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fvck-around-find-out · 2 months

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Also, on the subject of these ppl, they are so. Like I don't know how to describe them except for fucking mean. Like our roommate system and our sister's system are fucking mean.

We might be moving altogether to this house in another province. It's not that far from here, but like we've never been there. We've never seen the house.

Lou was talking about potentially going biking around midnight tonight, and one of them (roommate, some of my sysmates are dating members of this roommate's system) was like oh isn't that dangerous?

Which like. It's not. We live in a safe area, and we go out after dark often. They go out after dark occasionally. Before they moved in with us, 90% of the time we were hanging out it was three in the fucking morning. I don't know why they're pretending like it's some strange concept and why they're acting like Lou is being stupid.

But like whatever, moving on.

Later, our sister made a comment about how we wouldn't be about to go out biking at night in the new house, because our roommate's dad said it wasn't the best neighbourhood. Lou said "we'll see."

That's it. "We'll see." Because? We'll literally fucking see. We'll see when we go to the showing what kind of neighbourhood it is. We can look around and ask the showing agent and what the fuck else.

And they literally fucking just started dog piling him, acting like he was stupid. Telling him that it was close to downtown and no he wouldn't he able to go out at night and it's dangerous and whatever.

They stressed him out and upset him so badly by not listening to him and treating him like an idiot that he had to leave the room. One of them started asking if he was annoyed, but he obviously fucking had to say no because if he said yes they'd make it into a big fucking deal. The roommate would get hurt and be like oh no I'm a monster and be all clingy and sad, and the sister would get fucking annoyed back or triggered or whatever.

And he was googling it, saying the area ranked high for walking and bike-ability, and that he couldn't find anything dangerous about the area except that there could be petty crime like vandalism. The wide area, he said, had some drug use and prostitution, but they didn't fucking know that. Lou didn't fucking know that. He literally just said that we would see if going out at night was safe.

And they weren't being nice about it. If they were telling him their concerns that's one thing, but they were cutting him off and being rude and telling him he was wrong when they did not know anything about the location at all. They literally didn't fucking know anything. They just decided that.

They're not fucking safe to express any negative emotion to. They make it entirely about themselves every fucking time. It's so rare they listen, and they literally only listen if Lou is actively crying which is fucking rare, or if he delivers it so calmly and concisely to them like they're fucking children. Or someone in my system tells them off, which we are almost never permissed to do.

And like this isn't even the first time they've done this. It won't be the last.

A couple of months ago, Lou was talking like literally joking about traveling to Mongolia and camping there. Because he'd always been interested in traveling there and there are laws that allow you go settle anywhere. And my fucking god the way it blew up into a full on debate.

They were acting like he was moving to Mongolia the next fucking day. They kept telling him that it was so dangerous there and they'd human-traffic him?? Because he's white???? Like what the actual fuck. They would not understand why he wouldn't just believe blindly that this foreign Asian country was inherently just so fucking dangerous for no reason. Like he literally researched it on the spot and it wasn't any more dangerous than like. The United States. They wouldn't understand why he wouldn't just be like yeah babes youre so right Mongolia is so dangerous and scary ill never go there. Because that felt fucking needlessly racist to him. They even brought up the fact that Mongolia has a history of colonialism, like that's even fucking remotely relevant and like we are not living in a fucking country that's colonialist and loves fucking genocide.

And he doesn't want to bring it up because theyre not going to fucking listen to him! Mark my fucking words, they're going to pretend it's about being worried for his safety. It's not about our safety. We are not going to fucking Mongolia, we are 22 and poor and disabled and living in fucking Canada. We are not walking our bike out the door of our new house at 3 am as we speak.

Choosing to be fucking awful to your friend/partner/boyfriend or brother over a distant fucking HYPOTHETICAL that was not even brought up in a serious, considering manner, is not something that happens out of fear for someone's safety. It happens when you want to be right. This was about their want to be right, and for Lou to be wrong. There's no other way to look at it.

And when your want to be right comes before your want to be kind, then you've made a fucking mistake and I don't want you around us.

#vent #long #personal #the roommate can see these posts and to be frank i dont fucking care #human trafficking mention

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aspenforest732 · 8 months

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Bello Licentiae Chapter 15: Stake-arts

Summary:

tw: trauma, ptsd, flashback, exploitation, drugs, suicide mention, child abuse mentions, brainwashing, abuse, quirk elitism, human trafficking mention, housing insecurity 'text' JSL Text thoughts

Akira jolted awake in a cold sweat, shaking as they took in the unfamiliar but distinct patterns of Mina's room. They pulled their Bastard plushie tighter to their chest and let the weighted blanket and softness of the plush ease their racing heart as phantom burning vibrations wracked their body. I'm at U.A. I'm in Mina's room. We were having a sleepover. He isn't here, Akira repeated until their breathing eventually evened out.

Akira silently slipped out of the room around the tangle of bodies and decided on crutches while getting ready for the day. Checking their phone, they caught a message from Fat Gum confirming night shift to do a stakeout with Mouse and Ghost, one of the former vigilantes he basically adopted. Out of the Mad Banquet, only Hitoshi and Shoto were attending class that morning, and Aizawa made note of who would need to makeup quizzes.

In English, Yamada reminded everyone to turn in their paper topics by Monday so he could look over them. Akira wasn't entirely sure if forced quirk manifestation methods and their long-term effects was school-appropriate, but they had a solid backup of the Greek pantheon's evolution. They thought about the Roman pantheon, but due to the empire's spread and absorption of other religions, it was far too broad a topic.

In Art History, Kayama asked the class to find an art style that they connected to over the weekend and have a one-minute presentation ready for Monday – or Tuesday for those who wouldn't be in class. Since they were hero students, Kayama often tied what they were learning into methods of expressing themselves and used a wide variety of styles to show that being different can be a huge asset. Akira couldn't help but think of the R-rated hero's first costume and how it forced the commission to place regulations protecting feminine heroes from exploitive costumers.

That night, Mortis met with Mouse and Ghost before heading out. "Alright, Umbra Mortis, Ghost. Ghost, Umbra Mortis. Since both of you are new to this – don't give me that look, Ghost – I'm going to go over some ground rules," Mouse started. "We'll be setting up for an all-nighter in a building down the street from the Shie Hassaiki compound. If we're spotted, the whole mission could fail, so stealth and deception are above everything except safety. If we get separated for whatever reason, make sure you don't have a tail before you head back to the agency. If you need backup, tap this twice." Mouse handed each a dark-banded watch. "These have built-in trackers and will ping the agency network to let us know to send help. If no one confirms in fifteen seconds, it opens a request for covert assistance in the Hero Network. Any questions so far?"

