this season. I know she has gotten heat over what was an unfair comment but look at the context. During her voice over performance, Asia’s inner saboteur says “This is Cracker’s season”, surely she would say that because as far as any of them could see, without the edit, Cracker was nailing the competition. 

Asia saying she didn’t think Cracker was a star... Well girl, I love you, but after you said it was her season to win and then that I think there was a lie there somewhere. And I think the lie was when she said she wasn’t going to call out her top competition like Kameron did. I think Asia did do that and in that moment Asia acted as Cracker’s inner saboteur.

It was not a nice thing to say but it contradicts what I felt she really thought.

Who can say? I think in this challenge Cracker was bottom two. But I think her fall from grace is something that hasn’t made sense to me. Maybe on rewatch it will but I’m not buying it. She refused to play the game they wanted, she refused to give the growth they wanted, she didn’t do what they thought she should do. 

And she was right not to.  

The Top 4

Against all known Drag Race tradition, being bottom 2 three times, giving the same/similar performance each lip sync and a piece of fabric wrapped around your waist was enough to keep Kameron in the race.

Sometimes you wonder if the purpose of the show is now to create a great cast for All Stars as opposed to celebrating the more interesting girls during their season.

But, we have our Top 4. And I’d like to end on a positive note because I can sit here and type up my critique and honest opinions but I can’t do it without knowing in the back of my mind that there are “fans” out there who will verbally abuse and attack these Queens for doing little more than competing on a TV show.

Do I agree with every decision? Hell, no. But that’s part of the fun. We still get to discover these Queens we may not have heard about otherwise.

Kameron looked great, her make-up for the evil look was a fantastic, sexy tribal bitch and the Queen can bring it in her performances.

Next it’s time to see who makes it to the final and then we’re almost done gang. Another season of RuPaul’s Drag Race will be over.

Until next time x.

[dragonbornoflegend]

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45,46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, and 100. My hand hurts now.

