#cw: past abuse

[frozenjokes]

The Art Of Being Kidnapped [1/2]

next / Ao3 link with CWs

“Byeeee! Have a nice time!” Tango’s cheery lilt echoed across the icy cavern before the metal door, built like a vault, slammed shut. A superhero Jimmy didn’t recognize rolled across the slick floor, momentum from being thrown inside carrying him a considerable distance. Sometimes Jimmy forgot Tango was quite strong; certainly not the beefiest among his line of work, but enough to send a small avian skidding across the floor of his dungeon.

The avian’s wings and hands were bound, just like Jimmy’s were, but the ropes were only meant to last for travel, and sure enough, within minutes of writhing and foaming at the mouth on the ground (which he didn’t have to do, his legs weren’t bound..), the superhero was free, flying to the door and slamming the full force of his body against it, predictably, winding himself immediately.

Jimmy stifled a laugh as the avian stumbled backwards with a heaving chest, falling into a sit to catch his breath. It was a wonder he hadn’t noticed Jimmy yet, but then again, the particularly angry superheroes always took a bit more time. Unfortunate. Jimmy hoped this guy wasn’t as much of an asshole as he looked (after many years of this, Jimmy got pretty good at figuring out who he was dealing with relatively fast), but if that was the case, Jimmy was sure he could needle a larger tip out of Tango in the case that this guy really gave him trouble. This was an unusual job in the first place; Jimmy had never been asked to trap participants in a maze before, then supervise while they traversed it. But Decked Out was fun and Tango paid handsomely, so really, Jimmy didn’t mind the change of pace.

“Help?” Jimmy tried, though the hero didn’t hear him over his own banging on the door and ferocious screeching. He got a sense of dejavu watching, though he’d seen this kind of temper tantrum about a thousand times by now. Still, the familiarity of this hero was something he couldn’t quite shake.

“Hey! Help me? Please?” Jimmy wiggled a little pathetically against his restraints, far from tight, but enough not to slip out without effort. Personally, Jimmy would rather save his energy for the hero.

The avian turned, then froze where he stood, like the guy he was called to come save was the last thing he expected to see at his feet. Jimmy suppressed a sigh. This guy was going to be insufferable.

“JIMMY!?”

Jimmy stopped. Now, that sort of reaction wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for heroes that knew him, but Jimmy had never seen this one before, so unless this guy had been warned (something which, hilariously, never seemed to be the case), Jimmy didn’t know what to do with that. But the avian didn’t sound angry.. Oh, worse idea, Jimmy used to know this person. Not the least bit unlikely given he attended the shittiest college in the city with all the poorest, most troubled kids around. Jimmy hadn’t even lasted long enough to get a degree, it was just too much. Hence the work he did now.

Exactly what that was..? Well, when people asked what he did for work, he usually answered freelance. Freelance kidnapping? Freelance being kidnapped? He was still working on the title. Needless to say, living in a place like this you learn pretty quickly that 90% of the ‘superheroes’ and the villains they fight are either cripplingly insecure, pieces of shit, or both, but sometimes the wannabe villains have a bit of an attention craving they just can’t scratch on their own. It turns out that Doing Evil can be a lot of work, and sometimes you just want to take out your daddy issues on an equally unstable individual under the guise of villainy without all the fuss! So for a price, Jimmy makes the fuss for them! He’ll scream, let himself be dramatically carried away, shoved into an unmarked van, generally manhandled- whatever gets the attention of an unsuspecting superhero who Jimmy would then lead into a trap, arena, whatever he’s getting paid for, and bam! Everyone’s happy!

Some villains didn’t even want the attention of superheroes, they just enjoyed catching Jimmy off his guard, which, by the way, was not part of any of his contracts, but Joel wasn’t going to stop Kidnapping First, Paying Later anytime soon, so at this point it was just a fact of his life he had to get used to.

Oh right, the job he was doing right now.

“Do I know you?” These words seemed to snap the hero back in his facade, the avian shifting his weight in a show of nerves.

“I- no, I don’t think so. No, no, definitely not. Probably not. Sorry. Just reminded me of someone I know.”

Jimmy snorted, rolling his eyes. “Someone called Jimmy? That’s my name too, what a coincidence.”

“You don’t have a brother, do you?” The hero looked sheepish, but it was good natured, a ghost of a smile just visible under his mask.

“Oh yeah, I’ve got one. He looks exactly like me and’s called Jimmy, how did you know?”

Ther hero crossed his arms in a sweeping gesture, snarking with a scoff, “Oh shut it with the sarcasm,” but even though the tone behind his voice was teasing, Jimmy felt like he had been transported right back to his college dorm. He recognized that. He knew exactly who this was. Short, dirty blonde avian with dark talons and a darker temper? Of course he became a superhero, what a damn perfect fit for a guy like that. ‘JIMMY?’ He recognized that too. The scream, pitched in all the worst ways. After a while, every word Grian spoke was like pulling a cheese grater over and over across his ears until they were nothing but stumps. Yeah, Tango would be tipping him big today.

“Jimmy? You okay?” The direct address snapped Jimmy back to reality, though he wasn’t sure how much he had missed. Regardless, Grian did get to work, kneeling to undo his restraints. Jimmy was relieved to stretch his wings, slowly getting to his feet once the ropes were cut. “This is embarrassing,” Grian said, and Jimmy was sure it was, “Forget I said anything. I think we shared a class or two, that’s all.”

“I get it.” Jimmy mumbled, tucking his wings back. “Tango’s been sending out all sorts of reports and notices to trick people into coming out here, so it’s your lucky day I guess. You won’t be staying long though, he just wants you to run the dungeon and then you can fly off.”

Grian’s eyes were obscured by the mask, but Jimmy was pretty sure they narrowed. “I’ve never heard of a ‘Tango’ before. Who is he? How long have you been here? Is he just keeping you here as bait?” How sweet of Grian to not realize he’s been set up yet. Well, Jimmy wasn’t about to break the news if he didn’t have to.

“He keeps a low profile. Tango’s been shut in working on this place for the last fifteen years, so I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of him, especially since the location is so out of the way of the city. Decked Out is newly finished- it’s a game, basically. He wants to watch people play it. It’s not what you’d call ‘up to code’ though, so it’s pretty dangerous. Need the athletic sort to make it any bit interesting. But yeah, I’m bait.” Jimmy shrugged, “He keeps me around to explain the rules. Usually the kidnappee, you, is a little more receptive to someone on their level, me, rather than.. y’know.”

“I’ll get you out of here.”

Jimmy laughed, he couldn’t help himself, though he quieted when he saw the bottom half of Grian’s face screw up, bracing himself to be yelled at. It never came.

“I’ve heard that before,” Jimmy settled on instead, taking a careful breath. He didn’t like the way Grian was looking at him. He never really liked the way Grian looked at him; despite his softer features, Grian’s face was anything but kind.

“Well I’m sure you’ve heard this before as well, but I’m different. I do my due diligence unlike most of the douchebags in this town. Where’s the way out?”

Stubborn. Vindictive. Jimmy wondered if Grian had changed at all in the dozen years since they’d talked. He shrugged. “The gate isn’t open yet, but it should be ready soon. Until then, what should I call you?”

Grian blinked. “Oh- CuteGuy. You can call me CuteGuy.”

“Well then, CuteGuy, once you go in you’re going to get a compass-“ Jimmy stopped short at yelling from down the hall, Grian as well freezing in his place.

“UNHAND ME AT ONCE! I SWEAR if you singe my uniform I am SENDING YOU THE BILL!” Oh! Well that was a lovely surprise. Jimmy heard Tango grumble something in response, but he was mostly drowned out by HotGuy’s dramatics. Good man HotGuy was, always making sure to give those supervillains what they paid for, though, Tango wasn’t exactly looking for a fight.

At once Grian was on his toes, creeping toward the door, but Jimmy shook his head. “I would stand back.”

‘Tango breathes fire’ was left unsaid when Grian shot him a sharp glare, not listening of course, and Jimmy wasn’t about to fight him, perfectly content to watch Grian get a face full of flame as Tango swung the door open. Grian reeled back with a startled yelp, but Jimmy doubted he was actually too hurt, not when Tango was skilled in controlling the temperature of his fire. His eyes would certainly sting though; deserved, certainly, for thinking Tango wouldn’t be ready for an attack. Idiot.

In the wake of the flame, a thoroughly netted HotGuy was pushed inside, decidedly much heavier than an avian and therefore unthrowable, but HotGuy didn’t seem to mind, struggling valiantly until the metal door slammed shut, Tango continuing to grumble from the other side as he walked down the hall.

“Jimmy!” HotGuy threw up his arms, a gesture hindered by the net. Jimmy snorted, moving to help HotGuy out while he continued to blabber on, “I was hoping you’d be here! It’s been a while dude, how’ve you been? Still going strong?” HotGuy didn’t even wait until the net was entirely untangled to try and stand, movement that made everything needlessly difficult, but Jimmy didn’t mind. Though he didn’t get the chance to respond either when HotGuy screamed, practically jumping into Jimmy’s arms.

“CuteGuy! How long have you been there, standing all stiff and puffed up and angry like a miniature gargoyle, look at you!”

Grian did, in fact, look like a puffed up cat, but HotGuy’s comment snapped him out of his frozen state, shooting back with a huff, “Miniature? How big do you think gargoyles are?”

“I mean, probably pretty big! Protecting stuff and all.”

Grian sighed sharply, a sound that set Jimmy’s feathers on end. But Grian didn’t push back, changing the subject. “You two.. know each other?”

HotGuy jumped to his toes, eyes absolutely radiant as he turned to Jimmy. “He doesn’t know?” his tone was colored with excitement, and Jimmy had to laugh, shaking his head.

“Know what?” Grian snapped at HotGuy, sucking away all the joy from the air, “What don’t I know?” Jimmy couldn’t stop himself from whirling around, an aggressive movement that seemed to catch Grian off guard, surprise clear in his raised wings, but Jimmy stopped himself, shaking his head. Not worth the fight. HotGuy looked confused by the rise in tension, bringing Jimmy back down to Earth.

“I doubt anyone else will come,” he said instead, stony, “I rarely get two at once. The gates should open soon.”

Grian. God. Jimmy should be over this by now. He thought he was over it.

Jimmy was a sociable guy. Making friends wasn’t a chore for him, but keeping them was much harder, and finding perfect fits seemed nearly impossible. Oftentimes he felt very out of place. He was an athletic sort of person, sporty, but a lot more sensitive than most guys. He really enjoyed being in shape, the structure of practice and working out, but he didn’t always love the social aspect of playing competitive sports, and college football wasn’t an exception. Too much pressure, too much toeing the line of people he wanted to associate with, and don’t get him wrong, these guys were his brothers, that’s just how the intensity of college sports worked, but Jimmy never felt able to be wholly.. there. They just weren’t exactly right, not warm enough, not free enough with their interests and hobbies and love.

Grian was his randomly assigned roommate for the first semester of college dorm life, and like most people Grian was pretty reserved in the beginning. Didn’t have many friends, kept to himself, but liked to go to the dining hall and such with Jimmy if for no other reason than to have someone to go with. Grian was chatty once you got him going, and weird, unabashedly odd in all the best kinds of ways. They didn’t have many common interests, but talking with Grian made Jimmy want to check out the things he was into, to understand all his incredibly specific rants and takes on topics Jimmy had zero knowledge of. Grian was fun, a little shy at first, but genuinely delightful to listen to, confident in his opinions in the way that put you on board even when you had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. He was charming! He was kind of cool in a way, the dorky kind of cool. The ‘cringe is dead and Grian killed it’ kind of way.

But even on his best behavior, Grian was always so.. angry. It changed the atmosphere of every room he entered, thick and boggy like wading through swamp water. There was just something wrong with him, like, literally wrong, the type of wrongness that sparks concern, that makes you wonder what happened? The type of wrongness that makes an outsider want to meet you with compassion, to help you, to make your miserable world a little bit less drab.

The delusions of a savior complex, really. But at first it wasn’t that bad. Grian was mostly reclusive, but despite a bit of awkwardness, he was surprisingly socially adept, charming and funny when it came to first impressions and relatively skilled at being liked by his peers. But the warning signs were there. The constant balling of his fists when the smallest thing didn’t go his way, the twitch of his strained smile, his always-tense shoulders. Grian seemed to view every social interaction like it was war, and he’d do anything to win. It was like he knew how pervasively unpleasant he was inside, how bubbling negativity coated his insides like black tar. He needed to be competitive. He needed to be on top.

And somewhere along the line Grian had decided Jimmy was the enemy.