Mortis shook their head and looked up at Ghost, who just seemed bored. After a pointed look from Mouse, he rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Great! We're tracking all activity in and out of the compound but put a mark next to an entry if something seems different. Behavior, body language, who they're with, anything. We're not going to follow them, just make note of what we can while they're in line of sight. Backup night shift will be following through with any breaks from the norm."

The trio set out for the compound, silently moving along the rooftops while the city started to slow under the lamplight. Mouse was in faer stealth costume of more muted greys and blacks with thin blue streaks. Mortis had never seen Ghost's costume before, fairly simple black body armor with red stylized bat accents that looked similar to a pre-quirk comic character. Minus the red helmet, of course. That would stick out like a sore thumb, .

The day shift's observation hadn't turned up anything unusual other than identifying a few of the new drug dealers coming in and out of the compound. Once the trio finished setting up with coffee, snacks, and journals, Mortis wordlessly moved to the high point in the hollowed-out building, easily warping into the shadowy area in the rafters to conceal the sudden appearance and waiting a minute before shifting into the light enough for communication as needed.

"What're you doing up there?" Mouse asked, tilting faer head to look up at them.

' Getting another perspective, ' Mortis easily replied. ' Higher is better for observation. '

Mouse chuckled as Ghost peered up at them, eyes narrowed. "Did the infamous gargoyle Eraser teach you that?"

Mortis snorted but shook their head, ' No, not that there's anything wrong with gargoyling. '

They spent the time mostly listening to Mouse's stories about hero work, pausing whenever they spotted movement around the compound. Eventually, they circled around to U.A., and Mouse mentioned fae attended. "Yeah, I would've been stuck in Gen Ed but figured out I could chew through the robots' wires in mouse form. I heard they've still got that archaic system, so how'd you get in without a combat quirk, Mortis?"

' Mostly rescue points, but I did take down a few once there was shrapnel around to get into their control panels. Just a matter of pulling or slicing at wires from there, ' Mortis shrugged. ' How'd you not get electrocuted? Those robots pack a punch when you don't pull the right ones first. '

"Eh, Recovery Girl had me covered," Mouse grinned.

Ghost muttered something under his breath about hero students, making Mouse laugh. He glowered at faer, "I've got a regeneration quirk, you people have no excuse."

Mortis cocked their head. ' How does your quirk work if you don't mind? I remember hearing it's a bit unusual. '

Ghost snorted derisively and crossed his arms. "You could say that. I can regenerate from anything I've run into so far, but I have to die for it to activate." Mouse winced, and Mortis simply nodded. After a moment, Ghost muttered just loudly enough for them to hear, "Most people ask how I found out."

' Most people don't wear Primordial ,' they shot back. His eyes widened and darted to their shoes, to which Mortis huffed. ' Size up for street, custom like yours for costume. ' The only documented quirks with the initial activation of death were the result of forced quirk manifestation, so they didn't bother sugar-coating it.

The night shift passed much as the day had with only a few people to watch for and inform the day shift of. The trio trudged into breakfast, even the usually energetic Mouse feeling the effects of sleep deprivation. Mortis loaded plates with their usual at the agency even as their stiff legs protested from extended use. They slipped into a seat at Fat Gum's table with a small wave to the boisterous hero.

"Mortis! How was your first stakeout?" Fat Gum grinned. "Did Mouse talk your ear off? I hope Ghost didn't chase you off."

' Technically not my first stakeout, ' Mortis shrugged, robotically starting to eat. After a moment, they straightened a bit at the mild concern creeping onto the heroes' faces. ' They were fine. We didn't find much, just a few more faces to watch for. '

"Progress is still progress, kid," Fat Gum's grin diminished slightly. "Are you alright?"

Mortis looked up then in confusion. ' I'm fine, just tired. Why?... ' It clicked and Akira let themself relax as they switched masks. ' Sorry, forgot to switch modes. '

Akira spent most of breakfast just listening to the heroes talk, focused on making sure they ate enough to stay on track before they crashed. This is going to be a long weekend , Akira mused as they settled into one of the guest rooms. A part of themself they rarely listened to protested at the name, but they pushed it down. Resolutely ignoring the small touches that made it more comfortable than during their internship.

Akira tiredly tapped the door frame with a crutch before walking into their crowded living room. ' I'm making tea. Anyone want some? '

"Tea would be lovely, my apologies," Kurogiri said and started to stand.

"You deserve a break, please," Magne reached out a placating hand. Akira watched them curiously as the League seemed to be more antsy than usual. "We were discussing what to do with that monster, Overhaul," she spat.

' I take it you know about his daughter then? ' Akira asked.

"She's his daughter ?" Spinner hissed.

Akira wavered a moment, thinking over the briefing. ' Technically we're not sure of their relation, but that's at least the story he's going with. ' Akira briefly explained their theory on how the drug is being made, occasionally glancing at Shigaraki's odd expression. It was some kind of mix between confusion, disgust, and something they couldn't quite place. Which was especially unnerving since he was usually an open book.

Mr. Compress took off his mask and rubbed his eyes while Spinner seethed on the couch. When Akira brought the kettle and cups over, Mr. Compress spoke up, "It seems the heroes are interested in removing the girl as we are. Since we have the advantage of people inside the yakuza, it would be advantageous to work together."

Akira's eyebrows shot up as the tray clattered the short distance to the table. They quickly righted the tilting kettle before taking a breath and sitting closest to Kurogiri on the couch. ' It would not be with the knowledge of most of the heroes, but if you reach out through a neutral party, Eraser Head or Fat Gum would be your best bet. '

"Why would we trust them?" Spinner sneered, glaring at Akira.

Steeling themself, Akira calmly explained, ' Calamity already has high opinions of Eraser Head. I can vouch for both of their morals and willingness to work with who it takes to achieve good. Both work with vigilantes, gangs, and on the extremely rare occasion, villains. '

"If we need to be stealthy about this around the heroes, Twice would be our best option," Magne offered, easing some of the tension as Twice looked up from a rubix cube.

"We'll do what it takes to get her out," Twice said with a nearly calm voice, undercurrents of anger clawing their way to hint at the surface. "We can't let her lose herself," he snapped as the anger boiled through.

"I've worked with Eraser Head before," Dabi added, eyes distant but hard. "I'll reach out through our mutual and should have a meeting by tomorrow."

The League turned to Shigaraki, whose fiddling had frozen. After a moment, he finally noticed and glared at them, "What?"

' You're the boss, are you on board? ' Akira asked, searching his expression.