Lord have mercy upon my soul 1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk? I always try and have a decent balance with the two, but I lean towards more milk. 2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day? It depends. If I've just left a warm place, it feels refreshing, but if I'm already outside and cold then it feels like death.3) what random objects do you use to bookmark your books? Right now I'm alternating between an astrology card I got from a fortune teller machine in a Spinelli's and a dollar bill that has the word "BONER" written on it. 4: how do you take your coffee/tea? Coffee sweet with shit like chocolate or pumpkin spice, and tea usually iced with enough sugar to taste the diabetes.5: are you self-conscious of your smile? Yep 🙃 I lost my retainer in the 8th grade so my teeth are Fucked Up™6: do you keep plants? I certainly try, but I'm kind of like Timmy's mom from Fairly Odd Parents7: do you name your plants? Yep! I used to have a bromeliad named George before I accidentally killed it. 8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings? I tend more to just bottle them up lmao but if I had to pick one it would be writing 9: do you like singing/humming to yourself? I do, but I refrain from doing so in public out of respect for others 10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach? I'm a stomach sleeper. It's painful. 11: what's an inner joke you have with your friends? Most of my jokes honestly. "Just watch some porn and eat more chocolate", "you got a 30 on your ACT", the implication that I on the reg put it in @fuckthepersonthattookmyusername's ass, stuff like that. 12: what's your favorite planet? I feel like I should say Earth since I live on it? But I also highkey relate to Pluto bc I, too, constantly struggle with validation. 13: what's something that made you smile today? My dogs. My Big Dumb one is chasing his tail in front of me as I type this. 14: if you were to live with your best friend(s) in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like? Spacious, with lots of plants and a goat skull hanging on the wall. A nice kitchen. My dog is there and healthy. 15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is! I don't have my glasses on and at first glance I thought this said "weird spice fact" and I got really excited. I did google a space, fact, though, and I learned that Neutron stats can spin at a rate of 600 rotations per second. 16: what's your favorite pasta dish? Does "all of them" not count? If I had to pick one, right now it's tortellini. 17: what color do you really want to dye your hair? Silver. I do love my red, though. 18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up. Basically everything I do that exemplifies how dumb I am lmao. I almost didn't graduate high school and they nag me parent-style about that one a lot.19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it? I do not, I've tried before but I've never known what to write in it. Plus I'm always way too paranoid that someone will find and read it. 20: what's your favorite eye color? @stripper-boots's 21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that's been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces. The only bag I really have that's lasted a while (I abuse my bags lol) is an orange drawstring with a skull printed on it. It's got some weeaboo buttons on it bc for a while it was my convention bag. Now I mostly use it to collect buttons on. 22: are you a morning person? Absolutely not. If allowed to I will sleep until 2 pm with no issues.23: what's your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations? Usually just sit around and watch YouTube/Netflix or play video games. Today is actually one of those few days, actually. I've got plans on running to the local farmer's market too so I can plant some herbs later on. 24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets? I have people I would trust not to tell anyone else, but I still wouldn't ever tell them. It's less a trust issue and more that I just don't want anyone knowing some of these things. 25: what's the weirdest place you've ever broken into? An abandoned church compound. It was a big lot full of tons of old buildings. Some of them were used for storage and had a bunch of newer stuff in it but some of them looked like old schoolhouses and dorms. The desks inside had schoolwork dated from the 70s in them. The place has since been leveled, though. It's a shame. 26: what are the shoes you've had for forever and wear with every single outfit? My combat boots. They've seen hell, basically. 27: what's your favorite bubblegum flavor? I can't remember the name, but 5 gum has these two that are great. One is a fruity flavor that kind of tastes like Monster and one is a mint that's great because it's not as harsh as most other mint gums.28: sunrise or sunset? Sunset, probably. I'm usually awake to see that one more. 29: what's something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing? Exist. 30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared? On one hand, I think so, but on another hand I do have that "could be worse" issue. Yesterday I was woken up by a man I didn't know knocking on my door and then literally climbing on my roof. After he got down he started banging on my door and yelling. That was pretty terrifying but I do feel like it could have gone much worse. 31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks. I do enjoy weird patterned socks, I think they're cute. White socks are demon spawn tho. I also despise sleeping with socks on. I went through a phase in middle school in which I exclusively wore fuzzy socks. Never again.32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends. Boy do I have a story to share. I once went out to watch Rogue One with @stripper-boots and another friend, and somehow the night ended with us picking up another person, stealing a grocery cart from a CVS near my school, and driving through our old high school's parking lot while someone sat in the cart and held on to my van. We would then hit the brakes and the person in the cart would let go and see how far they would keep rolling. It was absolutely amazing. 33: what's your fave pastry? Listen, I'm a baking and pastry student, I can't pick just one. If I had to narrow it down, I love making turnovers and scones. Blackberry and sage scones are absolutely amazing. 34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it? I kept (and currently keep) two stuffed Dalmatians named Spot and Pongo (I was a creative kid, I know). I've had them since I was born and they're both incredibly dear to me. 35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often? I always want to, but almost every time I end up too afraid to use them because I want to wait and find something that would be worth using them for (spoiler alert: I never do). So I've stopped getting them lol36: which band's sound would fit your mood right now? Probably The Neighborhood or something like that. I'm feeling pretty mellow today. 37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean? I like to keep it super clean (even if it occasionally gets messy thanks to depression). The people I live with are pretty messy and it gets to me pretty badly so I try to have at least one clean area that I can retreat to.38: tell us about your pet peeves! Hoo boy, here we go. I cannot stand it when people chew with their mouths open (people that have to due to some sort of disability or something don't count, ofc). It is seriously one of the grossest things in the world to me and it honestly makes me uncomfortable to the depths of my very soul. Most of my family and a few of my friends do it, too, and it absolutely kills me. I also can't stand it when people put their feet on things or when they do something I've asked them not to because they find it humorous. 