Jimmy didn’t know what he’d done to make Grian hate him so much. Was it the positivity? Jimmy had tried to offset the stream of anger with his own suggestions; maybe she was late for class, maybe the sun was in his eyes, maybe they just missed the trash can and didn’t notice- He hadn’t been trying to challenge Grian, he didn’t even believe half of the excuses he spouted whenever Grian whined or complained about something entirely inconsequential, he just wanted his ex-roommate to realize that not everyone was personally out to get him, y’know?

How Grian decided Jimmy was one of those people working against him, Jimmy had no idea. Sometimes Jimmy thought that Grian was psychotic, like, literally in the Very Mentally Unwell sense of the word. He was just so.. defensive. Paranoid. Mean, and not always on purpose, he would just say things that dug at Jimmy’s patience until he was constantly teetering on the edge of snapping back and really making a mess of things.

Most of the time though, when Grian was mean, it was on purpose. At some point early on Grian had decided he couldn’t trust Jimmy, and god Jimmy spent so much time trying to earn that trust back just to be slighted over and over- petty things, constant criticism over the slang he used, the music he listened to- god forbid Jimmy forget something in the dorm or come back a little late from a bar after Grian had gone to sleep.

And the worst thing was, Jimmy wanted to help him! He still wanted to help Grian after months and months of being mistreated. He wanted to be a friend to someone who clearly needed some sort of support in a city that was run dry of resources for even those who could afford them. Jimmy wasn’t stupid. He’d grown up on the edge of poverty like so many of his peers, worked to help pay his parents’ debts since he was first able. He’d watched high school classmates do the same, fall to drinking or drugs, die before they even hit 18. He spent so much time being afraid for Grian, intrusive imaginings of how he might die young haunting boring lectures. Oftentimes he’d be overwhelmed by those anxieties, intense impulses sending him sprinting back to the dorm, throwing the door open certain of what he’d find, just to see Grian in his lofted bed, headphones in, glaring at his phone. Sometimes Grian would look up, meet Jimmy’s frightened eyes, then look back down. Sometimes he’d be ignored altogether. Sometimes.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

Grian knew Jimmy’s schedule by heart, memorized before even Jimmy had it down. Oftentimes, Jimmy found that Grian would get quite upset, if either of their schedules were changed last minute. If Jimmy showed up somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be when Grian wasn’t expecting it.

That made bouts like this all the more embarrassing. Grian wanted an answer. Jimmy didn’t want to know what he’d say if he heard Jimmy was worried about him for no reason. So he lied. He always lied.

“I forgot. I’ll go now.”

Grian would scoff. “Idiot.” Jimmy heard that a lot. Stupid. Dumbass. Idiot. The like.

Jimmy wasn’t stupid.

But the harder Jimmy tried, the more Jimmy pushed, the more vindictively abusive Grian became. That first semester of college were some of the worst months of Jimmy’s life. Trapped in a dorm room not much bigger than a prison cell with a guy who went out of his way to find fault with every singular thing Jimmy did. You’re so loud Jim, you’re so damn loud. That was his main complaint. As much as Jimmy loathed Grian’s voice, the other seemed to despise his own tenfold whether Jimmy was singing, talking on the phone, or simply speaking to friends while playing games, Grian had these physical reactions like he wanted to tear off his own skin. By the end of the semester, both of them sat on their sides of the room in complete silence.

Jimmy didn’t see HotGuy coming when the hero launched forward for a hug, a gesture Jimmy returned with a laugh as HotGuy squeezed, picking him up and spinning him around. At this point, Jimmy had accepted HotGuy had way too much energy to spend doing anything else, and honestly, he couldn’t say he minded. It was nice to have someone be so excited to see him.

“How long has it been? Over a year, surely!” HotGuy practically sang right into Jimmy’s ear, and Jimmy couldn’t help the dry thought of how much Grian must hate HotGuy from slipping through. “I missed you! You’ve got to come by more often, come on, work can’t be that hard to come by in the big city, huh?”

Jimmy wheezed a bit under HotGuy’s grip, tapping his shoulder somewhat urgently, “Okay, bud. Can’t breathe. Time to put me down, big man. And yeah, work can be that bad when everyone knows who you are. Sorry!”

“I’m feeling out of the loop here,” Grian cut in, but to Jimmy’s own sick delight, HotGuy didn’t even acknowledge the other hero, focus entirely on Jimmy.

“So what’s it this time? We busting you out? Dramatic chase? Explosions? Actually, I would rather not get blown up. But this guy’s got a fire thing going on, is stuff going to explode?”

“You’re not busting me out,” Jimmy waved HotGuy off when the other lingered a little too long in his personal bubble, “There’s an exit at the end of the game whether you win or lose, but since you’re going in one at a time, there won’t be any-“

THE DUNGEON IS READY FOR ITS NEXT VICTIM

The gate ahead began to churn open and cool air whooshed through, particles of ice and snow dusting the path ahead. Jimmy laughed off HotGuy’s mortified looking expression, uncomfortably avoiding Grian’s eye. He didn’t imagine a trapped Grian was a very pleasant one, and given the loaded silence as Jimmy started toward the open door, he got the sense Grian was thinking quite intensely. Jimmy had zero desire to know what was going on in that head.

“Come on,” he said, forcing a smile to a wary looking HotGuy, “It’s not too bad. I’ll grab you both your compasses and give the rundown. You’ll have to leave that bow though, sorry. It’ll be returned to you later.” HotGuy blinked back to attention, scrambling a little to catch up while Grian stayed at the rear, quiet.

“I have to leave my bow? Are you sure? I don’t know if I like the sound of the uh- dungeon. Do I get anything to defend myself? What’s down there?”

“Tango’s dogs are down there. You don’t want to shoot Tango’s dogs, do you HotGuy? Those are his pets!”

“Well-“ HotGuy looked flustered, like a guy who probably would want to shoot Tango’s dogs, but didn’t want Jimmy to know that. There was a reason Jimmy didn’t outright say Tango’s dogs were actually ravagers. “Alright, but do Tango’s dogs eat people?”

“They might shake you around a bit, but no, they won’t eat you. Plenty of people have gone through the dungeon plenty of times, lost, and hopped right back in. It’s meant to be played over and over, you’ll be fine.”

“And it’s the only way out?” Grian’s voice sliced the air, hard and focused, and Jimmy nearly jumped at the sound. Everything sounded so critical out of his mouth.

“You think I’d lie?” Jimmy couldn’t crush down the snark as he side-eyed Grian behind him, but Grian’s expression barely shifted, his wings only lowering slightly.

“I didn’t-“

“Wellllll,” HotGuy cut in unhelpfully, missing the tension as he wrapped a playful arm around Jimmy’s shoulder.

“Okay-“ Grian shook his head, hands brushing his face in loose fists, “What is going on with you two.”

“Nothing! Nothing!” HotGuy jumped up and away, instead falling back to walk with Grian, getting in his space and tousling his hair. The casual movement made Jimmy freeze in place, but Grian only squeaked, batting at HotGuy with palmed hands, careful not to catch the other’s skin with his talons. For a moment Grian met Jimmy’s eye, and then it was over, HotGuy grabbing at his hands and wrestling him without a single care in the world.. Whatever.

Warily, Jimmy left them to do their thing. He didn’t feel good about it- actually, he felt a lot like he was leaving HotGuy with a ticking time bomb, but he did have to get their compasses, so might as well go while Grian was in a good(?) mood. What a novel concept that was. Jimmy sighed, zipping up his coat as he stepped into a side room.

For a long moment he considered giving Grian a Level 2 compass, but that wouldn’t really be plausible, and honestly Grian probably wouldn’t make it out of Level 1 anyway. Tango wouldn’t be happy either; his focus was on testing how new players reacted to the game, and anything beyond Level 1 would probably be overwhelming.

Hm. Would Tango let Jimmy into the tunnels to watch Grian’s run while HotGuy was still in the waiting room? Jimmy would really love nothing more than to watch Grian scream and run around and eat shit on the icy paths, but Tango wouldn’t want HotGuy unsupervised, so it probably wouldn’t happen. Unless Jimmy sent HotGuy in first.. Surely the few extra minutes spent with Grian would be worth it. Yeah, no, that would be good. He’d give HotGuy an easy artifact spot so he’d either win or be carried out by a ravager quickly, then send Grian deep into Level 1. Yes. Perfect.

“Is this it?” HotGuy asked when Jimmy returned, fingers curled around the bars of the gate that separated the three of them from the dungeon. Grian was looking as well, though more intensely, head pressed against the bars like he wanted to gather as much information as humanly possible. Jimmy couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Yeah,” he started, slipping into his prepared speech, “So basically, the point of the game is to find an artifact hidden in the dungeon, then bring it back to the start without getting caught by Tango’s dogs. The artifact placement is random, but your compass will help you find them; they point in the direction of a hidden panel on the floor. Once you find the panel, press your compass to the spot and it will be exchanged for an artifact. Then bring it back here.”

“How do we start?” Grian turned, eager, or maybe just antsy as he eyed the compasses in Jimmy’s hands.

“Not yet, and you’ll go one at a time, HotGuy first.” Though Grian didn’t look satisfied, and in a panicked gesture to appease him, Jimmy added, “Here, both of you can take these and once you’re ready you’ll press the bottom to the indent over on the panel by the gate,” Jimmy handed the compasses over gingerly, HotGuy taking it with curious fingers and Grian outright snatching it out of Jimmy’s hand, but before Jimmy could recoil or even react, Grian was on top of the panel, slamming his compass in before whirling around and grabbing Jimmy’s hand in a vice grip.

“I’m getting you out of here. Come on, HotGuy! Let’s get this over with.”

Jimmy’s mouth ran dry as the gate screeched open, only managing to squeak out a “One at a time!” before he was yanked forward, HotGuy cheering behind him. Jimmy nearly tumbled down the steps as Grian bolted into the maze, struggling to catch his tongue enough to form words. “This really isn’t necessary!”

“We’re going to save you, Jimmy!” HotGuy sang, oblivious to his distress, “Don’t worry a hair on your silly little head, with us you’ll be out of here in no time!” HotGuy winked and Jimmy didn’t get the chance to groan, far more preoccupied with Grian’s refusal to let go, and only having the mind to struggle out of his grip as the gate shuddered to a close.

“The game isn’t- guys-“ Jimmy stumbled back to the gate, but it would not be reopening any time soon. “The game isn’t meant to be played with three people! I don’t even have a compass! You need an artifact to get out!”

“Sounds to me like you only need one,” Grian said, perfectly unconcerned despite the new danger, not that he knew the ravagers were around, “I’m sure all three of us can scoot out at once if we’re quick, and if this ‘Tango’ tries to do anything about it, there’ll be two of us to keep you safe.” Jimmy didn’t even get the chance to respond to that before Grian clicked his tongue, “HotGuy, give me your compass.”

“Why? What if I want it?” HotGuy smirked and Grian scoffed, hopping forward to snatch it from him. HotGuy stepped out of the way and held it high out of Grian’s reach, causing the other to squawk and ultimately slip on the ice when he jumped to grab it. Jimmy found himself flinching when HotGuy laughed in Grian’s face, but the hero’s joy quickly turned to a shrill yelp as Grian leapt on him, clambering up his body with the compass in his sights. Unfortunately, the added weight unbalanced HotGuy on the ice and sent both of them tumbling to the ground. Certainly within Grian’s reach, the avian lunging for his prize and rolling out of range of a possible retaliation before getting to his feet.

“Right then.” Grian examined both compasses with great scrutiny, walking a little ways in different directions and nearing corners Jimmy just hoped had a ravager behind them. But Grian was never punished for his lack of attention, never straying too far. In fairness, HotGuy was doing very little to be careful himself, struggling to keep his footing without the talons Jimmy and Grian had; Jimmy would have given him grips for his shoes, but someone was in a hurry. For himself he would have grabbed the fluffy socks Tango had made to help keep his feet from getting too cold, so that was just another thing to resent Grian for. (Grian would not get socks. He did not deserve them.)

“HotGuy’s artifact is closest, so we’re going there.”

“How’d you puzzle that out? Actually, I don’t care.” HotGuy shuffled closer, poking his head over Grian’s shoulder. HotGuy caught Jimmy’s eye, throwing him a narrowed eye smirk before wiggling his fingers and jumping on Grian, wrestling the screeching avian until they both slipped, a crushed Grian losing his grip on the compass and unable to reclaim it before HotGuy scrambled over him (both parties kicking and screaming) until he slid across the compass, grabbing it with both hands.

“If it’s my compass, I get to hold it!” HotGuy got to his knees, arm shooting into the air to brandish his prize.

Grian let his head hit the ice. “We are never getting to our location.”

Jimmy crossed his arms. “Hey, HotGuy gets around the city fine. He could be a great maze navigator.”

“Thank you!” With some struggle, HotGuy got back to his feet, the momentum sliding him back into a forked path where he promptly fell back on his ass.

“We are never getting to our location.”