"What he's doing to her isn't normal," he said slowly. After a moment, Akira's brows shot up as they realized it was more of a question. Looking to Magne, she seemed to have the same realization, which explained why Kurogiri stayed quiet. He scowled and bit out, "Yeah, you can team up to grief them. Just don't get yourselves killed."

Akira looked questioningly to Kurogiri, noticing while the others started hashing out details that his mist was fluctuating again, albeit more subtly than before. They shifted closer to the nomu, who briefly met their eyes and seemed to settle somewhat. Akira subtly angled themself so the others would have a harder time watching and asked, ' Are you okay? '

Kurogiri pointedly looked at Shigaraki but didn't say anything. Akira gave them a searching look before sighing and turning back to the group. They did a double take as they realized Shigaraki's shoes weren't just red. As they got ready to leave, Akira stopped Kurogiri. ' Can I speak with you a moment after you warp them? ' He glanced to Shigaraki before nodding.

Akira gestured for him to sit while they poured another cup. ' Remember how I said I'd look into your base? '

The yellow eyes narrowed slightly before Kurogiri responded, "Yes."

' I'm almost certain I found him, Oboro Shirakumo, ' Akira gently signed. ' I saw glimpses of him when we officially met, and his quirk lines up with the others that comprise Warp Gate. ' Kurogiri tensed slightly but said nothing, his mist stable. After a long moment, Akira hesitantly asked, ' I don't know what's going on with you, but is Oboro still in there? '

"I need to go," Kurogiri abruptly stood and warped away.

"That went well," Dabi snarked and caught a throw pillow.

Akira rolled their eyes, ' Like you had a better idea. He deserved to know. I need to put a presentation together for Monday so am heading to Claws of Coffee for a couple hours. '

"Fancy," Dabi smirked, earning an elbow to the side.

Akira grabbed their backpack, hesitating a moment before shaking their head and dumping out what they didn't need onto the coffee table. ' Just don't spill anything on my textbooks while I'm out. ' The small cat café had a student discount and someone – they were pretty sure Aizawa – had set up a tab to charge the first hour for any U.A. student. The Wi-Fi was free and the cats friendly, so Akira curled up with a mug of hot chocolate and a three-legged tabby on their lap while fending off a couple others from their drink.

Kintsugi, the art of filling cracks in pottery with metal-dusted lacquer, had instantly appealed to them when Kayama went over it the previous week. The idea of recognizing trauma as a fundamental part of yourself and accepting it to the point of showcasing it seemed a distant future, but one that Akira could appreciate.

On Monday, Aizawa passed homework back with a note for a lunch meeting in his office. Akira quirked a brow at the delivery method but easily slipped back into reviewing their notes for the presentation. Glancing at Fumikage's, a small smile slipped onto their face at the gothic art. The only surprise in art styles people presented was Todoroki, who talked about ice sculptures in the age of quirks. He even created a small, somewhat detailed cat as an example to Kayama's delight.

Akira slipped into Aizawa's office with their bento box, mildly surprised to see Yamada already there. Their gaze flicked to him curiously as they sat in what had become their usual comfy chair.

"I don't want to intrude on your meeting much," Yamada smiled softly, not quite reaching his eyes. "I was just a little worried about your topic, you know?" Curiosity piqued, Akira gestured for him to continue. "FQM is a dark topic, and not many people know about it in the first place. Are you sure you'll be okay researching and writing about it?"

Akira nodded firmly, pushing down the knot of anxiety that started to form. ' It's something I know a lot about, and a couple people have already offered to do interviews under aliases. I'll be fine. '

"Okay, I'll leave you two it then," Yamada lightly brushed Aizawa's fingers with his own as he headed out.

"There are two things I want to discuss with you today," Aizawa started, pulling a file out of his desk. "Academically, we're starting espionage training this week." Akira perked up, mind already racing with possibilities. "There will be teams of four students trailing another student. Each squad's goal is to intercept or capture evidence of as many information passes their target makes as possible. The fifth's goal is to make as many information passes to their teacher 'contact' by the end of the week. Friday we'll review how everyone did, and next week we'll rotate and start doing shorter exercises. Would you be more comfortable starting with a squad or against one?"

My quirk is well-suited for either, giving my pair or my squad an edge against the others , Akira pondered. It would be easier, though, for people not to be aware of my tricks if I start solo . After a moment more of consideration, they nodded, ' I'd be fine with either, but starting with a squad would provide a good challenge for the second phase. '

"I thought you might pick that. I already gave Kirishima and Tokoyami their packets, and the rest of class will get them later today," Aizawa grinned slightly and made a note in the file and handed it over. He turned more serious as he put the file back, however. "Good choice going through a broker in case of follow-up. I'm not sure if Dabi told you, but we plan for Koda to smuggle a spider in with Dabi to get confirmation of Eri's location."

' He didn't say, but that sounds good, ' Akira nodded along. They frowned as they recalled Saturday. ' I'm concerned about Calamity. He was already showing a couple red flags for abuse, and he seemed confused that what Overhaul is doing to Eri isn't normal. '

Aizawa stiffened minutely, staring at his desk before carefully asking, "Do you think Oboro..."

Akira hesitantly shook their head, separating their teeth from their lip with their tongue when they noticed the pressure turned into needle-like discomfort. ' No, we don't think so at least. While Calamity grew up, though, Loud Cloud would've been trying to survive, too. If he wasn't forced to be an active participant, he probably had to watch or at least take care of the kid in the aftermath. ' They hesitated, knowing what they could share would normally get them thrown out of Quirkless communities.

If Shigaraki was young enough, he might not even remember before, Akira reasoned with themself. Pressing their mouth into a thin line, they looked back to Aizawa, whose gaze had morphed into concern. 'I also have reason to believe Calamity was Quirkless and was either given a quirk or underwent FQM.'

"You did confirm All for One's use of traffickers," Aizawa murmured, eyes darkening. "Midoriya recently shared that Tomura's last name was originally Tenko as the grandson of the seventh holder of One for All."

Akira hissed in a breath. ' That would explain it. And All for One's wording on his offers. ' At Aizawa's concerned brow raise, Akira continued, ' He said my presence would be a blemish on hero society, like Calamity. ' Checking the time, Akira stood to head out but paused at the door. ' I think I'm ready to bring Loud Cockatoo into this if you're both fine with it. '

Aizawa's gaze softened as he smiled slightly. "Zashi's been hoping he's read your cues correctly. Would you like to be there or do you want me to fill him in?"

' I'll be there, ' Akira signed before their nerves could lead them otherwise. ' I do want you there, too. '

"Always."