39: what color do you wear the most? Black. I'm still a little emo kid at heart. Plus I own all dark haired animals lol. 40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what's it's story? does it have any meaning to you? I wear a collar around my wrist that belonged to a dog we fostered. It's from when he was a puppy, which I think is pretty great because as he grew up he ended up coming up to my hip with his shoulder. Seriously, he was huge. 41: what's the last book you remember really, really loving? Both of the books in the Kingmaker, Kingbreaker series. I read them my sophomore year of high school and I still think about them a lot. I'm not even sure why, they just struck a chord with me and I absolutely love them. 42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it! I feel obligated to say the one that belongs to my school. It's basically the only one that I really frequent, anyways. The cafe mochas are amazing. 43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with? Honestly, I can't remember the last time I actually stargazed. It's definitely been a while.44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? Probably before I was born. My mom smoked a lot of weed while pregnant with me so I'd imagine I was a pretty chill little fetus. 45: do you trust your instincts a lot? Anxiety won't let me. 46: tell us the worst pun you can think of. Basically any pun my chef instructor this past quarter told us lol. Or anything that comes from @stripper-boots47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe? Candy corn 48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today? I was always terrified of tornadoes, to the point that some nights I would just lay awake and cry because I was afraid that a tornado would come crashing through my house, even on nights with nice weather. I'm no longer that afraid of them, but I do still get really nervous when it storms out.49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought? I love CDs! I haven't bought one in a while, but the most recent one I "acquired" (aka stole from my dad) was the Cloud Atlas soundtrack. 50: what's an odd thing you collect? Sadness. 51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them? I associate the song "Fuck You" with my mom. Because fuck her. 52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far? All of them53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them? I've seen Rocky Horror and parts of Beetlejuice. They're both pretty awesome. 54: who's the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face? Myself in the mirror lmao55: what's the most dramatic thing you've ever done to prove a point? I try not to be dramatic that much? Idk. I'm answering all 100 questions of this rn to prove that I'm not a little bitch. 56: what are some things you find endearing in people? Genuine care. Like honestly, someone can act caring towards me once and there we go, I think they're great and want to be their friend. 57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics? You mean there aren't people that dramatically reenact the lyrics? 58: who's the wine mom and who's the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why? @thenomoreotaku is the self-proclaimed wine mom. I feel like @stripper-boots is the vodka aunt. 59: what's your favorite myth? Listen I love mythology, do not get me started. Just all of them. 60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves? I really like "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" from Robert Frost and basically anything from Neil Hilborn. 61: what's the stupidest gift you've ever given? the stupidest one you've ever received? Every gift I give is stupid. I'm not very good at giving gifts. 62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind? I'm not really a fan of juice. 63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be? I want to be organized but I am Not. 64: what color is the sky where you are right now? Kind of a light gray with some blue. It rained last night. 65: is there anyone you haven't seen in a long time who you'd love to hang out with? I haven't seen my friends since Saturday night, does that count as a long time? 66: what would your ideal flower crown look like? Anything with bright flowers (probably red) and maybe some Quartz on it too. I actually plan on making some soon. 67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel? I like the melancholy feel but I hate how humid it is when it's misty so I'm kind of on the fence about it. 68: what's winter like where you live? Normally I would say Fucking Cold but this winter was actually pretty warm so?? Thanks global warming. 69: what are your favorite board games? I really like Betrayal at House on The Hill, and I appreciate the cutthroat factor of Monopoly. I was also recently introduced to Arkham Horror and it was pretty lit. 70: have you ever used a ouija board? Nope71: what's your favorite kind of tea? I have this black tea that's cacao mint flavored and I love it 72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you'll forget it? YEP73: what are some of your worst habits? All of them. 74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns. Listen I have like, 3.5 friends this is going to be a pain to choose one. I have one that's pretty saint-like lately. Bc they're holey. 75: tell us about your pets! They're all amazing and I love them. I have a 6 year old blue pitbull named Jinxx, 3 year old Presa Canario named Murdoc, a 9 year old brown tabby cat named Tiger, a fluffy black cat named PJ that's somewhere between 7-9, and a betta fish named Radicchio. 76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren't? Going to the farmer's market and cleaning my house. 77: pink or yellow lemonade? I don't like lemonade 😐78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub? I will hate minions until the day I die 79: what's one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you? My friends literally made me a bedroom. 80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why? They're just white. I wanted to paint them but I never got a chance before we moved in. 81: describe one of your friend's eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of. He much will everyone hate me if I use "azure pools" 82: are/were you good in school? Definitely not lol. I think I'm getting better now that I'm college though. 83: what's some of your favorite album art? I really like some of the drawings from Alesana's album The Emptiness. That's all I can think of off the top of my head.84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones? I currently have one tattoo of my cat, and I plan on getting something baking related (probably a quote about bread) and something Wizard of Oz related. 85: do you read comics? what are your faves? I always mean to but I've never actually gotten around to it. 86: do you like concept albums? which ones? I love concept albums. Alesana did three concept albums in a row that were all related and I absolutely adore them. 87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives? Cloud Atlas, Uno: The Movie88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy? Do Snapchat filters count 89: are you close to your parents? Occasionally with my dad, but not with my mom 90: talk about your one of you favorite cities. The one I live in lol. Louisville is pretty lit. Lots of good food. 91: where do you plan on traveling this year? I'm hoping to make it to Sandusky for ColossalCan in the beginning of June.92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch? There is never enough cheese 93: what's the hairstyle you wear the most? My sidecut. It's basically my most recognizable trait at this point. 94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday? My stepbrother's birthday is the 14th 95: what are your plans for this weekend? I'm not sure, but I'm hoping to chill with the D&D squad and play some more board games. 96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot? I can't remember the last time I installed an update on my computer 97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house? ISTP, Libra, Slytherpuff98: when's the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it? Probably year or so ago. Hiking is lit. 99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them. Stressed Out from top because I'm always stressed 🙃100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why? I wouldn't press either tbh. Leave that shit how it is.