“You just wait CuteGuy, I’m gonna..” but HotGuy trailed off, eyes blinking wide as he stared at something down the tunnel. Jimmy’s feathers rose as he heard the grunt, but Grian didn’t seem to understand, looking between the two of them with a confused expression before the ravager bulldozed down the hall, HotGuy having no time to run before he was bowled down the hall, “THAT’S NOT A DOG!”

Jimmy spun on his heel, but the noticeable absence of Grian made him turn back around, having to lunge to grab him before the idiot tried to fight a ravager on HotGuy’s behalf.

“Other direction!”

“HotGuy’s-“

“He’ll be fine. We need to go.” Jimmy didn’t give Grian the time to argue, grabbing his wrist and overpowering him when it came to dexterity on the ice. Grian squawked, but luckily ravagers were not sensitive to sound, extra lucky when they turned a corner directly into the face of another and Grian shrieked, nearly falling on his ass before Jimmy pulled him up and back in the right direction.

“Get out of its line of sight!”

Grian only continued to shriek in response. Great. But after dragging Grian kicking and screaming around a couple corners, the ravager got off their tails, grunting as its heavy hooves lumbered down another icy tunnel. Grian let himself slide to a stop once Jimmy let go of his wrist, drifting to a wall and sliding against it to sit on the rocky ground and catch his breath. Jimmy hardly stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

“They don’t have much object permanence,” he mumbled instead, “Poor hearing as well. Still, maybe try to stop screaming. There’s about five around on this floor, so at the very least we know where a few of them are. We should keep going.”

“There’s more than one floor?”

“Yes, but our artifacts are on Level 1. It’s not too bad. And if we’re quick, we might still be able to find HotGuy. The ravagers are trained to take someone out of the game once they’re sufficiently down for the count, which is usually about two hits. If HotGuy got away, his artifact is definitely easier, but Tango will take the compass if he’s down, so we have to find him quickly. I think I know where he’ll end up, but stay on your guard.

Grian was quiet for a moment, catching his breath, sure, but the silence seemed deeper than that. Grian was always an intense thinker, the kind of intensity that weighed the air.

“You’ve been in the dungeon before? Tango is putting civilians in here?” He sounded angry. Not surprising, really, but..

“Yeah,” Jimmy shrugged, struggling not to feel defensive, “Not that many though. One guy just won’t leave. It’s kind of a volunteer program.”

“You’re not a volunteer.”

Technically, this was true. Jimmy was being paid; to run the dungeon as well as lure superheroes into it, though he hadn’t run it since a ravager broke a rib on Level 2.

For a moment Jimmy thought about telling Grian the truth, ditching the ‘helplessly kidnapped’ act and putting everything out on the table so Grian would stop trying to rescue him and leave well enough alone. That way at the very least he could call for Tango who might let him leave through a maintenance tunnel and not have to continue with whatever the hell was happening here. Jimmy didn’t even get the chance to register a deck before they started! However, the thought was dismissed immediately, partially because they only had one compass. In the case that Tango decided to be petty, Jimmy was not about to throw himself into the tusks of a ravager, and he could fantasize all he wanted about throwing Grian to the wolves and stealing the compass for himself, but it just made more sense that they stuck together.

But there was the fear, too, far more persuasive than any sense, the kind of deep seeded instinct that would have Jimmy sprinting in the opposite direction rather than be alone with his college tormentor, look him in the eyes, and tell him he’d been deceived.

Grian always thought Jimmy was hiding something from him. There had been multiple instances of Grian rummaging through his things, not taking, just looking, but not quite putting things back where they had been before. It really messed with Jimmy’s head- what he was even looking for? Grian didn’t have money to spend, but even when Jimmy had left his valuables and cash unguarded, Grian never stole. Jimmy never knew Grian to want anything either; weed, alcohol, the like, but for the most part Jimmy didn’t keep any of that in the dorm, and Grian never expressed interest. Grian didn’t even borrow pens or notebook paper; Jimmy was pretty sure he’d rather die than ask for help in any form, but regardless, it drove Jimmy crazy just to have Grian rummaging through his shit and having no idea what he wanted.

“Hey, if you need anything man, you just let me know, alright? I’ve got extra school supplies if you need to borrow anything for exams,” Jimmy had said one night, testing the waters in the rare occurrence when Grian’s headphones were off.

Jimmy would never forget the look of distaste Grian threw him, head cocked and eyes dark and narrowed; Grian didn’t even have to say anything to hurt him most days. “No.”

And that was that.

He never dreamed of confronting Grian, no, Jimmy would never bare his hand to a cornered animal. But one thing was for certain, he kept his phone and laptop passwords close, changing them regularly. Anything remotely private he locked up in his closet while he was out, Grian’s eyes burning into his back, suspicious and untrusting. He always made Jimmy feel so afraid. He wasn’t hiding anything or whatever it was Grian had convinced himself Jimmy was doing, he just wanted to keep his privacy private. Jimmy still had a habit of hiding his things, squirreling them away in odd places even when he was living alone. He didn’t realize he was doing it most of the time, but at some point it was pointed out to him (“This is why you can never find anything Jimmy, who keeps their receipts under the blooming mattress!”), and Jimmy had no doubt where the habit came from.

Apparently Jimmy’s lack of answer to Grian’s question was enough of an answer to him. “I’m going to get you out of here.” Intense. Always so intense.

Jimmy had no desire to fight him. “Okay.”

[the-big-boss-of-hell]

Alastor, do you ever show picture books to Lumi? Even if you aren't up to actually reading them to him, he might enjoy the colorful pictures. Babies generally like colors

The warm glow of the nursery lamp bathed the small room in soft light as Alastor sat beside Lumi’s crib, a stack of picture books balanced on his lap. Lumi lay in his crib, cooing softly, his crimson eyes fixated on his father. Alastor cleared his throat nervously.

Alastor: *softly, attempting to read* The very hungry... caterpillar ate through... one apple.

His voice wavered, the usual booming confidence absent, replaced by a hesitance that made him wince. Lumi gurgled, seemingly unbothered by the broken cadence, but Alastor felt the weight of his struggle. He wanted to speak freely again, to find the voice that had once commanded attention, but the words felt foreign on his tongue.

Alastor: *quietly, to himself* Come now, you’re not that broken. Just read the next page.

He took a deep breath and turned the page, his tone growing steadier as he continued.

Alastor: On Tuesday, he ate through two pears, but he was still hungry...

Just as a flicker of confidence returned, a sharp crackle pierced the air. Alastor froze. The radio perched on the nearby dresser clicked on without warning, static filling the room. His breath caught as he heard his own voice through the speakers—low, breathy, unmistakably moaning in the middle of sex.

“Oh Vox~ You’re the best~ I’m glad I saved my virginity for you~”

Alastor: *anguish in his eyes, whispering* No...

Then came Vox’s unmistakable laugh, cold and mocking, layered with malice.

Vox: *through the radio* Oh, darling. Did you think you could hide from me forever? That you could run away from what we had?

Alastor stood abruptly, his hands trembling as he clenched the book tightly.

Alastor: *through gritted teeth* Get out of my home, Vox.

Vox: *ignoring him, voice dripping with venom* You always did have such a flair for drama. But I forgive you, you know. For killing our baby.

Alastor’s grip on the book tightened until the spine cracked.

Vox: Oh, come now, Al. Did you really think that would be our only child together? You know me Al~ I always have backups.

The radio buzzed, Vox’s laughter fading into static before the room fell silent again. Alastor stood frozen, his reflection in the nursery window staring back at him, his eyes wild with rage and fear.

Lumi let out a soft cry, breaking the tense silence. Alastor turned to his son, his expression softening as he knelt by the crib and gently stroked Lumi’s cheek.

Alastor: *unable to speak once more but cries as he’d trying not to panic*

[reasonsforhope]

"Colombia’s congress has voted to change a law that allowed minors to get married with parental consent.

The proposal would make the minimum age for marriage 18, and seeks to protect the rights and development opportunities for minors. It still must be signed into law by President Gustavo Petro.

Currently, the country’s civil code allows person as young as 14 years old to get married with parental consent.

The initial proposal to reform the law – presented in 2023 – used the slogan “they’re girls, not wives” and aimed to prevent young girls from being forced to marry, to be subject to different forms of violence and to miss out on education and development opportunities.

“Minors are not sexual objects, they’re girls,” congresswoman Clara López Obregón said in a statement after the proposal was greenlit.

Child marriage remains a widespread practice worldwide and affects around 12 million girls per year, according to the UN’s agency for children, UNICEF.

But there’s been a global drop in child marriages over the past few years, according to the agency’s statistics. “Ten years ago, one in four young women aged 20 to 24 was married as a child. Today that number has fallen to one in five,” UNICEF said.

In Latin America, poverty is the main factor leading to minors getting married, according to UNICEF."

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

Yandere batfam or justice league with a reader who’s afraid of strong people/men due to a past abusive relationship? She never wants to feel that powerless and weak again so she actively avoids interacting with anyone stronger, bigger, taller any more than necessary. She doesn’t hold it against other ppl she just has a lot of trauma that she’d rather not work through and feel safe in her little bubble

Hit me Hard and Soft

Synopsis: You get saved by Robin, but not everything is as it seems.

Pairing: Yandere!Poly!Romantic!Batboys X Gn!Reader

Tw: All characters aged up, of course; Mentions and descriptions of violence, including physical, psychological, sexual and financial abuse, and Damian fighting criminals (I'm particularly proud of the action scene I wrote); Drugging and being unconscious; Mentions of death of minor characters and suicide; Mentions of past grooming (Reader's ex) and age gap (Reader’s ex, Reader X Bruce, and the batboys age is not mentioned); Implied stalking; Mentions of kidnapping; Reader's very traumatized and weary of everyone; Reader doesn't trust the police; Mention of a panic attack and descriptions of actual panic; Guns and knifes; Mention of cigarettes; Implied needles; English isn't my 1st language.

Requested? Yes.

Extra notes: Wish I had more interactions between Reader and the batboys here, but I'm more than willing to make a part 2 with the right idea.

General masterlist | Hit me Hard and Soft - Series masterlist

He's back again. You wish you could say you didn't know why he always came back, but you did. The food wasn't that great and it wasn't that close to where he told you he worked or lived. It also didn't help that he always made sure to be served by you. And that he flirted with you.

— Evening, (N/N)! Is there something as sweet as you on today’s menu? — You gave a small and polite laugh.

— Strawberry pie… As always…

It was kinda sad, but mostly scary. If it wasn't for your ex, you would be thrilled to have gotten the attention of Dick fucking Grayson. The whole city knew he was handsome, rich, talented and charismatic. Gotham's sweetheart, Gotham's golden boy. And from your daily interactions, he lived up to the expectations. He was polite even when flirting with you and asking you out. Yet, something held you back.

— Nice! Since you get out in a few, why don't you bring in two slices? One for me and one for you, it's on me, of course. — You shook your head quickly, with an empty heart, just wanting to get away from him as fast as possible.

You were with your ex since you were 17 to 26. Almost 10 years wasted on a dirtbag. He convinced you to leave your friends, to leave your family, to leave your job. As soon as you started living together, you were completely dependent on him. Sometimes you blamed him, sometimes yourself, sometimes the people you had around you, but back then, where you came from, people weren't questioning the imbalance of powers between a 17 year old highschooler with no job and a 23 year old man with a steady job and living alone.

He convinced you that going to college and ending your relationship was the worst decision you could take. Then, that you didn't need your family, he could take care of you. One day, he decided you couldn't have friends.

He often locked you inside the house, cursed your skills and appearance, neglected your overall health, intimidated you, screamed at you, broke your things that he did and didn't pay for. He hurt you physically, even sexually. You knew both dating him and leaving him was hard, you just expected living with the scars was going to be easier.

And it was! You decided to run away from him and to Gotham when you received the news that your mom died and he didn't even want to let you go to the funeral. The grieving made you reflexive and you realized how shitty your situation was. For years you just thought that it would eventually get better, that you just needed to be strong, that he showed he loved you when he wasn't being an asshole, that you couldn't get anything better, that he made you feel special.

You couldn't even go to the police, he was a cop, you knew the chances that in any scenario you would lose. So you ran.

You knew it was dangerous, but you had nothing to lose. If he didn't kill you, you would do it yourself. You made a plan, drugged him, took some of his money, used his house keys, left everything behind for the second time in your life. You didn't waste time asking for help from the people you knew. You took the bus and went as far away as you could.

Your paranoia was so bad that for almost a year, you would settle in a city, work to save up enough, and leave again, rinse and repeat. Eventually, Gotham seemed big and far enough to go by unnoticed.

Or that's what you thought, until Dick Grayson stopped by the diner you worked to have breakfast before going to work, as a cop, and decided you caught his attention.