After picking up Kirishima, the pair headed to the train station. Akira nodded slightly in appreciation as they picked up on his more alert posture. It wasn't to the degree they could slack off, but Akira at least didn't have to worry about him missing obvious threats. They spent the train ride reviewing their espionage packets, comparing their targets and teams. Akira, Aoyama, Ojiro, and Hitoshi would be facing Shoji while Kirishima, Sato, Fumikage, and Yaoyorozu would be facing Ida. The solo students didn't have their teacher contact listed, and the teams would get extra credit if they identified the teacher-student pairings.

"I get some are going into underground and twilight heroics, but why do all of us need to learn this?" Kirishima mused as they went over the basic tailing formation diagrams. While they would go over them in class, each student had a visual representation for those who needed it and for memory.

' Not everyone has decided yet, ' Akira shook their head in amusement. ' And it's still a valuable skill for limelights. Especially if you want to do any work with underground heroes. You can go through intelligence heroes, but you need to at least know how to identify tails and move stealthily in order to have lines open. '

Kirishima startled a bit, curiosity shining brightly in his eyes. "Really? I thought underground was mostly avoiding media and taking night shifts."

Akira laughed at that, staring in disbelief at the redhead. ' No, not at all. It's a very different set of villains, and anyone undergrounds are close to are at higher risk. Daylight villains mostly won't go after family and friends, but underground the stakes rise exponentially. Undergrounds mostly avoid limelights because they don't care enough and/or don't have the training to operate in our sphere. '

"How do you know so much about this stuff anyways?" Kirishima mused after some time.

Subtly checking for anyone listening or watching, Akira was grateful the attention had dropped off for the most part. ' My living situation was... unstable before the first round of internships. I learned how to notice and lose tails and how to follow people without being noticed. I didn't have the proper names like this, but I got the general gist. '

Notes:

Since I haven't written any of this out in my head, I've been doing little outlines for each chapter, and they're getting thiccc lol generally, I try to think up the action scenes ahead of time to get a feel for what big points I want to hit, but the raid arc is kinda hard to do that with... I am shortening the timeline on it a bit since I have a bit more to play with after the raid Ghost's quirk is based on Help Me Leave Behind Some (Reasons to Be Missed) by intheeveningsunrise I have a fun (at least for me) thing planned for the next phase of heroics :D I can finally put my skills from Strategic Intelligence Society to use! Could I have used it in the trafficking arc? ...maybe? But they were intentionally trying to keep Akira removed from the situation, so it was a tossup. Me: ooo I'll take inspiration from vigilante izuku fics Also me: picks the darkest regen fic I've read Ghost: ...I didn't even have a name before this! Me: eeeh technically none of the sidekicks do outside of hero names Horikoshi: the red shoes are literally just a visual parallel Me: shhh let me have fun

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just-antithings · 7 months

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this was about an ice cream machine btw

He was talking to a Japanese person very """calmly""" and definitely not racist

#mod erin #ask #just asshole things #human trafficking mention #image #racism #food mention

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deadsetobsessions · 8 months

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Spider in Gotham AU- Pt.2

[Pt.1]

Peter’s no stranger to memories that comes as nightmares. There’s something different to them, the taste of terror that’s tinged with a feeling of “that’s happened.”

Flashes of Aunt May, dying as he stood next to her while choosing the city over her? Old hat. Inky darkness surrounding MJ falling as Peter reached for her, over and over again? Been there, seen that, didn’t even get a sick scar out of it. Racing against the clock to defeat some bad guy or an unknown threat? That’s his Thursday.

But this?

This isn’t his. It’s real, Peter could tell that much. Sure, it’s wrapped up in silk hisses and heart crushing terror, but Peter could always tell whether a nightmare was a nightmare or whether it was a memory.

This was a memory. Not his. His. It’s complicated.

“Your father, papito, he-,”

Then, it’d be the ruffle of his hair, brown eyes. It reminded him of his mom. But the crease of these eyes were different. Hardened, mean. Even towards him.

“Well, he said no, but I knew what he really wanted.”

The base of Peter’s neck always crawled when he remembered that line. His spider-sense warned him that whatever he’s remembering, he would not like.

“Ey, Peter.”

“Huh?” Peter blinked, looking up from where his arms were elbow deep in wires.

“Don’cha need gloves with that?” Frank asked, munching on some jerky. They were sitting in the living room, repairing a TV and a washer Frank had somehow managed to lug back to the apartment. It’s a toss up between Frank’s network of orphans (Peter included), street rats (these things are not mutually inclusive), or his own slightly higher than average strength. Not that they needed to thrift broken things, considering Peter’s funneling money from offshore bank accounts belonging to this America’s 1%. They just made it so easy! He and Ned had been hacking into government bases in middle school back on his world. This world? Not even a challenge. Regardless, this was kind of like… Frank’s version of those fancy sensory boxes for Peter.

“Oh, no. It’s not plugged in, see?”

“How’re ya gunna know it works then?”

“Plug it in after I’m done. Turn it off and on, you know?”

Frank stared at him, then rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

“If you burn down that portion of the house, at least we’ll be warm for a bit.”

“Thanks. Your confidence in me is astounding.”

“You talk like an old man.”

“I do not! Excuse you! If I’m old, you’re the expired knock off cup ramen in the back of a convenience store!”

“Yo, shrimpy, that’s rude, ya hear?” Frank snickered, impressed at the quip. The Alley kid turned brother stood up to plop next to Peter.

“So… you gonna go…?” Frank made a whooshing sound and held his hand in a web shooter position.

“Tonight? Prolly. Anything I should look out for?”

“You’re gunna get yourself killed, but yeah, heard the gang’s back up north.”

Peter flashed a smile, dimples coming out. “I’ll try not to. Thanks, Frank.”

“Anytime, Spidey.”

Frank, though little (to Peter), was a good friend. Then again, considering Peter saved his ass both in mask and out of it, it’s to be expected. One would think that after eight years of hiding his identity, Peter would be better at it. Then, he got punted into a different world and got made by a child.

To be fair, the circumstances all but screamed Parker Luck, so Peter’s not counting this instance.

See, the first few days of this sudden cohabitation, Peter had asked Frank to find them furniture. Both because he was getting real sick of eating on the floor and because Peter needed to fix his suit to match his much younger body. Then, once he readjusted the shrinking nanotech and the spider legs to fit him in a way that wouldn’t break him, Peter had promptly swung out of the building and went patrolling. He stuck with the wandering Frank, taking out muggers and robbers and everything in between and past that around the area where Frank is.