[aeltonhqapps-blog]

Raz | 28 | CST | He/him

Desired Character: Yoshimoto Gen The series they are from: Cage -OPEN-

Their Age: 24 Location: Redlight, West 47th Court #1369 Artificial or Natural: Natural Idol Class: Alpha Branch Name/Profession: N/A [Failed Idol] Pupil Shape: Starburst

What technique do they respond to?: None. All techniques are greeted with the same response: annoyance and defiance.

Personality:

+Childish – Yoshimoto is very immature and seems to see the world the way a child would at times. Social interactions are rarely mature, and he handles things in a rather childish manner, resulting in a lot of miscommunication and frustration. People seem to have difficulty connecting to him because he always seems to be in his own little world, and he’s fine with people thinking he’s weird or immature. As long as he has fun, that’s all that matters in the end to him. He’s very bouncy and energetic, and he can go a bit overboard when things are treated like a game.

+Stubborn – If there’s one thing he hates, it’s listening to people. If he wants to do something, he’s going to do it without any question or thought, and if anyone tells him he can’t or he shouldn’t, he’ll do it anyway. Trying to get him to listen or do anything anyone tells him to is like trying to force a cat into a cat carrier: there’s no making him do it without someone getting hurt over it. And it probably won’t be him that gets hurt.

+Observant – Despite how strange his thought processes are, he seems almost frighteningly capable of reading how people are feeling just by looking at them, though he seems to have a tough time reading the mood.

+Instinct-Driven – Most people act on their emotions or logic. Yoshimoto acts purely on instinct and impulse. There’s really no thought or emotion behind his actions, they just happen, and he has fun with whatever happens. Because of this, people tend to underestimate his intelligence, and are often taken off-guard by his moments of lucidity and intellect.