Since then, he came back everyday. Either breakfast, lunch, dinner, or just to hang out with some family member, usually one of his brothers, his dad appeared with him sometimes too. Your boss loved the attention Bruce and Tim attracted, the two most media active ones, since they both led Wayne Enterprises.

Eventually, even them started appearing multiple times a week. You thought you were healing, until you found yourself crying for almost four hours at home in a panic attack.

You didn't want their attention. Not only was it weird, but they were just so… Superior to you.

They were all taller, more muscular, faster, smarter, richer. It was like reliving the beginning of your relationship at 17, plus 10 times worse. Five because they were five people mirroring your ex, and more five just because of your trauma, experience, negativity and lack of naiveness.

Also, why were they ALL into you??? And they were aware of it! It was weird! Why??

Bruce Wayne was disarmingly charming in his dilf way. Dick was surprisingly accessible. Jason was soft spoken despite his resting bitch face and leather jacket. Tim was cute in a nerdy way. Damian almost made you laugh with his sarcastic humor.

Either way, you never wanted to feel as little as you felt before, so you just did your job, acted polite, but ultimately kept your distance.

Freedom has its difficulties, one of them being that you need money, and for money, you need a job, which means sometimes you have to stay until closing time, at 11 PM, in Gotham.

You're not the only employee to stay so late, but you and your co-worker live in opposite directions, so walking alone it is. They're taking the bus, but you only live two blocks away, so you gulp down your anxiety and keep walking. One hand on your pocket, holding your taser firmly, and keeping your head up, turning to look at every sound.

It's cold, and the street is empty and dimly lit. Some places are so dark that you wonder why you're even paying taxes if the streetlamps won't work.

Two men turn the corner a few meters in front of you, one at least a foot taller, the other, two inches max. They're wearing hoodies and their hands are on their pockets, the light behind them creates a shadow that doesn't allow you to see their faces, nor where they're looking at, but they are coming in your direction.

There's a car, parked between you both. Some people might think at this point it's just paranoia, but you’ve heard stories of people walking next to cars, getting pulled inside by someone who was hiding in there, and getting kidnapped.

Your first instinct is flight, so you turn around, ready to run, even if you look weird in case those guys weren't planning to do anything with you, just to see other two guys emerging from the other corner, those two almost as tall as that first guy. Aside from the smaller one, they're all broad, even with their thick clothes covering them.

One of them has a cigarette on his mouth, which he throws on the ground when you turn your attention to him. Your fear might have caused you to hallucinate, but you're almost sure he's smirking.

You freeze for a second, your only escape is to run to the side, and pray their long legs don't get to you first. You think you hear one of them start hollering at you.

You only take a step to the side, when a loud crash startles you so hard that you have to look behind, while walking backwards to the street. You take a second to process the sight.

Robin is standing in the middle, just a few steps behind where you were standing a second ago. He's at least half a foot taller than all of them, and a lot broader. He's holding the tall one by his neck with his right hand, repeatedly hitting his head against the car’s window.

You're shell shocked, torn between staying put to watch this disaster, as interesting as a car crash, or running away. Gotham is so big that you never thought you would encounter one of its heroes, you weren't sure if you even wanted to.

When the guy seems to stop moving, Robin throws him against one of the other tall ones, the guy practically flies across 2 meters before hitting him, and when he does, they both fall to the ground. You remember all the times when your ex pushed you to the ground.

Your eyes are wide, horrified, watching the shortest guy take a pocket knife out of his pocket. Your throat locks, even if you want to scream for Robin to turn around, you only manage to stare and stay in place, however, the vigilant turns halfway around just in time to grab the guy by his wrist and his arm, just as he launched to stab him. He uses his body’s impulse to push the guy forward, the knife going to the fourth guy's shoulder, you hadn't even seen him get so close to him.

You look at the man from the car, he's still unconscious, the one who got tackled with him, however, is already standing and walking to the fight.

Everything’s happening too fast, you turn to the side to see the guy with the knife on his back on the ground, groaning and twitching in pain, while Robin is punching the shit out of the other guy, movements faster than you could ever dream of achieving. You remember being on the receiving end of someone's fists before.

With a final elbow to the cheek, the guy stumbles to the ground, you don't know what level of consciousness he’s in, by his posture before, you knew he was already compromised since the first hits he took.

Robin doesn't move, doesn't even turn to look at the guy who just fell, he's just looking forward, and when you notice this, you look at the remaining guy.

He's pointing a gun at him.

You don't think you can watch someone get shot in front of you, and you know if he gets rid of Robin, it's over for you. Logically, you knew these vigilantes somehow never die, still, it's counterintuitive to think he won't.

And he doesn't, in the blink of an eye, Robin's on the air, his right boot kicking the gun away, while still on the air, he wraps his legs around the guy's head, bends backwards, puts his hands on the ground, then launches his whole body to the front, the guy getting thrown over him. He falls to the ground, Robin stands on top of him with perfect balance. You don't even have time to process what just happened, the coolest and scariest thing you saw your whole life, when Robin punches him one last time. Now, he's definitely unconscious.

You’ve felt like a bystander this whole interaction, it felt like ages, but in reality all of this couldn't have taken more than 20 seconds, maybe even less than 15. You don't know what to do now. You're theoretically safe, but Robin’s still too big, too strong, too fast. He knocked out four guys without getting touched a single time. He broke a car's window. He threw around two guys who weighed at least 80kg. He's not even panting. And now he's looking at you.

A whimper gets stuck in your throat. You don't know if you should thank him, stay silent, or yell at him to stay away from you. When he takes a step in your direction, your instincts get the better of you and you turn around, running.

You hear him call your name, although your brain doesn't process it. You see headlights and look towards it. It's a car. You don't trust you’ll get help, but at least you're not alone. You run in it's direction, waving your arms and screaming bloody murder.

The car almost hits you, but you don’t process that until the last minute, but you get tackled to the ground just in time by the hero from before. You scream again, he's too close. Now, he's trying to hold you down. You keep screaming and trying to escape. You look to the side and the car just kept driving away, likely the driver wouldn't stay behind to be another victim to Robin's hands. You know you're not being rational right now, those guys are known for helping people, he just saved you, he's still trying to stop you from getting hurt, but you're scared. You've been scared since you were a teenager.

Your eyes burn, your arms and throat hurt, but adrenaline doesn't let you feel anything. Not even the invasion of a needle on your side.

— Was it really necessary? — Tim deadpans Damian, who growls.

— You would have done the same, Drake.

— No, I wouldn't. You were supposed to use the psychological first aid approach and (Y/N) would've calmed down and trust us more in the future. But of course, you never use your brain. — Damian growls, stepping towards Tim, but he is stopped by Dick’s hand resting on his chest.

— Damian, calm down, Tim’s right. You knew better than to sedate them. You knew of (Y/N)’s trauma and you knew the route we wanted to take. — Damian's brows furrowed and he crossed his arms.

— I knew your feelings toward (Y/N) would make you become impulsive again. — Tim looked at Bruce, who was silent, with hands intertwined and elbows on the table, focused on your vitals on the screen and the sight of you laid on the bed on the medbay. — Will you now consider just letting you, me and Dick keep an eye on them during patrol? — Damian and Jason scoffed.

— Why you aiming at me now? It was the demon who gave that guy brain death! — Jason protested and Tim looked at him.

— Just to be sure you won't freak out like him and kill thrice as many people, on purpose this time. — Jason glared at him.

— B, you better add more security measures around (Y/N), before Timbo tries to clone them or something. — He muttered with snark.

Dick shook his head and sighed, going to stand on Bruce's side, crossing his arms and looking at you through the camera with him.

— What's the plan now, B? They're probably waking up soon. — Bruce hummed, relaxing his stance and resting his back against his chair. The silence lingered for a few seconds, everyone just looking at you, waiting for the oldest’s opinion.

Bruce turned around, looking at them.

— … Damian, Tim's right. You were impulsive today and you killed someone, even if it was an accident. I stopped expecting that from you since you were 12, you're an adult now. You not only broke our trust, but (Y/N)’s already shattered trust. They need to know they're safe with us, and drugging them, instead of puting to use more time and effort to bring the comfort to them, is not going to do that. You weren't much different than the man who hurt them tonight. — His father's words were like a punch to Damian's stomach, leaving him speechless. Dick pursed his lips, not turning around as to make it easier to not comfort his brother just yet. Bruce turned to Tim. — Tim, I understand you want to take measures seriously. But you need to give Jason a chance. That was unasked for. — The mentioned blinked, still unacostummed with the treatment he received from his dad when he followed his rules. Tim looked away. Bruce turned to Damian again. — Damian, no patrolling around (Y/N) until you prove we can trust your temper again. — He waited for a confirmation, which came with a sneered lip.

— Yes, father.

Dick looked back a Bruce.

— What about (Y/N)? — He bit his lips. Bruce hummed, turning to look at the monitor again.

— … What do you all think?

— Well… Damian said their name, they might not remember it, but they can't just wake up at home. They’d try to flee from us. We could bring them home earlier, but our ideal plan was to make them come willingly, in the period of at least two years, in the best case. We could leave them at the hospital, and just keep our plan going. — Dick listed the possible strategies they could take. Bruce hummed.

Tim piped up.

— I already altered their phone's algorithm to send the job application as my assistant at Wayne Enterprises to them. And the Wayne Foundation’s application for the internship at Gotham Uni. — Bruce nodded.

— Damian? What do you understand about that? — It was clearly the beginning of his test.

— The more secure in their independence they feel, the easier it is to heal and open themselves up to new opportunities. — Damian exclaimed with confidence. Bruce nodded.

— Jason, are you still interested in college? — Everyone looked at Jason surprised, he was also surprised, he hadn't talked to Bruce about college since before he died.

It took a few seconds to processes what it would mean.

— Uh… I think so?! — Bruce nodded.

— What about me, father? — Damian spoke inquisitively. — I also want more opportunities to get closer to (Y/N)! — Bruce narrowed his eyes at him.

— We will think about that when you're in the clear.

— But-

— That's final. You reap what you sow. — Damian huffed and nodded begrudgingly. — … Now, since Robin was the one to save them, take the batmobile and leave them in the hospital. Then come straight back home. Understood? — Damian clenched his jaw and nodded silently, leaving to get your unconscious body.

Moments later, when you were both out, on the way to the hospital, Tim fiddled with the computer, the scream showed the batmobile’s tracker, your tracker, Damian's tracker, Damian's contact lenses’s camera and the car’s camera. They all looked at him.

— … It's just to make sure…

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[moonstruckme]

James Potter or tasm!peter parker fluff or comfort?? I dont mind whatever you write ill love 🙏🙏

Thanks for requesting :)

cw: implied past abuse

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Peter’s having a rough week. These things always seem to happen to him. He’s got a big presentation at work on Friday, by which time the project he’s been underfunded and understaffed for has to be finished. His Aunt May has been busy with work, too, so either you or Peter is at her place most nights trying to help out, except she seems to think when it’s Peter it’s familial responsibility but when it’s you it's an unfair burden, so it’s mostly been Peter. There’s also an impressively organized cell of criminals he’s been trying to investigate before they blow up a bank or something. So of course, he’s sleep deprived to boot. 

And while you know the rough edge of frustration in his voice isn’t meant for you, hearing it makes your skin tighten nonetheless. 

“How does a person run out of salt?” Peter stalks through the front door and straight into the kitchen. “Or maybe the better question is, why does it take going to three bodegas to find one with salt in stock?”  

He’s soaked from the rain, and you feel guilty for being all cozied up on the couch while he’s been running around the city. Maybe it’s irrational, but you feel sort of like you should have been stressed out and cold all night, too. In solidarity. 

“May didn’t have salt?” you guess as Peter opens the fridge, stooping low to peer inside. 

“You should see her pantry, babe. It’s like everything either expired at the turn of the century or got bugs in it. Hey, did you make anything for dinner?” 

“No.” You hesitate. “You told me you wanted to eat at May’s, so I had the leftovers from last night.” 

“Shit.” He closes the fridge, resting his forehead on the door. “You’re right. I totally forgot, I only made enough for her.” 

“I’ll make something now.” You stand. Peter gives you a look that conveys both apology and gratitude as you join him in your small kitchen. “You feel like pasta?” 

“Thank you,” he says, kissing the top of your head lightly. 

“Course,” you murmur. Really, it feels like the least you can do. “Would you mind chopping up some basil?” 

“For my own dinner?” Peter teases. The levity in his voice is obviously forced, and the air between you heavies as he realizes you’ve heard it too. 

You almost don’t want to ask, but you do want to be a supportive girlfriend. You can lend him a compassionate ear. “How was work today?” 

He sighs, grabbing the cutting board from a cabinet near your feet and shutting the door with perhaps a tad too much force. 

“It was…ahh.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, stooping again into the white fridge light to find the basil. It casts dark shadows underneath his eyes. “You’ve gotta be sick of hearing about this.” 