Looking back, Peter realized how lucky he was when he decided to go on the “helping joyride” at the beginning of the evening. His spider-sense activated way later in the night, the moment where he began seeing and sensing the cameras that kept pointing towards him. He ducked and dodged out of the way, and eventually, the feeling left. Somebody was watching. And he doesn’t know where they stood on the moral side of things.

Anyways, it happened after three weeks and a half of going out and just… settling into life in Gotham. He had already been struggling to find a way home, scouring the libraries around Gotham on any subject that would aid in his multiversal travel. Peter would like to know which emo kid named this city.

Eventually, Parker Luck decided to strike once more.

“Get back, freak!” The lady brandished a wicked knife.

Talk about deja vu.

“Oh no! Knives! My greatest weakness!” Spider-Man yelled, sticking to the shadowed windows as he let his voice echo in the alley. Gotham had a lot of nice hiding places. Spider-man dropped down on her head like a bat out of hell and webbed the knife out of her hands. He webbed the mugger up onto the alleyway above normal reach, and told the man to call the police.

Frank screamed, just as Spider-man wrapped it up, loud enough to reach his enhanced hearing.

“Wait-!” The man tried to stop him, but Peter, small, trained, and having readjusted his reach, slipped away.

“What’s your name?!” The guy he saved yelled at his back.

Spider-man, distracted, yelled back, “SPIDEY!”

He shot webs upwards and used them to slingshot his way towards where Frank was. And… car! Peter used his webs to swing up, up, and let himself fall to gain momentum. At the last moment, Peter shot a web to the top of the car and pulled himself to it.

Shit, shit, shit. He’s stupidly attached to the kid, and he was stupid enough to let Frank go out into Gotham looking both well-fed and well clothed.

The world slowed as he locked eyes with a terrified Frank, who was getting dragged into a car.

The world narrowed to speed and Spider-Man landed on top of the car roof, sweeping his leg out and thankfully remembering his much shorter reach. His foot collided with the kidnapper’s face with the equivalent force of a grown up, slightly annoyed Peter Parker who’s letting his strength go a bit unchecked. Basically, they went flying, blood spewing out of the undoubtedly broken nose Spider-Man had just given them.

Standing on business, the shorter webster promptly flipped down wards as he all but glued the would-be kidnapper to the curb.

“You alright?”

“You’re- You’re that new mask.” Frank whispered, scuttling away from the car where he’d been dropped.

“Yeah, man. You okay?” His voice modulator came in clutch.

“Fuck. Fuck, I gotta-” Frank stumbled. The kid looked like he was one bad break away from snapping. Peter hated it when kids got that terrified look on their faces, it reminded him of himself, helpless as Ben bled out because they should never have to fear something that much.

Something’s wrong, though. As much as Peter wished otherwise, Frank was a Gotham bred and true alley kid, through and through. These kids don’t spook easily. Peter already stopped a couple of kidnappings and at least two of the kids had yelled at him to stay out of the way before unloading a rain of nut kicks on their kidnappers that left Peter wincing for days in sympathy. Frank being this spooked? Something’s going on.

“Woah, easy there, I’m not gonna hurt you,”

Frank shot him a half hysterical, half condescending look. Yeah, that’s more like it.

“Ob-obviously. I have to go before more of them comes,” Frank muttered.

“More of them? You know what they want?”

Frank stared at him, looking up and down at his blue, red, and gold ensemble.

“I can help,” Peter promised.

“What’re your thoughts on metas?”

Suspicious.

“Uh, they’re fine? Depends on the person, why?”

Frank sighed. The skinny teenager, barely 14, tugged at his hair. “They’re traffickers. Meta kids, mostly, so the Bats don’t do nothing. I- uh, I got caught.” He held up a thin wrist, showing Peter his new accessorie, a think metal bracelet that was beeping red.

Peter cursed in his head. Fuck, of course he’d stumble into a-

“Caught? You’re a meta?”

Frank nodded. “Strength. This is an inhibitor, illegal kind, you know?”

Well, that explained how he got all of those furniture without struggle.

“Right. Hey, don’t stress, kid, I’m a meta too.”

Frank blinked.

“What?”

Peter walked up the side of the car and did jazz hands.

“You’re a meta?! But- but you’re a mask operating in Gotham!”

“Yeah…? Is that weird?”

Before Frank could reply, Peter’s sense screamed and Spider-Man shoved Frank away from the spray of bullets.

“Move, Frank!”

Peter flipped away, vaguely aware of Frank’s gaping realization. He took down the shooters in quick succession, stopping the speeding car with his bare hands and some webs.

“Shooters, no shooting!” He yelled, liberally applying force he tended to keep under wraps. Frank was like a brother to him, and there is no universe where Peter Parker would hold back when his family was in danger.

When he got back to Frank, who had oddly stayed instead of running, Peter found out why the kid stayed.

“Peter?!” Frank hissed lowly, looking more pissed off than terrified. “Are you fucking insane?! Why are you running ‘round as a mask?!”

“Shhh!” Shit, he got made. “Come on, get back to the apartment and we can talk there. I’ll get rid of this-”

Peter casually snapped the bracelet in half, tearing the tracker out, and tucked it away to study later.

“Fuckin’- shit, fine, but you’re explaining everything, motherfucker!”

They split, Peter guessing correctly that he was in another lecture of a lifetime.

——

“Your vigilante name is Spiderman?”

“Hey, I can hear you say it without the hyphen! There’s a hyphen in there!”

“You’re not a man! You’re a twerp!”

“I’ll show you twerp, you-”

Five minutes of tussling later, in which Peter did not try to bite Frank’s arm off, thank you very much, Frank leaned back on the couch.

“Besides. People in the streets are calling you Spidey, anyways.”

“Spidey?”

“Some dude you saved from a mugging said you told him.”

Peter slammed his head on the floor where he was laying face down.

“Ughhhh.”

——

“He could have been great. I saw his potential.”

Anger. But he shouldn’t be afraid. The woman loved him.

“Hey, Peter. You’re up here again.”

“Hi.” Peter stayed curled up. His mind had refused him sleep for the last three nights, causing dark circles to appear underneath his eyes. The memories of what he assumed to be this world’s Peter was merging with his. What he’d seen so far did not fill him with confidence of a happy childhood. Flashes of wielding weapons, the sterile smell of a metal dissection table, and hundreds and hundreds of spiders crawling over him, getting startled into biting down. Plus, the stress of tracking down the meta trafficking circles in Gotham was no joke. He doesn’t know Gotham nearly as well as he knew New York, and he had to be extra careful running around and trying to catch every bit of the circle before making any moves. Frank was helping with his network of homeless Meta kids, but the traffickers were everywhere except for Crime Alley.