+Delusions – He has undiagnosed psychosis, and a major part of his delusions involve games of some sort. He takes games too far, and has rather violent versions of common children’s games, though he never takes it far enough to kill anyone. However, if the game does too far, or it become apparent that it’s “that kind of game…”

+Short attention span – He has the attention span of a gnat. If something isn’t moving actively, or playing with him, or interacting with him in a manner that he deems entertaining, he’ll just flatly stare for a moment and walk away without a thought. Objects, people, TV shows. If they don’t hold his interest, he abandons them quickly and easily. Conversations about himself are also considered, by him, to be boring or lame, and he’ll generally ignore most questions asked about himself.

+Violent Tendencies – If it’s that kind of mood, a violent and aggressive mood, Yoshimoto can get rather violent, though he isn’t the type to kill intentionally. However, if the mood shifts to something more murderous, or a game becomes “that kind of game” then there’s no telling what he could do, especially if there’s a clean, distinct difference between “normal” life and the “game.”

+Empathy Impairment – High empathy for objects he’s attached to. He’s cried over tools and toys before, and names his favorite things. However, on the other hand, he has very low empathy towards people or other living things. He won’t cry or feel much is a person or animal dies, though there are people he can get attached to and will have high empathy towards. Because of this though, he doesn’t seem to have many friends, and he’s fine with that.

Biography:

Born as a natural idol from a surrogate mother in Hobara, Japan, located in the Fukushima district, he was always a little different, even by idol standards. He always saw the world in far different ways than other children (and idols) his age. His thought processes were drastically different, and he seemed to mostly have a very flat affect. His manner of speech was always strange as well, but his parents tried to ignore it. Their child was just an odd duck, they would say.

He was a wild child, who seemed to live more by instinct than intellect, and was often causing trouble for his parents and people in the neighborhood. At some point, a stray dog got attached to him, though only after he spent weeks feeding it and trying to play with it. He, uncreatively, named it Pochi. The only reason his parents let him keep it was because it kept him out of trouble, and it seemed to decrease his energy levels at least a little.

When he entered elementary school, he had a tough time making friends because of this, and was often bullied because of it. It was common for him to deal with razor blades tucked in his notebooks, his bag being dumped into water, funeral flowers placed on his desk while his classmates ignored him. He didn't seem to care though. Not until the age of 10 did things start to change. His delusions got a little worse, and he acted out a bit more. His grades started plummeting. Pochi kept his spirits up when the bullying god worse, though it was hard to tell if he really cared how his peers and teachers viewed him.

One day, Pochi ran away from home.

Yoshimoto spent every waking hour wandering the neighborhood, yelling for his dog while waving umaibo to try and get his dog to come home. At some point, his dog came home. It was battered and beaten, and missing an eye. It was barely alive, and Yoshimoto could only stare and think,

Did you fall in muddy water? Did it rain?

My Pochi, all muddied in wounds, all bloodied in wounds.

Poor, poor creature.

If you're so filthy, if you're so pitiful, surely nobody will love you.

Wouldn't it be better to die then?

So, Pochi...

I will kill you.

Without a second thought, he killed his dog and left it in the street, seeing no need to do anything with the corpse. He kept the kitchen knife he killed his dog with in his bag, the only reminder he had of his precious dog. The next time he attended school, he overheard some classmates bragging about hurting his dog, making it as “fucked up” as he was.

It was the first time Yoshimoto got angry, and the knife he kept in his bag was used to stab the classmate. The last thing his classmate heard were the screams of the rest of the children.

The student died on the way to the hospital, and Yoshimoto’s parents quickly took him out of school.

At this point, he was shuffled off to a hospital, but the staff there weren’t very well-versed with his situation and it mostly seemed to be a place where he could just be out of the public eye. When he was 12, Adamas officials picked him up out of the hospital, and his training began, though it was harder on his trainers than him it seemed.