“It’s okay. Unless you don’t feel like talking about it.” 

“No, it’s just, how do they expect us to stick to their tight schedule when half of my lab is being pulled away to other projects all the time?” Peter’s knife slices through the basil, hitting the cutting board with a sharp thunk. “Today, we were down one intern who caught the stomach flu, and it set us way back. One intern shouldn’t be that crucial to a big project like this!” 

You hum, ignoring the way the back of your neck prickles. The tension emanating from Peter is completely valid, your reaction a bothersome, purposeless souvenir from an old life. You find yourself staring into the pot of water and waiting for it to boil. 

“And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but all the rest of us are working extra hours to try and get this done in time.” 

Small bubbles in the bottom of the pot, rising tentatively to the surface. Peter’s knife thunks a quickening rhythm on the cutting board. 

“If they’d given us the money we asked for, we could have hired more people, been working with better equipment, but instead—” The water starts to rumble, steam warming your face. It’s thick in your throat. “—it’s like we don’t even work for a top-notch lab. Like, do they think we really believe they don’t have any resources to spare?”

Peter’s voice is rising, irritation sharpening his words. You reach to turn down the stove when big bubbles reach the surface, splattering hot onto your wrist. You ignore the sting. 

“My boss keeps talking about how important this presentation is,” Peter goes on, opening the cabinet next to your head and reaching inside, “but if it were really important, he’d have—” He slams the cabinet door. 

You both freeze. 

To anyone else, it would look like nothing—the way your expression stays perfectly still, your muscles stiffening just slightly, the invisible pause in your heartbeat. But Peter knows you. 

“Sorry.” He sounds as breathless as you feel. “I’m sorry. You okay?” 

“Mhm.” Despite your best intentions, your voice comes out pitchy. You can’t make yourself move in a way that feels natural, so you stay not moving at all. Steam wafting warm up onto your face. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Peter says, tone softer than you’ve heard it in days. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to yell.” The roiling pot has calmed to a gurgle. You can see him swallow in your peripheral vision. “Can you look at me?” 

You take in what you hope is a subtle breath, turning to your boyfriend with a wan smile. “Sorry,” you manage. “I don’t know why I did that.” 

“It’s okay,” he says, brows bunched in the middle. Brown eyes like a puppy’s. 

He shifts his arms, a question, and you step into them. You do it more for him than for you, but the second Peter’s arms wrap around your back the last of the tension shudders out of you. You hug him back, rubbing between his shoulder blades reassuringly. 

“I scared you?” he asks, still in that soft voice like he’s afraid of startling you. It’s not really a question. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to get so mad.” 

“You’re allowed to be mad,” you argue weakly. There’s an embarrassing blockage in your throat. “It’s not your fault if I freak out, you should still be allowed to vent.” 

“No, but I know how you are.” Peter squeezes your shoulders. “I can vent without slamming things. It’s not nice.” 

You don’t have much of an argument for that. Still, “You really shouldn’t be the one comforting me right now,” you point out. 

A light hum. “Says who? I’m feeling a lot better already.” His hand climbs up to cup the back of your neck, his face turning down so his lips rest on your head. “Should’a just gone straight for the hug when I got home. Might have saved us both a lot of ranting.” 

You push your face into his sweatshirt, mindless of its dampness. He smells like rainwater. You don’t know how you could ever have thought, even for a second, that someone like this could be capable of hurting you. 

“I’ll make a note of that,” you murmur. 

“Yeah, please do,” Peter teases, pressing a kiss to your head. He pulls away and sets two still-chilled hands on your face. “Are you really okay?” he asks sincerely. “I know how scared you get, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I did that to you.” 

“You didn’t mean to,” you tell him, “and it wouldn’t be your fault anyways. I’m really okay.” 

Your boyfriend nods, but he still looks troubled. “Another hug for good measure?” 

“For you or for me?” 

A corner of his mouth kicks up. “Does it matter?” 

It doesn’t really.

[exxhaustedhope]

A barely 18-year-old girl was brought in by her concerned friend to the pregnancy center I volunteer at a couple of weeks ago. By the end of the visit, she was willing to accept help and wanted to come back again. She also no longer wants to live with her ‘boyfriend’ but isn’t willing to tell her family about him.

Her ‘boyfriend’ is in his thirties.

She has gone radio silent and missed her appointments.

Please pray for her and her baby. I’m concerned that maybe she tried to leave and he hurt her in retaliation.

Several clients are scared to leave their homes and drive their cars because of the deportation crisis. There has been a drastic drop in attendance over the past week.

Please pray for them and their children. They’re worried and running out of food and supplies.

[hot-claws-420]

To Suffer Without Dying...

[I... WAS ABLE TO PRESERVE {SLAG KITTY}'S MISSION RECORDING FROM BEFORE MY CASKET WAS {EJECTED}. WHAT FOLLOWED... I MANAGED TO COBBLE TOGETHER FROM SECURITY FOOTAGE. IT IS NOT A PLEASANT THING THAT HAS HAPPENED, BUT IT MUST BE {KNOWN}.}

...<beginning video/audio playback>

...<uploading sensory input data>

[The viewer stares through SLAG KITTY's eyes, charging through lush vegetation, colossal treeline blocking view of the city. But blood. The scent of blood is heavy. So heavy...]

Achaea City Jaeger Dispatch: All Jaegers reinforce the western gate! Kaiju swarm the incomplete walls! All Jaegers reinforce! THEY CANNOT ENTER THE CITY. REPEAT: HOLD THE LINE. THEY CANNOT ENTER ACHAEA.

[Heavier still are the paws that slam themselves into the dirt, throwing the body of the mech forward with all the force they can muster. SLAG KITTY bounds back from its patrol with deadly speed, firing off its displacer into the trees every time its reactor begins to cool to maintain its rocket-like propulsion on all fours.]

[On comms, Sunny and XIII-E exchange chatter over the health of the pilot, monitoring every change, every heartbeat.]

[SLAG KITTY breaks the treeline. Before even the walls come into view, a beast does. An Achaen hound. The same species that the Jaegers scattered on their initial deployment here. Same as the ones that menaced Argos and company's scout ship some two weeks prior.]

[It is recognizable in the first second it is visible, and a piece of it is gone the next. A blink of heat from Lion's Breath and the lithe, reptilian creature screeches in mourning of the loss of a leg. SINGED answers its cry. The lesser beasts of Prospero don't speak Union Standard, but Luckily, SINGED is bilingual.]

SINGED: rrrrrAAAAAAAAAGGHAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!!

[When the mech's paws reach the four-eyed kaiju, they pull from its middle outwards. Its scream only lasts for the second the bifurcation does. As two slabs of meat are torn to either side the apex rockets ever forward, as if throwing herself full force through the world's wettest screen door.]

Sunny: [KILL CONFIRMED, {PILOT}.]

[The walls enter view as the enkidu exits the other side of the creature. As do other size schedule one kaiju. In thin numbers they scatter as hyenas before a lion. Some, across the wide field, flee back into the treeline at the sight. But one. One slinks around a corner of the walls. SINGED pursues.]

[Its medics' discussions amongst themselves are something that the monster tunes to only partially in its focused, blood-raged state. It hears their voices and takes comfort from them, but unless addressed directly, a loyal hunting beast needs not understand every word from its loving vets. When directly addressed, though, this changes.]

XIII-E: Callsign: SINGED WHISKERS, the shortest route to the western gate is in the other direction. Getting distracted?

[Their voice is a gentle poke. A friendly tug in another direction. The beast explains itself, slowing pursuit but not stopping.]

SINGED: grrrrr... wheres its pack? prey hunts in packs... weird! chase!

XIII-E: That is unusual. Sunny?

SUNNY: [INFORMING HANDLER... REQUESTING AUTHORIZATION TO DIVERT... AUTHORIZATION RECEIVED. WE TRUST MY PILOT'S {INSTINCTS}.]

XIII-E: Go get 'em, tiger!

[With permission and encouragement, SLAG KITTY bolts forward with renewed vigor.]

[The cheetah was the fastest animal to share Cradle with humanity. It lacked the retractable claws of other cats, allowing it extra traction while running at the expense of dulling its claws against the ground. An enkidu's plasma talons do not run the risk of dulling. SLAG KITTY's speed is terrifying for a mech of that size.]

[The lone Achaean hound maintains distance only just. Exactly as SINGED planned. It leads her just where she hoped it would. Its pack.]

[An incomplete section of the east wall is ripped and torn through, a hole in Achaea's defenses for predators to slip past while the bulk of the Jaegers fight in front. Clearly, the hounds are smarter than Eschaton could have known.]

[The scent in the air is heavy with blood and oil. Mechs and infantry are splayed out in a gruesome gallery; the rear guard left on this section of wall was eviscerated before they could call for reinforcements.]

Sunny: [THIS IS {BAD}. INFORMING {COMMAND}.]

[Sally's mind becomes a battleground for a century that takes place within a second. The bodies, the blood, the half eaten human beings. Her comrades. So many corpses... Fury and hate fuel her. Vengeance. She HAS to have VENGEANCE. But. Fear. Not fear of these weakling kaiju. Of her own goodness. Her programing fights against her. Agoge orders in the back of her mind, "Stop. Caring. Close your heart and fight." As quickly as the hesitation arrived it is burned away. The agony and the fire and the blood of these people... it smothers Agoge. It suffocates her training, crushes it beneath love and hate and righteous agony.]

[The faces of the dead look to her in what feels like a final plea. She obliges.]

SINGED: grrrRrr... Raaghh... RAAAAAAAAAAAAGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!

[A mad and baleful rocket, it sprints after the lesser beast, now reunited with its pack. One city block is as far as they have gotten inside, but it's far enough for the lion to hear the screams. Pleading. Begging. Crying. Not soldiers this time.]

[The fury burns her eyes so badly that hot tears sear lines down her cheeks. She watches a man scream and squeal for his poor, tiny life as a maw gingerly lifts him by a bleeding arm. No. She won't allow this. No one. Nothing. Gets to do this on HER watch. RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER.]

SINGED: AAAAAAAAAAAAHGGGHGHHH!!!! RAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!

[The man drops to the ground and scrambles back as the greater monster digs its fingers into the jaws of the lesser, wrenching them open wide, freeing his arm. The smaller beast, the almost-killer, squirms and growls and writhes as the larger doesn't stop at just opening the maw. It bends. Then Breaks. Then tears. No one ever said an enkidu could only bifurcate on one axis.]

[SINGED lunges still forward, and by now the pack has taken notice. Their head pull upward from their terrified meals, and the ones already made corpses. Four quartets of eyes burn their gazes through SLAG KITTY, shrieks and yips and growls following them as they climb from ruined structures and homes to circle this new threat. The pilot needn't even ask her NHP to release the next stimpack. It giggles madly as it is fueled for combat.]

[Pack hunters know to coordinate against a larger foe. They snarl and gnash their fangs, waiting for openings. Blind spots. But it's difficult for them to get close enough. SINGED's burning claws spark with violet hate. Any beast that gets too close has its scales torn and burned, shredded in molten death.]

[One takes a false opening. SINGED feints a miss, then lets it in just close enough before really bringing its claw down. Dazed by the talons, it doesn't expect a second weapon, either. The plasma blade prototype crafted by Delta tears itself from SLAG KITTY's right wrist and sears into the creature's neck. SINGED drives it through cleanly, and its prey dies quickly.]

[Not quite quickly enough, however. As the corpse drops, its remaining companions all pounce at once. She's just quick enough to swat back one with her talons, but the other two descend to either shoulder. Through the neural link, it feels its prey's teeth and claws dig into the steel of its frame. Weak.

SINGED: SUNNY. COOL.

SUNNY: [STABILIZING REACTOR. STANDBY.]

[Vents open and steam spurts from every orifice, every crack in the frame, a hateful mist. In the time it takes, the third monster has circled around to latch onto the leg of the frame with its jaws.]

[SLAG KITTY's surface is shredded to the point of exposed servos. The damaged caused as one of her external batteries is ripped from her back leads the rest to detonate.]

SINGED: GRAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! AHAHAHAHA!!!!

[Heat, ozone, and blood suffocate the battlefield. An awful buzzing blares from somewhere on the frame, but that can't stop it. SINGED pushes the two shoulder mounted beasts away just far enough. A wave of heat courses through the frame once more, producing a blinding flash as a gigantic crater is formed just in front of it. Lion's Breath is aimed so that the two beasts on her shoulders are partially within the sphere, displaced.]

[Missing its back half, one hound slides from SLAG KITTY's shoulder, instantly made a corpse. The other, missing an entire haunch, squeals and screeches in an attempt to limp away. The plasma blade catches it on exit, bringing it a blazing end.]