He should be dead. They sold his body to an organ harvester who dumped his venom filled corpse on the side of Gotham. At least he didn’t have to worry about killing his alternate version.

“Everything all right?” Red Robin clambered down to sit next to him, cowl hiding the concerned scrunch of his brow. He’s never seen Peter like this.

Peter grumbled, staring down at another alleyway. He knows his alternate died. His shit excuse for another sold his body to an organ harvester, when he seized on the operating table, who dumped his venom filled corpse on the side of Gotham. At least he didn’t have to worry about killing his alternate version. He does, however, have to worry about missing vital organs.

“I… remembered something.” Peter remembered a lot of things. And pretty much none of them were good. This Peter suffered a lot in his short life.

Red Robin nodded. The issue of Peter’s spotty memories had come up in their discussions over the past month.

“Ah. Something unpleasant?”

Peter thought back to the voice who, despite all of the other, highly traumatic memories, haunted his brain like nothing else.

“He didn’t live up to it. He refused to kill. So I made the decision for him.”

“Yeah. Not for me, but unpleasant that I know about it.”

“Yeah, I get that. You wanna talk about it?” Peter hid a small smile. Even though Red Robin kept his tone light, the concern still bled through. Warm. It made Peter feel warm. Even if it appeared that the Bats don’t really care about the trafficked meta kids… maybe Red Robin would come save normal kid Peter if he got kidnapped. A backup plan to consider. For now…

“Sure,” he said. Red Robin waited patiently.

“I think, I remember someone. Maybe, maybe my…” Peter grimaced. “My mom? She… told me something. And uh, I think I’maproductofrape.”

“Oh,” Red Robin said, so awkwardly that Peter had to crack a small smile despite the gravity of the topic. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too. Not myself, but for…” Peter waved a hand. “You know.”

“Yeah.”

“She wasn’t a good person,” Peter whispered and hated how he missed the browns of her eyes- her middle name was Marie, and god, Peter wished he hadn’t known that because he gets why her eyes reminded him so much of his own mother- and she besmirched everything Mary Parker stood for.

“You have our combined potential, Peter. Make sure not to be like him too much and live up to it, papito.”

“It’s okay, to love her even if she hurt other people,” Red Robin said, gently ruffling his greasy hair. Peter’s spidey-sense tingled and he ducked away. Red Robin withdrew his hand. “Because you can’t really help that. Trust me, I’ve tried. You just have to make sure they don’t get the chance to do what they did again.”

Cold, cold voices and his voice gave out from screaming. “You really are your father’s son. Never being able to do what’s necessary.”

And Peter wondered what happened to Red Robin and who hurt him. Peter would just like to talk. Red Robin reminded him of himself, way back when being Spider-Man meant finding out Harry became Green Goblin. Pained. Tired.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed. But that’s not really a problem, considering the last thing the organ harvester said before dumping him in an alley. “She’s dead in a ditch in Siberia or something. I’m not really worried she’ll do it again.”

“Uh.”

“It’s cool,”

“Right. Have you… remembered your dad?”

“Yeah. He’s in Gotham,” Peter unfurled a little.

“You want help tracking him down? I’m good at that kind of thing.”

Peter glanced at Red Robin. “I think you just admitted to being a stalker.”

“Vigilante,” Red Robin shrugged, like it explained everything. And yeah, it kind of did. Peter snorted.

“Nah, it’s okay. I don’t want to meet him anyways.”

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t know about me,” Peter ticked off his fingers. “I’m a literal walking, talking, breathing reminder of his trauma. And I don’t need a dad.”

Red Robin looked at him silently. Peter doesn’t think about it.

He never wanted to see his parents suffer. An alternate version of his dad, hurt so irrevocably by an alternate version of his mom?

Peter hated that this Catalina dirtied his mother’s name, and went against the most fundamental parts of what the spider symbol was meant for. And considering he’s been doing this longer than her, he had first dibs on defining it. He’ll look after his dad, as long as he’s stuck in Gotham. It’s only right.

“His name? Oh, my son, it’s Richard Grayson.”

——

Peter, who Trusts his instincts: no head rubs?? awwwww

Tim, who’s been trying to get a dna sample for the last month: how does he keep evading me?? He must be a genius or a spy or- *spirals down the conspiracy board*

——

Tim: I’ve connected the dots!

Peter: you’ve connected jack shit

——

Listen, the moment I learned Catalina Flores’ middle name, the pieces clicked, okay? Like legos. It’s like, former FBI agent in this one and former CIA agent in Peter’s home universe? Wow. Middle name Marie? Mary Parker? Incredible. Spider themes run in the blood apparently?? They both have brown eyes!! Trying to do good with no qualms about murder!! (I’m assuming since Mary Parker was SHIELD and I don’t think SHIELD cared much for the sanctity of human life if it threatened the country or something)

#tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon #Peter Parker #I think you know who his mom is #nightwing #batman #red robin #Frank the Crime Alley kid #Tim Drake #Tw: mentions of torture #Tw: human experimentation #bruce wayne #dick Grayson #gotham #Tw: mentions of human trafficking #Catalina Marie Flores #tarantula #Spider in Gotham AU

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moistrodent · 7 months

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I love how Hazbin Hotel brushed over Angel Dust’s drug use, because in the eyes of the show drug use isn’t something very traumatic, leads to much more vulnerable to human and sex trafficking, SA, and abusive relationships. Drug use is very complicated but in Hazbin Hotel Angel Dust’s drug problem is mentioned like…four times and one of those three times was a fucking joke. Drug use is often very misrepresented in media, also being an addict doesn’t make you a bad person, drug use shouldn't be criminalised (it makes it much harder to seek help), and rehab shouldn’t expensive as fuck. And also Angel Dust’s name? Weird as shit. That’s like naming your OC crack. It’s treating Angel Dust like he’s only his addiction wich is really horrible representation for obvious reasons. Vivziepop does not know how to represent serious topics, she either uses it for fetish bait or an actual literal joke. Also his name? Doesn’t make any sense. The effects of PCP were discovered over ten years after Angel Dust canonically died. It’s so clear Vivzepop didn’t do any research on the topic she’s trying to represent, it takes five seconds to google this shit.

#tw drugs #tw drug use #tw sa #tw sa mention #tw abuse #tw human trafficking #tw sex trafficking #anti hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel critique #anti vivziepop #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #txt post #tw swearing #tw fetishization

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bigassmoonchild · 1 year

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Gentle

Pairing: Task Force 141 (not specified) x Reader

Wordcount: 891

Summary: You were always gentle, no matter the situation. Even if he didn't notice until now.