When he was 14, he was moved to Aelton, where the mental healthcare was top-quality, rather than the shoddy mental healthcare Japan offered.

One of his trainers there in Aelton, an ex-cop, frequently protested to the harsh training and abuse Yoshimoto suffered as a result of his stubborn personality. He didn’t think Yoshimoto would be fit to be an idol, and insisted on trying to get Yoshimoto the mental help he needed, rather than the harsh Idol training. Adamas higher ups ignored him, and demanded they continue forward.

Yoshimoto had been, after all, an expensive Idol, and, clearly, not human. His wild personality, and rather animal-like attitude just cemented this idea. After all, animals could be trained.

The trainer, Yoshimoto decided, was an annoyance. Like a child purposefully disrespecting their parent, he caused all sorts of trouble for the trainer and always ran away from him. It was a hard job keeping an eye on him. He also refused all types of medications, and when attempts were made to force him to take them, he reacted violently. Three human trainers were injured and had to be hospitalized, and Alpha class security had to be called in to restrain him to make him take them.

His trainer, to try and make the entire thing easier on him, told him taking the medicine was a game, and that he would win if he took the medicine before the Guards got to him. And for a while, he was fine with it and took the medicine without complaint, because, hey, that was the game.

When he was 16, he got tired of it and stopped taking the medicine again.

And again, the Alpha security people were brought in. This time though, it was a different game he decided.

His trainer, the only one who managed to stick with him through it all, came back one day, prepared to deal with a cranky Yoshimoto. This was common after medication was forced on him after all, so he brought extra umaibo to placate him. Instead, he found seven dead Alpha security guards, heads bashed in and Yoshimoto standing in the middle of the bloodbath, a baseball bat in hand.

After that, the pills were slipped into his food, to minimize casualties.

For his training, they kept him focused on sports or other physical activities, but he always lost interest in them shortly after starting them, so he wasn’t released to the public until he was 20, when he had his first performance in a baseball game.

And didn’t show.

Instead, he wandered the Diamond district boredly, head in the clouds/

Missing shows became a common trend and, eventually, with his popularity rating hanging at a solid 0% for over a year, he was let go. Though, much to his annoyance, his old trainer still contacts him and shows up around him to make sure he’s staying out of trouble. He heard a rumor that his trainer actually quit so he could keep an eye on him, much to Yoshimoto’s annoyance.

Now, he lives, medication-free, in the Redlight district with a fellow failed idol, where he lives a free and troublesome life, and he’s the happiest he’s ever been. He works at a pachinko parlor as a trash collector, though he barely does his job and really only works there when he’s bored. He still lives a troublesome life, causing trouble and getting into messes, but he hasn’t killed anyone, and for that, his ex-trainer is grateful.

Stats: Public Popularity 0% | Single-handedly killed 7 Alpha guards | Stayed a 0% in the popularity polls for a year straight | Missed exactly 100 shows in a row

[shoonyamagazine-blog]

SHE DID NOT KNOW

It was a rave in here. We sat in a lavish but dingy room somewhere in Delhi . Drinking games were on. Fun was at it’s peak. Ad rush was visible on the face of these 20 years old kids or the youth, one might say. Alcohol seemed to be working until drugs came into play. A buffed guy who must have lifted a great amount back at the gym. He took out a zip locked pouch containing substance white powder. Everyone pulled it in into their system with a deep breath.

There was this guy who looked just like ‘Jared Leto’ did in ‘Requiem for a  Dream’. He was not injecting but instead popping pills. He offered everyone to pop it before he pops ‘em all, that was what he said. Majority of the people took it, some popped it right their some kept it for later. I kept it for later.

 The young brains and the future moved their body in some hypnotic trance. The future of this generation forgot about their life and the puny problems it had.

 Those puny problems felt like great and deep sorrow to these tiny minds. Some danced, some laughed, a couple made out at the other side of the hall. A guy in the back twitched. The drugs were getting hold of him now. Frantically moving his left shoulder, he couldn’t stop smiling. Was he looking at something funny?