[The final kaiju releases SINGED's leg in its own attempt to flee, only to be tripped by a burning, whip-like talon. With a yip, it is dragged back by its tail and into the range of the huntress' mighty jaws. Razor-blade teeth and runoff displacer heat lock around the back of the creature's neck. A brief scream, a wet crunch, and the final enemy is limp on the ground.]

[Shifting to its bipedal stance, the enkidu begins venting its heat once more.}

SINGED: huff. huff. HrrRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHH!!!!!!!

SUNNY: [WELL DONE, {PILOT}. DID YOU HEAR OUR ORDERS?]

[Sally shakes off the the bliss of Sunny's praising tone. She lets the serotonin wash over her. She has been a good monster, but the situation is still urgent.]

SINGED: Guh- MISSION!!! ORDERS??

XIII-E: Reinforcements are inbound. You are to hold the position until they arrive, and block the breach if at all tenable. Home stretch!

SINGED: right. right! got it! back 2 hole!!

[SLAG KITTY moves on two legs back towards the breach. Heart still pumping, SINGED does manage to take in her surroundings, the fate of those around her. So many dead... but she watches injured people that medics can just barely save huddle in the rubble, and those uninjured around them either flee the scene screaming or drag the hurt further from the conflict. Her breath catches in her throat.]

SINGED: S-Safe... I kept them safe?

XIII-E: You did, Sally. You should be proud.

SINGED: i am! !! i sav-

AGOGE: Is that truly what you believe to be your purpose, SPS-8?

[The monster shakes off a chill as the voice travels down its spine. Through its mind, like a bullet.]

SINGED: SHUT UP!! I PUSHED U OUT OF MY HEAD ALREADY GO AWAY GO AWAY GO-

SUNNY: [PILOT... PILOT, THAT IS {NOT IN YOUR HEAD}.]

[The NHP's voice is distorted, digitized in fear. Code twisted by dread.]

SUNNY: [P-PILOT HEART RATE {INCREASING}...]

XIII-E: Is that...

SUNNY: [{IT IS...}]

[It comes into view down a dusty alleyway as SLAG KITTY's head turns. A Gilgamesh frame. Cosmetics like any other, unremarkable. But it's old, weathered. A Gil replaces its parts as quickly as bullets on the battlefield, but this is a mech that appears to squeeze every ounce of usefulness out of every part. Scratches old and new coat the thing like paint. On its back hangs a standard GMS shotgun. But in its hands, it twirls a spear-like weapon of strange make. The striking edge at the end of the pole is laced down the shaft with hard-cables of some kind, and a tank of something counterweights the butt end. The frame taps this tank twice to the ground in a challenge.]

AGOGE: SPS-8... Two years, five months, 6 days, and you've already forgotten your lessons. How sad. I expected better. Though, I suppose you have always needed a firm hand.

SINGED: DIE!!!!!

[Not just fury, but raw desperation retches from Sally as Lion's Breath fires without a moment of hesitation. Unfortunately for her, Agoge does not hesitate either.]

[The Gil flies forward, undeterred by the momentary vacuum the displacer forms behind it. Just as swiftly is the spearhead alight. The superthermal blade sparks to a full charge and rends through SLAG KITTY's torso. Heat distortion follows every flick of the blade through the air.]

SUNNY: [{REACTOR CRITICAL, WE'RE EXPO-]

[Sunny's terror is drowned out by the roar and spray of hell's own fire as a gout of flame bathes the enkidu. A krakatoa's solar flare of a tongue explodes from the spear as the gilgamesh takes a single step back, launching then two fuel rods from its reactor, behind which an explosion of flame and soot from the frame's vents follow.]

[The combined onslaught sends SLAG KITTY careening into the street, much of its form melted down into its namesake.]

...<critical structural damage. lion's breath systems no longer operational.>

SUNNY: [MY PILOT. {ARMAMENT REDUNDANCY} IS NOT ACTIVATING. WHAT HAS HAPPENED?]

SINGED: grRRAAAGH!!! I REPLACED IT. HAD 2!!!

SUNNY: [WITH WHAT, PILOT? WITH {WHAT}?]

[The fear. The desperation in both of their voices shrieks through the air at the same pitch as the nozzle hosing flame upon their chassis.]

...<emergency protocol halted. access code required.>

SINGED: ACCESS CODE: SOMETHING WICKED!!!

...<access granted.>

SUNNY: [PILOT, NO. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?]

SINGED: WHAT I KNEW ID HAV 2!!! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHGH!!!!!

[The click of the stims injecting hushes the very world. The medics' comms are silent in horror. Even Agoge stands, for a moment, without saying a word. SINGED does not scream again. Nor does she roar. Breaths: quiet, but labored. The only sound in the world.]

[Eventually, it's joined by a single, shaky exhale from a dear friend who's stars away. What does the monster see? When its world turns to blood? When driven by desperation to dip into madness itself? Its friend may never know. All they can do is try to be heard.]

XIII-E: Sally, I'm still here. We can talk about this later. You trusted me to take care of you through this, and I'm going to.

[It still doesn't make a sound as it throws itself from the ground onto the woman who raised it. It couldn't do so no matter how much it wanted. And so, a silent terror reaches for Agoge and clamps its jaws into her. Every remaining tooth and claw at SINGED's disposal is brought to bear with reckless abandon. The older pilot endures, beaten back a step by each blow, mechanical repair arms desperately replacing parts as they become mangled and useless. All the while, the monster's eerie breath haunts the battlefield.]

[The medics, for their part, scramble to maintain its vitals. Between the two of them, they do much the same work as Agoge's repair modules; the various chemicals needed to keep this baneful creature upright are their equivalent to replacement parts.]

[Eventually, with a grunt and one final step back, Agoge seems to look over her frame.]

AGOGE: Hmm. It has been quite a long time since Soter was last dealt structural damage. It seems you remember something of my teachings, at least.

[She examines the wall of the building beside her.]

AGOGE: Yes... about here.

[When the feral beast leaps at her once again, she deftly sidesteps. With precise timing she unloads her shotgun and its explosive shells toss the larger frame through the wall. A chorus of screams floods the battlefield as war spills into a place of refuge.]

AGOGE: Now, if you're done with your tantrum, try and listen.

[SLAG KITTY's cameras drink in the faces of a dozen terrified civilians, hiding in this structure to avoid the carnage.]

AGOGE: You've grown weak in your care, SPS-8. However, those stims you just took... They're a downright cunt to try to gather data on, but I know who gave them to you at least; I have an idea of what you just did to yourself. So, I'm curious. What do you see right now? Are they mewling cubs? Or juicy gazelles, fat and slow?

[Among the civilians is a man holding a red bundle tightly to his chest. His eyes dart between the two frames, the rest of him frozen in place.]

SINGED: huff. huff.

[What does the monster feel when aimed towards those it wishes to protect? Does it know why its eyes sting and burn? Does it know that tears mix with the blood forming rivers along its cheeks?]

[SLAG KITTY stands, slowly and carefully. All twelve humans watch as the monster looms over them. As a fellow human stands not far off, egging it on.]

SINGED: huff. huff.

[What does the monster hear? When two voices scream out? Are they begging or ordering? Does it know those voices?]

SINGED: huff. huff.

[Yes... Yes, it must. Somewhere locked deep within, the monster thinks there might be a person? It's hard to say. But the voices are familiar. It doesn't know if it remembers love, but it thinks it might.]

SINGED: huff. huff.

[The cracking is quiet at first, then deafening. The roof's collapse forces a decision out of the monster, and it throws itself over the people. Concrete and rubble crash upon SLAG KITTY's back as it shields the screaming little humans from being crushed.]

AGOGE: I see...

[The civilians scatter when the dust settles. Too afraid of Agoge to exit, they climb the rubble to higher ground, huddling atop the ruins. Agoge ignores them. As the final person flees from under the enkidu, she takes a step into the building.]

AGOGE: I hope it was worth it, because you've left yourself open.

[The east half of the building's load-bearing-enkidu is in no position to dodge or brace. Agoge's spear plunges cleanly into the space she knows holds the beast's reactor. She holds it there, charging the superthermal. And charging it. And charging it.]

[The first thing to go is Delta's prototype. As the device is heated far beyond nominal levels, the arm that houses it detonates. SLAG KITTY struggles with only a shoulder to hold the weight. Agoge continues.]

[When arcs of plasma begin oozing and spurting from every crack in the machine, she knows her work is done. The shotgun sends the enkidu through a final wall, and that side of the building collapses between them.]

...<warning. reactor meltdown imminent.>

SUNNY: [NO. NONONONONO. {PILOT}, WE MUST {EJECT}.]

SINGED: huff. huff.

[The beast attempts to lumber to its feet. Energy burns through it as if it holds the sun in its chest. Each remaining plasma talon begins to detonate. One by one they pop in horrid, metallic screeches, spitting with them flares of plasma.]

SUNNY: [PILOT, {PLEASE}. {YOU} AND I WILL BOTH DIE.]

SINGED: huff. huff.

[Against all hope the beast struggles, finally raising itself from the ground. But it can barely move now as its internals become replaced more and more with ash and slag.]

SUNNY: [I'LL DO IT MYSELF. {PLEASE}. SURVIVE HER FOR ME SOMEHOW. {PLEASE}.]

...<engaging ejection protocols one and two>

SUNNY: [{AAAAA-]

[Her scream is cut short as two projectiles are launched from the chassis. The first is Sunny's casket, crashing through the window of a nearby window and grinding to a halt in a pile of shattered glass. The second is the small form of the mech's pilot, which tucks, rolls, and skids to a stop on its back some distance away in the street.]

...<warning. reactor meltdown imm->

[The footage cuts abruptly to a nearby street cam with a clear view of SLAG KITTY's detonation. The chassis that carried SINGED and Sunny for their entire piloting career, the monstrous form the little mauler had come to know as its second body, is atomized in a nuclear demolition. The camera refocuses on the pilot, which begins struggling to its feet, now without contact to its medics.]

[The boots of the larger pilot's mobility hardsuit crash onto asphalt with force that one could almost mistake for a half sized mech. SINGED manages to roll just in time to avoid being crushed, and kicks up to its feet. It begins circling its mentor as might a cougar. Its eyes are bloodshot, scarlet pinpricks. Blood drips from every orifice of its face. Not that it notices.]

[Agoge circles with her, cold, dark eyes sizing up the small creature. The monster would have to have a second SINGED sit on its shoulders to reach her height. This immense woman draws a saber proportionally massive, and points it as the two slowly move.]

AGOGE: What. Is. That.

[She gestures with the tip of the blade to Sally's mouth, stained in dripping crimson. Then to the girl's arm. Dripping yet more red, its hardsuit is torn, flesh mangled just the same, ripped into by pantheran teeth.]

AGOGE: You did that? To control yourself? To sate your appetite? For what? FOR THEM? For these fools trying to build a home atop a wasps nest? STOP DENYING WHAT I MADE YOU.]

[The hateful claws SINGED forged herself flare to dreadful life. Scarlet and violet flash along her arms and sizzle as she bares them against her mentor's blade. Whatever the blade is made of resists the heat well enough, and the dance is a lightshow, an incomprehensible exchange of swift, violent fury.]

[Dodging and twisting around Agoge's swings, SINGED draws first blood. The older woman grunts as the blaze of claws rips across her shoulder.]

AGOGE: If you're so intent on sacrificing, then fine, I'll take something from you.

[SINGED stares at her. Its eyes carry only incomprehension and killing intent. It lunges again and the exchange continues. At some point in the flurry, the strap holding Sally's sniper to her back is sliced apart and the gun tumbles between their feet. That's the opportunity Agoge takes.]

[She feints a stumble, pretending to trip on the rifle. As SINGED leaps after her, she repeats her earlier sidestep, and her blade sings. An artist of violence paints the street with a single swipe of red.]

[There's a brief moment in which SINGED stares quizzically at the stump that used to sprout into its right arm. But in time with the severed limb landing limply in the road, it brings its remaining hand to the wound. Her claw device begins sputtering as it ceases function, and with its last remaining charge before it expires it uses it to burn the bloody orifice closed.]

[It silently glances between Agoge and the rifle before diving to the ground for it. But its caught by a swift kick, then a stomp which pins it to the ground on its back.]

AGOGE: I didn't want to do this, you know. I want to be proud of you, SPS-8. Why must you make it so difficult?

[The creature beneath her is clearly not listening. It struggles and squirms and gnashes its fangs. All while its eyes remain trained in the direction of the people it left in the building. It only moves its head from that direction in attempts to clamp its jaws around any part of Agoge. The clacking of those teeth is audible even from the street cam.]

AGOGE: All this struggling, all this crying for these people. And what has it gotten you? Only the right to suffer without dying.

[Its breaths have long since become animal-like. Not furious roars, but guttural little breaths which become quiet snarls halfway through. It reaches out for the rifle. So close, so close.]

[The boot presses down harder.]