Content Tags: Fluff, Reminiscence, Interactions with Children, Canon Typical Violence, Mentions of Human Trafficking, Heavy Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Mentions of Death, No Use of Y/N

A/N: Just a drabble ;). Maple Syrup will be updated most Fridays/Saturdays. I don't have the time during the regular week to be able to take the hours needed. You are more than welcome to request something! I'm encouraging it! As always, content under the cut and requests are open <3.

He wished he could've known you. More than the violence you used to get through missions, more than how big you made yourself seem when out at a bar after a mission with the 141. And when he really thought of it, he knew what you truly were.

Gentle. Not a word often used to describe military personnel. But you? That was one of two words anyone could've used.

It was a silent mission. Just something to pick up intel quietly and leave, nothing else. You were outside a coffee shop and he watched a little boy run up to you, stopping directly in front of where you sat. You gave him such a big smile, leaning down and listening to what he said into your ear.

You leaned further to grab his jacket and get the zipper to zip, rubbing his shoulders for a second before sending him back off. If the boy knew exactly what you had under your own jacket, he would've ran off screaming.

But he didn't, because you knew what you were doing when it came to kids. They understood when you were direct, and you always were. It was never trying to reach the point in a way you would assume that they'd understand, but in a way that any normal person would understand.

You didn't underestimate their knowledge. All people learned in different times so you assumed that the kid would understand what you said. It wasn't a bedazzled explanation with butterflies and puppydogs, it was straight to the point.

During another mission, in the middle of securing a safehouse you struck a man, knife sliding through his neck like butter and you were able to turn, grasp on the knife tightening before you saw the little girl. She was curled up into a ball, hands above her head as if to protect herself.

Even with bloody hands, you had pulled her into you and brought her to the safe point. Even covered in blood and grime she let you sit her on your lap in order to check her over for marks and possible wounds, happily speaking to you and allowing you to mess with small scrapes she had on her elbows. You had to hand her over once you got off the plane, allowing protective services to take her from you.

You'd mentioned a few weeks ago that you kept in touch with her, and the little girl was now going into year ten. You'd had such a nice, gentle smile on your face as you recalled the girls boyfriend, how he would buy her flowers randomly. He didn't mind how you'd mentioned you would do some unspeakable things to him if he hurt her.

Even when you shot a man point blank, you took your time to ensure the body was out of the way, to not get trampled over. You respected the dead, no matter if the dead had been shooting at yourself and the rest of the 141.

And as gentle as you were, you were equally violent and angry. The only time any of them had seen you like that was during a mission busting a child-trafficking ring. There was no respect, there were no mercy kills. You shot where they'd take ages to bleed out from and made sure they hurt while doing it.

When you'd finally finished off the last man, releasing the kids from where they'd been chained up, you'd given them little smiles and spoke oh so nicely. Follow this big, scary man now. He won't let anyone hurt you, you'd told the first group.

He wasn't sure what happened when you'd disappeared for some time. You didn't talk about it and he learned to not mention it. All he knew is that when you came back outside just a little bloodier, your eyes didn't have you in them.

It was when the kids had smiled and waved at you that you came out of it. Your smile, this time, hadn't gone to your eyes like it usually did. You waved back, letting them hold your hands if they wanted to and making sure they had what they needed while waiting for a medevac.

Water, food, just a hug. You did whatever they needed and didn't let anything stop you. He'd tried, sure, but you wouldn't rest until you knew the kids were completely safe.

So as he sat there, coughing up blood, he could only think of how gentle you would be. How you would try and tell him that he'd be okay, that there was nothing to worry about. That the blood was natural and that he was going to be fine, you're going to be fine, god damnit. Open your eyes!

And maybe he had closed his eyes, but either way his vision had tunneled too much for him to see. He could feel your hands, gently trying to stop the blood as you felt the tears pouring down your cheeks. There wasn't much you could do, you knew. You didn't want to give up, your mind racing even as your hands found his and you held them, grip gentle.

Because that's what you were. No matter what, you'd be gentle to those who needed it. And maybe you would be just as gentle with the next person who came into your life.

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threepandas · 2 months

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Bad End: Preserve Us

You know how in conservation biology you sometimes try to introduce a pair to be mated and one will just... just fuckin' merc' the other? Just absolutely obliterate them in a hissing, growling, nightmare ball of fury? Before anyone can stop them? Territorial and (to put it lightly) "uninterested", dispite your desperate desire to save their species from extinction, and need for them to get frisky?

I know.

Holy SHIT do I know.

There's a lot of reasons. Ways you can (hopefully) get around it. But first? Is finding out WHY it happened. Was it just the one? The environment? Were they sick? Or... as is the case sometimes, did they decide their Handler was their mate? Some species only mate once. Are loyal for life. You gotta work around that.

Which is all well and fine and good.

When we're talking about ANIMALS.

Non-sentient, non-sapient animals! Not ALIEN SPECIES! What the ABSOLUTE FRESH HELL did they expect from me!? Compliance?! This was UNETHICAL! Monstrous! I had been trying to slip my gaurds long enough to radio for help SINCE I GOT HERE.

I hope the fuckers ROTTED in whatever their Gods considered a Hell.

"Conservation facility" my ENTIRE ASS. You can't run CONSERVATION EFFORTS like this on SENTIENTS. Eugenics loving, atrocity fetishizing, immoral BASTARDS!!! And they KNEW it too. They HAD too! Or they wouldn't be HIDING it! Fucking KIDNAPPING scientists! Biologists! Doctors!

I was on my ways to study Lekku monkeys!

God...

I'm? I'm so tired of being pissed.

Furious and outraged and SCARED. Horrified and sick. There are PEOPLE here. Kids! And I don't... oh god, I don't... H-How LONG has this been going ON? Why did no one NOTICE?

Every day I feel my heart break. The desire to scream and scream and never STOP, grow inside me. I have to get out. I have to get us ALL out. Get these people FREE. Do SOMETHING. But I am forced to "conserve" the species assigned to me. The group assigned to me.

It's killing my love for the field. Making a mockery of everything I worked for.

I don't... I don't think my hands will ever be clean again.

But I have to help. Do everything I can. Make hell a little kinder, if nothing else. At least while I figure out a way OUT. My group deserves better. The groups I do not work with, deserve better.

I disguise games as "testing". Pages and pages of meaningless numbers ans scores. INSIST that enrichment is the key to success. Diet is EVERYTHING. Oh, and habitat? Well unless we can mimic their habitat there's no WAY they'll "breed".