Nobody seemed to have paid attention to the poor boy. If it wasn’t for the water that I required so badly, I might have not noticed him as well. He sat next to a table on a wooden rocking chair. The water bottle was kept their next to him with a bottle of whiskey and lines of cocaine. All decorated just calling you to come and hit it.

 I took the bottle that had water. Took a gulp then passed it to the poor boy. He wasn’t twitching anymore but kept on smiling. He drank till there wasn’t a drop left in that bottle. By that time I had snorted a line that laid on the table. My thirst was not yet quenched yet, I started looking for more water.

 It was at that time when my phone rang. It was a friend, a girl. My cellphone displayed the time and it was half past midnight. I picked it up.

 ‘Hey, where are you’. a shriek voice asked from the phone.

 ‘At a party in south delhi’. I replied

 ‘I need your help can you please pick me up. I'm at Nehru Place, i’m in trouble. Please I’m a bit scared. I just broke up and that son of a bitch and his asshole friend started to fucking molest me. Grabbing and groping me’. Her tone changed to angry.

 WHY ME?. I said to myself. I was having a perfectly good time, wasn’t aware of any existential shit and this girl is trying to introduce drama in my life. I was not ready for this shit. I was confused, angry and in no mood to leave the party. Anyways I said ‘YES’.

 She told me she was waiting at a coffee shop gave me the name and address. It took me 15 minutes to reach there at that hour of night. I bought a friend along so that the way is not boring for me, and if some shit went down. I'll have a backup. How useful?, I can’t say.

 I pushed open the door to the coffee shop. There she sat in her jet black a Line dress fiddling with her cellphone. Eagerness of waiting and the anger of molestation played with her expression. She sat there in confusion, of what?. I couldn’t have known but her expression were easily readable. Her brain might have not been able to contemplate with the emotion that were rushing through her veins at that very moment.

 She didn’t smile as she saw us but her expressions were relieved . She told us how thankful she was of us for coming to pick her up and compared us to the angels. Not so fair.

She started cursing those boys, their lives, their family and even wished them dead. Anything to make her feel better and let the anger out.

 ‘How depraved could humans be?’. she asked

 ‘fuck those assholes’ my friend said ‘let’s just get back and enjoy the party just forget those fuckheads’.

 ‘oh no, can you just drop me home. I think I’ll just sleep now. I’ve probably had enough shit for one night’.

 ‘you live on the other side of the city. We have lots of place for you to crash and if you don’t feel comfortable their i’ll drop you back home’. I added and she seemed to have no problems with it. The incident was fading down from her conscious as we made our way back home.

 By the time we got back, nothing had changed. same ambience, same techno music and the same fucked up people. Nobody noticed us leaving or coming. We sat where the guy who twitched sat. I wasn’t able to spot him in the party anymore. Maybe he left or just slept.

 I didn’t feel like introducing her to anyone. I barely knew everyone. Neither was she interested. I made her a drink and she gulped on it or rather we gulped on it. I made a line of cocaine for her, she didn’t hesitate.

 ‘Feel better?’ I asked

‘It’s just one line’. She replied

 By now my brain worked and stopped and nobody knew if I was there. I might have thought of the further happenings at this moment. Even though i’m not sure.

 ‘Let's get you hooked then.’

 I gave her my pill of ecstasy that I saved for later. As we three moved to a secular room. From the door to the bed everything in that room was thumping with the music and the bass. All the walls were painted blue in that room. The type of blue that glitters in night when the silver light of shining stars fall on it. Apart from the really attractive wall paint, it had a bed, a book shelf and a study table and a wooden rocking chair, these chairs were all over the place.  Most of the parts were left empty which made the room look quite huge.