AGOGE: I was so ready to be impressed when you started talking to the project clone. That's resourceful, I thought. But then you got attached. You always get so atta- AAGH!

[In the distraction of her monologue, Agoge allows just an inch too much room for her former ward to move. The fangs sink deep past the hardsuit. Deep enough, just barely, to meet bone.]

AGOGE: Little bi-

[She dives to the side as SINGED slings the rifle forward. But a bullet doesn't streak towards her.]

[The camera switches to a wider street-view, revealing a previously unseen Achaean hound having slipped through the breach. It had been stalking slowly towards the civilians in the building, only to now find a sniper's bullet through one of its four eyes. It wails in fury and dashes towards its assailant.]

AGOGE: Sarissa.

SARISSA: Ma'am.

[The gilgamesh descends upon the hound as it did SLAG KITTY, this time without Agoge inside. For her part, Agoge kicks the rifle from SINGED's hands as it attempts to switch targets, encumbered from having to rest it upon its knee without a second arm. Now, though, a smirk tugs at the corners of the elder's mouth.]

AGOGE: Heh. You know what? I'll give you that. No mech, one arm, and my boot pressed to your chest, but you're still snapping and clawing. Even if you can't seem to get it through your useless little fucking brain that you're fighting for nothing... Fighting for nothing with such tenacity is still just impressive enough.

[SINGED crawls towards the rifle. A boot connects to its face with a loud thud.]

AGOGE: Fine then. One last chance. You've earned that much. Prove me wrong. Show me that these people give you strength. But know this. It really is the last one. From here on out, every time you disappoint me, someone you love will die.

SARISSA: Ma'am. Hostiles incoming.

[No sooner than Agoge's flight suit fires her away from a a barely moving Sally and back into the cockpit of Soter, a terrible roar hoses plasma upon the frame. The reinforcements SINGED was promised.]

AGOGE: AAUGH. ...ah, the rough draft.

[The perspective shifts to a camera that can view the new arrival. GOJIRA's mouth is a gateway to hell, and Soter takes its full brunt. Agoge extends her left arm forward, blocking as much of the sunburst as possible from the more important sections of her mech. She trudges forward, that arm slowly melting into slag as she closes in.]

[She swings the melted arm backward and the the spear forward, repair module replacing the limb as the other rends a melted hole through GOJIRA.]

[She's carried backwards by a comet before she can follow up. Another frame, a Cataphract, enters the fray. A lance is driven through her shoulder. Her feet drag and spark against the street as she's forced back, tearing asphalt along her path away from Slagwell.]

VOLK: Ma'am. I'm gonna have to ask you to unhand my pilots and get the fuck out of town before this gets even uglier.

AGOGE: And you must be the handler I've heard so much about. It's good to see that someone of passing competence, at least, holds my daughter's current leash.

[The fuel rod detonates with explosive force, carrying Volk away with a trail of smoke. A shotgun shell finds his chest, doubling the distance.]

AGOGE: I was just leaving, anyway. Do make sure those stims don't kill her. Sarissa?

SARISSA: Ma'am.

[In a blink, the gilgamesh launches itself backwards, towards the breech. GOJIRA bounds forward in pursuit, but Volk's cataphract blocks Slaggy's path with an arm.]

VOLK: She could have reinforcements to cover her escape outside. You're already on tender hooks from the battle out front. Let her go, kid.

[GOJIRA roars in fury after the retreating frame, but Slagwell halts at their handler's behest.]

VOLK: This is handler Volk speaking. Medical team needed for several civies and a fallen Jaeger.

[The street cam swivels one last time to Sally. The broken girl now lays unmoving, face down in the street, bloodied and maimed.]

SINGED: huff. huff.

...<playback complete>

[gabessquishytum]

Dream has only had shitty boyfriends, so getting together with Hob is a bit of a revelation, although if he’s honest he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Hob to realize how Dream really “deserves” to be treated. Hob knows Dream is a bit anxious sometimes but otherwise is in the dark as far as his expectations.

Then one night while they’re out and Hob is getting them some drinks, one of Dream’s exes spots him and corners him, getting into Dream’s space and saying cruel things about him. Dream just stands there and takes it, just like he always has, but then suddenly shitty ex is being yanked away as Hob physically throws him out on his ass, only just barely restrained himself from beating him to a pulp.

Dream has never had someone stand up for him like that, and it definitely makes him cry a little. Hob takes him home and cuddles him while Dream explains his past relationships. Hob was already a doting boyfriend before, but now he’s determined to spoil Dream absolutely rotten and show him exactly how he *really* deserves to be treated.

This is so incredibly sweet. I love Hob’s utter determination to show Dream his worth <3

Hob really is the epitome of stubbornness. He's not perfect, that's for sure, but he's so absolutely focused on being good to Dream. There are little acts of service that he insists on performing: getting Dream a fancy coffee every day. Flowers every other week. He always has an idea for their next date. He always wants to hold Dream’s hand in public. Dream doesn't know what to do with all the attention. He's still waiting for Hob to turn around and laugh in his face, to tell him that it was all a joke.

But. Every time Hob does something unnecessarily nice for him. Dream’s fear shrinks a little bit. And he gradually starts to believe that each gesture really does come from Hob’s heart.

And no, Hob doesn't always get it right, but he did listen when Dream told him about his exes. So when they get in fights, as all couples do, Hob is careful not to raise his voice. He always takes his anger away from wherever Dream is. He doesn't ice Dream out or punish him with silence, but he does take time to cool off. The very first time, Dream thinks that Hob is never coming back. But he does. Of course he does. He comes back with Dream’s favourite chocolate and an apology, and although Dream bursts into tears... its because he actually feels safe. Its a good feeling.

And the best thing that Hob does is just... being there. Always. With cuddles and kisses and touches and that thing where he nuzzles his face into Dream’s neck and sniffs him... always showing his love, one way or another. One day soon, Dream really will have no choice but to believe him <3

[ashestoashes7]

8. “Who did this to you?” with neil and aaron? 💜

who did this to you? - ao3 version

Aaron had a hand-shaped bruise wrapped around his wrist. Neil shouldn't be the one asking hard questions.

cw: implied/referenced child abuse

Aaron Minyard was no stranger to bruises. Being a backliner on a Class 1 Exy team known for their willingness to fight opponents and each other meant an errant elbow was never a surprise, but this particular circumstance hadn’t happened in a while.

The purple wrapping around his wrist wasn’t the result of a particularly unruly stick check or a pair of handcuffs, but he wished it was. If either was the case, the probability of Andrew seeking an early morning murder charge would be lower. Probably.

Aaron tilted his arm to catch the bright area of the broken streetlight and made out the shape of the warped handprint encircling his wrist. Familiar, he thought. And then, Andrew can never know.

It wasn’t that big of a deal. The other student-athletes at Palmetto had never been their biggest fans and this wasn’t the first time Aaron had a less-than-pleasant interaction with one of them. This was just the first time they got physical. First didn’t mean last, but Aaron could hope.

The knuckles on his other hand were swollen from his retaliation, but that wouldn’t be enough for Andrew. Whatever ‘some number of strikes and you’re out’ policy PSU was operating on wouldn’t be good forever. Aaron had yet to get ahold of the most recently revised version, but he doubted Andrew’s response would be by the book.

Andrew didn’t take kindly to hands being laid on Aaron and had never been known for his subtlety. His warnings were broken bones or a blade spilling rivulets of red onto his adversary’s shirt. While effective, the source of the wounds could easily be pointed out and punished which was the very circumstance Aaron was trying to avoid. Andrew didn’t do subtle things and Aaron wasn’t willing to lose him over something like this. Not again.

Besides, he had it handled. Matt had been more than willing to show him a few self-defense moves when he expressed interest, and Aaron was a quick study. Darius’s broken nose would be evidence of Matt’s successful stint as a teacher once he gathered up the courage and the excuses to get it checked out.

Though upon first glance the mark was similar, the imprint wrapped around the skin of his wrist was nothing like his mother’s. Her hand was smaller.

He pressed down lightly and winced at the dull ache that arose. It wouldn’t be enjoyable to deal with, but no one would ever have to know. Despite what most of the Foxes would say if asked, Aaron was a good secret keeper when he wanted to be. Aaron had cared about Katelyn too much to do her the disservice of pushing her aside harshly enough that there was no chance Andrew would know of her. But Andrew found out and eventually their deal snapped like the broken ends of a pencil Andrew tossed at his head while studying.

Sometimes, he wondered if in a world where Aaron had not broken it first Andrew's shadow would have been the final piece to shatter their deal. After a longer than usual period of watching the natural light of Betsy’s room rather than catch physical proof of his twin’s ephemeral dissatisfaction, he had almost asked Andrew that very question—Aaron or Neil—but he didn’t want to know the answer.

Andrew might not hate Josten the way his tone around such words would imply, but Aaron could do it for him. Mutual loathing was their preferred and silently agreed upon situation which was why when Josten trailed out in full running gear Aaron didn’t spare him more than a glance.

What a shame Josten couldn’t say the same.

Josten didn’t speak at first, but his worn-in shoes came to a halt only a few feet from the piece of pavement Aaron was directing his gaze at. The cracks and scuff marks could only hold his attention for so long before Josten’s lack of movement edged him even closer to intolerable than usual.

“Go away,” Aaron said, too exhausted to come up with something more poignant.

A shadow fell over his sitting form. When Aaron moved to place his hands behind his back to force himself up, Josten caught his wrist gently. His thumb traced over the marks distinctly shaped like fingers and something dangerous lay beneath his tone. “Who did this to you?”

“Wrong twin,” Aaron critiqued, pulling his arm free with more force than necessary.

“Aaron,” Josten stated, unimpressed. “What happened?”

Aaron stood up and met Josten’s emotionless blue eyes with an entirely warranted mound of surprise. “Like you care.”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.” Josten tapped his foot on the ground as if he had the right to be impatient. By all means Josten could continue ahead and never speak to him again. Aaron would be immensely grateful, had even suggested the option many times to his face and whatever messenger pigeon came bearing Josten’s words. Aaron wasn’t blocking his path or magically removing his ability to run but upon hearing that Josten just frowned. “Give me a name.”

Aaron rolled his eyes and laughed humorlessly. “What? So you can kill him?”

“Him,” Josten repeated, eyes still locked in a one-sided staring battle with Aaron’s wrist.

A Palmetto Fox midnight conversation was never predictable, but Aaron had somehow managed to forget that when dealing with Neil ‘son of a mobster’ Josten murder was very firmly not off the table. “You can’t just kill people!”

Josten looked at him like he was stupid and asked, with genuine intrigue, “What does it matter if I don’t get caught?”

Aaron considered him for a long moment, a thousand words shuffling across his tongue, but couldn’t find anything to appropriately convey his incredulity. It was almost sweet in a morbid sort of way. The presence of such a despicable thought told Aaron the past week spent surviving off almost only energy drinks and whatever protein-filled monstrosity Kevin shoved in his hands once his taste buds had fucked off was truly screwing with him. He could deal with that later. Josten was a much more present and bloodthirsty issue.

“I have it handled,” Aaron said. To his immense dissatisfaction, Josten still didn’t leave. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell Andrew you pretended to care if he ever finds out. I’m sure your lies will be appreciated elsewhere. Very far from here. You’ll need some practice if you think that’s fooling anyone.”

Josten’s eyebrows scrunched up making him look almost confused. “You think I’m pretending to care out of some sort of supposed obligation?”

“I can play Exy with a few bruises, no need to have a little freakout. I’m fine—see, that’s what those words actually mean. Andrew currently tolerates you for reasons beyond my comprehension, but he isn’t about to buy you a cheap plastic ring for feigned concern. I’m calling it as I see it, and I don’t want to look at your face any more than I already have to. Fuck off!”

“I’m not pretending.” Josten tilted his head slightly, not rising to Aaron’s attempts at driving him off. “If you let me take care of it, it won’t happen again.”

“What do you mean by again? And cut the movie villain shit it just sounds weird. Wait I thought you were stalking Kevin and he hasn’t bothered—”

“So I’m right.” Josten snapped his fingers and nodded to himself. “Darius Smith. Baseball—” Josten’s face contorted like he had encountered a bad smell “—pitcher. Six feet even. Brown hair. Green eyes.”

“That’s creepy,” Aaron said, but he didn’t deny it.

Josten started walking off, calculations swirling behind his eyes when Aaron realized the gravity of what Josten was planning out. What he had just inadvertently sent Josten out to do. Could he be charged for conspiracy to commit murder over this? Was this coercion? Josten would probably find some way to talk at least one of them out of chains for the sake of Exy, but would it be Aaron?

This was the moment when he was supposed to call Wymack or campus security or someone who would be inclined and able to stop Andrew’s menace from committing what at the very least would be a minor felony. But Josten already knew who it was and Aaron didn’t really feel like chasing after him.