 We went for the bed. I gave her my pill and she popped it saying ‘I shan’t do it again. This better be my first and last time’. I agreed to whatever she was saying. Those walls had all my attention. Made me think of the beauty around us and the sinners we are for destroying it when we should be preserving it. These for me were strange thoughts. One may call it human behavior. But for sure mind tend to work in different ways when you are abusing substance. Creating a hailstorm of thoughts for the sandstorm of a topic. I never did anything for preservation. I never did anything for anyone unless I had a profit out of it. Then why were these thoughts fighting in my  mind contradicting, making me feel guilty. Is that nature being funny?

 I remember telling the girl to layback and enjoy the trip. Or just fight with it in your brain if it’s not a good one or just forget the shit you don’t want to remember and do some shit that you won’t remember.

 She laid back. We moved to the study table. I made my space on the table sliding the resting books I did recognize ‘Trigger Warnings’ a collection of short stories by Neil Gaiman. While my friend rested his ass on the rocking chair that the owner of this house was obsessed with. He rolled a joint. We kept on talking about corruption at international level, fucked up political situation and yes, definitely about the damn youth, while we smoked.

 By the time we were done, the girl on the bed had a different world now that she was living in. Only she knew of the character that she played in the world of her fantasy.

 All the bass and the beats, she heard nothing but the echoes in her head.

 I told my friend to leave the room. I shut the doors and light behind him. I went to the bed, laid next to her. She didn’t know. After lying there for a minute or so I got my hands to her belly. She didn’t react. I moved my hands from her belly to waist. Still no reaction. She laid their without any knowledge of the actual word, but was amused by the one she was in. Her dress was over her thighs so I slid my hand in. Reaching out for her righteous I finger fucked her for a minute. She didn’t know but her body did.

Not wasting any time. I had the sense of sin I was committing somewhere in my mind that I continued to ignore, like it was an ulcer in my mouth preventing me to eat things I love.

 I took her panty off, unbuttoned my denim pulled my underpants and took her from the side. She did react at some moment which made my heart flicker a beat. My sin lasted couple of minutes.

 ‘FUCKING COCAINE’. Disappointed I pulled my pants up. Lit a cigarette and left the room.

 ‘You were quick’ my friend said standing right next to the door I just came out from. ‘Can I go in now?’

 ‘Yeah, go on. Don't be too harsh’.

 He went in after me and probably repeated the same process of  committing a sin. And she didn't know. She was still laid back, happy in a world that only existed in her mind. A world without humans. Where people don’t get raped and killed. Where people don’t talk about making the world a better place and women empowerment just to turn around and fuck it in the ass. A world where she had no break up or drama and people were not fake at gatherings and parties. Pretending  to care about everything, ‘nobody does’. It was the perfect world but it wasn’t the real one.

 In the real one. She was raped by the same people she called to help and she did not know.

 My friend took even less time and came out in a minute or so.

 ‘You were quick’ I said mockingly.

 ‘FUCKING COCAINE’. He replied.

 I went in again. There she laid. The dark blue walls glinted In the darkness. Still had her dress on. I reached their, took a tissue and wiped of her genitals. Then picked her underpants and put it back on. Pulled the blanket for her. Made sure that she had no chance of recalling the night. I left the room.

 I laid back on the rocking chair in the hall. ‘The twitching guy chair’. I don’t remember when I slept. But woke up to her voice. Calling me to get up and drop her home.

 ‘It's late afternoon, you need to drop me back home’. She said shaking me out of my sleep

 I said nothing but ‘Yes’.

 On our way back she told me how she felt about the drugs. She couldn’t describe it very well. She said that she felt good. But won’t do drugs again cause it had made her forget the real her.

 ‘It was the vividness In my dreams, that i’m happy of. I never felt it before’. She told me.

 I couldn’t say much. Just agreed to whatever she said.

 I parked outside her apartment. She hugged me and thanked me for getting her out of trouble, a good night and dropping her home safely.

 She walked away from the car to the entrance. Turned back and waved goodbye.

 I was sure, she did not know.

By Animesh Pandey