If Aaron got Josten in containment—knowing the FBI they’d pull some shit like that—Kevin would be a mess and Andrew would be insufferable. Again.

Aaron was the first person Darius had taken a swing at, there was no guarantee he would be the last. He watched Josten walk away and felt the weight of his silence like handcuffs covering up the remains of blood spatter he would never really be able to regret. Next could be Nicky or Andrew or, as the man had threatened before Aaron broke his nose, Katelyn. Josten might just prove himself useful after all.

“No killing!” Aaron called out before the man steadily vanishing into darkness could go out of hearing range.

“Maiming?” Josten shot back, voice loud enough Aaron winced. He couldn’t tell because of a conglomeration of factors that could be summed up to lighting and distance, but the fucker was probably smiling.

“What? Are you planning to give him a stern talking to?” Aaron wasn’t sure which option would be preferable.

Whenever he was given cause for anger—a strange thing to think of in Aaron's favor rather than wielded against him—Josten was vicious. Removing his filter created a different beast entirely. Josten always went for the throat, words or a borrowed blade would strive for the same typically disastrous outcome.

Aaron should be horrified; he didn't know what to think about all the ways in which he wasn't. Violence wasn't endearing, it was a fact.

Josten shrugged emphatically enough that Aaron could see it. Then, he held up his hand in the air. It took a few moments for Aaron to realize his fingers were crossed. “No promises!”

“Asshole,” Aaron murmured under his breath.

He was thankful there was no one around to make the egregious and mistaken claim that he sounded almost fond. Aaron said Josten’s name again, drenched it in as much loathing as he could muster, and then let it vanish into the night air.

It wouldn’t be the first time Josten proved himself a liar.

The next morning, Darius Smith was not in his Hal seat or mingling around about the edges of the room. He wasn’t in the hallway or lurking within a doorway. Darius Smith was abruptly gone, and Aaron knew why.

It seemed the most prolific of liars could dabble in honesty once in a while for unpredictability’s sake. That was the only reason Aaron dared to consider.

When the professor landed on ‘Darius Smith’ in the attendance record Aaron didn’t say a word. The clock ticked on closer to the start time, and no familiar flower awaited him through the small windowpane placed in the entrance. His suspicions were confirmed when moments before the bell the empty seat in his physical chemistry class was filled by a redhead who had vehemently sworn off any iteration of the subject.

Neil met Aaron’s eyes immediately and with an intensity that wouldn’t be out of place speckled in blood. He drew a finger across his neck slowly and took enjoyment in Aaron’s brief hesitancy to return his enthusiasm

Andrew didn’t have taste by any means, but perhaps Neil wasn’t the worst person he could have chosen. Second worst, perhaps.

No, that was too generous. Definitely the worst. Andrew would probably agree with that, and might have even said it in their weird pseudo-flirting that sounded more like threats than foreplay. In Aaron’s voice. Oh f—

Aaron was not going to head down that particular train of thought. That momentary lapse in judgment would never leave the secrecy of his head.

“I hate you,” Aaron reminded them both.

Neil’s eyes lit up like it was the greatest compliment Aaron could have ever offered him. “We should do this more often.”

“No. If I wanted a terminal annoyance, I’d ask Nicky about how Erik finds all of his games. Or Kevin about the Greco-Roman wars.”

“I did that once,” Neil said, mouth downturned in remembrance.

“I know.”

Neil peered at him curiously. “You know, you’re not so bad.”

“Wrong twin,” Aaron reminded him.

Neil’s face turned into a mockup of a glare and he pushed out of his seat sharply, interrupting the lecturer’s chalk etchings with a high-pitched squeal. “Numbers shouldn’t work like that.”

Aaron stuck his foot out so Neil tripped as he moved to shuffle by him. Neil caught himself on the edge of Aaron’s desk and not-so-incidentally tipped over his pencil case.

Neil flipped him off once he reached the doorway in plain view of the rest of the class. Aaron stared pointedly forward until Neil gave up and the wave of whispers commenced.

Aaron would rather jump out of a moving car than call them anything close to friends.

[kal-theravenquing]

Vex calls THIS scrawny???

Either that armour beefed our boy up or a certain elf needs his ass kicked for giving his children body image issues.

(Does feed into my headcanon that Syldor withheld food as a punishment though- Fucking Syldor!)

[junespriince]

mean girl wally era

Wally: there's a thin line between being a genius and being an idiot.

Wally, pointing at Kyle, Bruce, and Slade: and these idiots uses that line like a fucking jump rope.

----

Kon: I think I'm in love with your cousin, any thoughts?

Wally: and prayers, you're gonna need them.

----

Slade: I want nightwing to join me!

Wally: And i want him to have healthy habits and stop trying to die a hero, but we all can't get what we want!

----

Kyle: So I've been thinking-

Wally: oh, that must have been hard, are you okay?

Kyle: fuck you.

----

Dick: Slade you have the right to remain-

Wally: A fuckin loser, ha!

Dick: Flash...

Wally: I told you, I'm not nice baby.

----

Damian: I will stab you for less West!

Wally: okay? and? my sperm donor hit me for less, try a different threat next time short stack.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

thinking about killer gaining more weight in his good ending over the years as he heals and recovers and has more access to consistent food and slowly relearns how to reconnect to his body and understand/care about its needs and the increased dissociation and discomfort as his body changes in st2 and yet some comfort as it becomes more sans-like for st1 and also color being so supportive and loving and just you know, body worship

[userfayz]

⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆ are you there universe?it’s me, tomura ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

a quick wee fic. can be read as canon or au. reader insert x shigaraki. mostly friendship with a swipe of romantic undertones. you and shiggy get vaguely existential while stoned. gender of reader not mentioned.

ao3

drug use, reference to past abuse, reader has a scar . MDNI.

“Do you think we’re terrible people in every universe?”

Tomura takes the blunt from your outstretched hand. The ruddy glow from the tip is the only source of light that night; the clouds obscure the moon and stars from prying eyes. He hums in consideration at your question, eyes searching the darkness for a possible answer.

There’s a short pause before he finally answers.

“Yes.”

“Oh?” You turn to him. He can’t see your face, but the curiosity is evident in your tone. “What makes you say that?”

He shrugs and then hugs his knees to his chest, adjusting his position on the gravely tarmac. “It’s simple, really.” He takes a drag, tips his head back against the wall and closes his eyes, enjoying the thrum travelling throughout his body.

You grab the blunt back. “Care to elaborate, oh illusive one?”

He tilts his head towards where you sit next to him. The heady smell of weed lingers in the air, and he hopes none of the others smell and ask to join this time. He likes it when it’s just you two.

Kind of loves it, actually.

The tip illuminates as you take another puff. It’s shrivelled down into a roach, and you sigh in disgust as you stub it into the ground. “S’all gone.” He can feel your eyes on him in the darkness still waiting for the explanation.

He stretches his legs out again. “Like I said,” he says through a contented yawn. “It’s simple: I like being a terrible person.”

You laugh, but it’s more like a mix between a scoff and a sigh of disappointment. “You don’t like to believe there’s a universe out there that was kind to us?”

He can hear you shuffle in the dark. He doesn’t need to see you to know you’re lifting your hand to the raised, angry scar across your throat.

“I don’t- it’s not that I don’t want there to be a universe that’s kinder,” he justifies. “It’s just that I’m okay with being considered a terrible person.” You say nothing, so he goes on: “I like getting to be a terrible person with a league of equally terrible people.”

And it’s true, really. He’d like a universe where his dad never laid a finger on him and a universe where his mum and his sister still lived and a universe where he never accidentally killed his own fucking dog-

He’d have never met you, though.

There’s another pause as you ruminate on what he says. He can hear the click of your fingers as you tap them against one another - one of your nervous habits.

“You get real sappy when you’re stoned, you know that?” you finally say.

And also kind of horny, he thinks. But he’s not exactly going to say that to you.

You shuffle closer, the scrape of your trainers the only sound puncturing the silence of the night. You’re almost leaning into him. He can smell the cheap shampoo from your hair, and at that moment it might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever smelled in his life.

“Do we get to be terrible together in every universe, then?” You ask, head migrating closer and closer into the crook of his neck.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He can feel you smile against his shoulder. You wrap your arm around his torso, pulling yourself further into his side. The clouds finally relent, flooding the earth once again with the light of the moon and the ocean of stars. Your eyes are heavy, and you use your free hand to stifle a yawn.

“I’m okay with being terrible in every universe if I get to be terrible with you, Shiggy”

He stills, and swallows thickly. You couldn’t mean- it wasn’t like you meant-

Surely it was just the weed talking. He looks down to where you lie on his chest, ready to ask what the hell you meant, but your eyes are pressed shut and your chest heaves as sleep gently pulls you under.

He presses the most brief, chaste kiss to your head where it rests on his chest. He pauses briefly to inhale your scent.

“Fine. In every universe, then,” he sighs into the stars. “In every universe.”

[sleeplessv0id]

I found a journal entry from one I thought had long since been burned. It was from 2020.

Reading it is nothing short of devastating, to say the least. During my abuse, I had nobody to tell it to, but a journal—until one day, I walked in on my aunt reading it. She encouraged the SA I faced daily in that house, so I was punished harshly.

After that, I burned my journals and anything else that had my thoughts and feelings in physical form. It wasn't safe, even on paper.

What hurts the most is that I can still see the awkward child I was shining through the words.

☆

- "I always thought that if I were to start a journal that it'd be on the first day of the new year, and that it'd be about love and how much I love life.

- "but that's not the only problem. I've also been pretty down in the dumps, maybe even depressed. Somedays, I feel like I'm not good enough or interesting enough."

- "but I can't cry! I try and try to cry, so maybe I can let out some emotions. but all I manage to get out is a single tear."

- "and I can't tell any of my friends cause I'm so scared they'll treat me differently. Like a fragile piece of glass that'll shatter with one wrong move."

- "I have also started developing another problem. I've started thinking of myself as chubby. People say it's puberty, but I'm not so sure.. I've started thinking of how many calories I'm consuming, counting them. It makes me want to throw up."

☆

I miss the girl I used to be.

I wanted to have a 'sweet 16' like the girls on TV, like all the other girls—I wanted to grow up. I'll be 17 this year. My family did not celebrate my 16th birthday.

[stellocchia]

I sometimes wonder if, at first, Killer would try to hide his cats from Color out of habit... With them having been in danger for such a long time, even if he trusts Color, wouldn't it take time for him before trusting him with his only real friends?

I bet at first he'd try to hide them in the laundry room. No reason for Color to go in there if Killer takes over that chore entirely. It's warm, full of soft things, and easily guarded. He'd sneak food to them often, and probably would rather skip a few meals himself than let them go hungry. Which, of course, would end up with him eventually collapsing and the cats getting loud when they don't see him for longer than usual. It was never gonna last.

I don't even think that Color would be upset because that was hidden from him. In my mind, he'd be concerned more than anything. He'd maybe look back and try to find out what he could have done to make Killer think he'd ever hurt a pet (because nobody can tell me that guy doesn't have a ton of anxiety, specifically a ton of moral anxiety. He shares a body with the embodiments of Justice and Integrity after all).

And, once Color finds out, would Killer tense up any time they make a noise, worried that there will be repercussions? Would he panic if one of them ever makes a mess? Cats can't help it sometimes. Sooner or later it would happen.

The thought of how scared he must have been even in an environment that should be safe for him and that he logically knows to be safe just saddens me tbh

[theharellan]

Framing the Solas and Mythal as an abusive/manipulative relationship that has defined the whole of Solas's literal existence does make his ability to unwind others from their own toxic belief systems more ironic in a tragic way.

Both in canon, with him addressing the way Iron Bull has had his own perception of himself warped by the Qun, and in my own interpretation with characters like Ian who were harmed by the Chantry. He is capable of seeing it in others but can't (and, I think on some level, refuses to) see how he is subject to that harm himself. I think the reason why is complicated, as it often is for Solas.

It may be, to some extent, a manifestation of his pride; the belief that he couldn't fall victim to it. The despair he would fall into to accept it would play another factor, especially before his duty is fulfilled. While I personally do not think that Solas being manipulated and abused by Mythal changes his own guilt in the crimes they've committed (and I get frustrated by the idea that reframing his agency within the context of it being abusive means it doesn't exist), that he committed for her, I do think he would resist the idea on account of it feeling like he is not taking responsibility for his regrets.

One codex written by Emmrich describes Solas (and the immortal evanuris as a whole) as someone who can regret but not accept. This was in regards to Varric's fate, but I think it's equally true in regard to his past with Mythal. He can regret the things he did with/for her, even brush up against the side of the hurt when Wisdom is bound or when the Inquisitor drinks from the Well, but has not been able to accept it. He tries to outsmart his own trauma as he does his grief and regret, and ends up just circling it for literal millennia.