No, no, using machines would stress them out too much.

It's like you DONT want babies!

Who's the expert here? That's RIGHT! Dr. Cho, but FAILING her and like five other people? Me. And I know for a FACT they are pulling the same scam. We ALL fucking hate you. Dr. Cho has KIDS, you FUCKS. Hasn't seen her son in YEARS thanks to you bastards. He was engaged. She's probably missed his WEDDING thanks to you!

Getting distracted, spiraling again, gotta stop DOING that.

It wont help anyone.

But God, if my brain doesn't slowly feel like it's shorting out the longer I'm here. Stress is called the silent killer for a reason. Or what that something else? Fuck. I can't even look it up! Bastards cut us off from the galactic web. Full information blackout. Because of COURSE they did... can't risk us rightfully calling for help.

Getting the Feds involved to shut this hell pit of a black site DOWN. Or a "whatever it truely is" site. Because it sure as SHIT has nothing to do with conservational biology. Except maybe the abuse of it.

But that doesn't help me right now.

Focus, damn it!

The Yanderens. Old, absurdly rare, nearly extinct, with a home planet they'd reduced to uninhabitable wastelands millennia ago due too... something. No one knew what. There had definitely been fighting. It WAS documented they were excellent fighters. Ruthless ones at that. But it was ALSO documented they strongly pack bonded.

There had been a lot of strongly worded warnings on what few documation my captures were able to find, translate, then shove at me. But honestly? They said the same thing about humans. Ooooh big scary persistent hunters~ oh nooooo! Watch out for the omnivores with a history of war! Sins of the father and we are defined by our diets! Class systems! Let's all JUDGE each ooooootheeeeer~!

Yeah, no. Not buying it.

Especially when the "warnings" were so damn vague and poorly documented. All "the HORRORS!" and "we barely SURVIVED!". Cause honestly? The Yanderens I was watching over? Easily the most mild and temperate individuals I had ever met. No tantrums from the kids, no big emotional meltdowns, just curiosity and at WORST? Mild frustration.

It made everything ten thousand times worse for me, that these poor people were in this hellish place. They were calm. Curious. Meant for greater, BETTER things! They should be out, playing and learning. Exploring and enjoying peaceful strolls in some art gallery or zen garden somewhere! Not... not this sterile fucking LAB.

But then M-17 loses his SHIT.

And now I'm kinda panicking. Because F-6 is not just dead, God rest her soul (she didn't deserve this. Oh god. She was so SWEET.), but M-17 might just be too, soon. If I can't find out what HAPPENED. Because if he's "feral" or "diseased" or whatever other horrifying terminology they end up using? They DO something about it.

And I can't actually stop them.

I... I don't know if it was a trauma response. Or I did something wrong. I could PROBABLY pass it off as my needing more studies into their observed "mating habits"? That... that I somehow... turned it... uuuuh... dominance battle? Shit. Where are my notes?!

F-6 is DEAD and its all my fault.

She was such a cuddle fiend too. Always excited to hear about my studies, from before. My life. Wanted to join me after we got out of here. I never should have let her volunteer. Granted, she wouldn't have taken no for an answer. Wanted to spend the pregnancy plotting our escape. Asked me to help raise the kid once we got out. Had a whole grand plan. But I...And I...

God...

I should have said NO. Insisted. It was just so hard, when F-6 had made it all sound like it would be okay. Like she had a plan and all I need to do was trust her. Believe in her. Then we could be free.

I had hoped M-17 would work best. He was always the most agreeable and quick on the uptake. I figured... well... ha ha. God, I'm such an IDIOT. I should have CHECKED. Who KNOWS what happened before I arrived? What triggered I just accidentally rammed my foot into? FUCK! I sweep everything from me desk onto the ground. Don't give I shit that I'll have to clean it up later,

I had figured M-17 would be COOL with it.

This place is getting to me, isn't it?

Why the FUCK would anyone be COOL with getting jumped? Bred like an animal? Shoved in some random ass room, with a vaguely familiar stranger, and told "now fuck. We want a literal litter from you two"? All while some biologist watchs and makes god damned NOTES!?

Of course he fought back. OF COURSE he didn't stop!

The only one there he could trust was himself.

I...I'm becoming a monster... aren't I?

Oh god.

At least we're in the satellite facility. The gaurds are definitely going to rat me out, but the news will take time to filter back. And... and the Yanderens being so "dangerous" might work in my favor. I... I can spin this. I HAVE to spin this. I can't let TWO people die for my fuck up.

I promised myself I would get as many people out as I could. I refuse to back out now. Even if that means crying, puking, then going out there to lie my ASS off. This was TOTALLY NORMAL. In fact, expected! Yep! It means that's we've determined that M-17 is the alpha Yanderen! A thing that is both REAL and possible to BE!

I rinse my mouth, stomach empty. Crying has exhausted me. But I can't give up. Too many lives count on me now. I... I wish so badly I was just a nobody again. Just some random biology student, trying to make a name for herself. Being "important" is a CURSE.

I try not to chug my water as I half stumble out of the glorified shoebox that is my bathroom into the much larger and Fancier CLOSET that is my room. Truely, no expense spared, for the captives they ripped away from their lives. So glad I am here willingly and of my own volition.

I gather myself. Finally ready to go and try to untangle the mess I have made of everything. When a deep booming alarm rattles my bones. The lights flickering to red. Blast doors slide down, SLAM shut over the transparent recessed bit of wall that counts as my window, the door to the rest of the facility.

Trapping me inside my small room.

Almost immediately after, an EXPLOSION rocks the world hard enough to knock me from my feet. Only the bed's limited padding keeping me from a nasty concussion. The edge of it still ramming painfully into my shoulder. Another explosion. Then another. I sit for a long, terrible, second stunned.

The moment passes.

I scramble on my hands and knees for the in facility communication device that I had knocked from my desk in anger, grief. Not daring to stand lest I be thrown down again. I manage to find it as the world shakes again for the fifth time. Followed by what sounds like gun fire out in the halls.

I fling myself back towards my shitty little bunk. Drag every bit of padding and protection I can, down and under it with me. If the roof goes? I want shock absorption. If shots get through the door? I want something to slow those blasts down. Anything. ANYTHING! To increase my fucked chances of surviving.

I burrito up and wriggle back as deep as I can. The world muffled but ending just outside my crawlspace. Then I desperately try to get one of the others on the line. I got nothing but chaos. Running. Running. Hiding. And Dead.

Dead. Dying.

Remember me.

And GONE.

Some of them fighting with their groups too freedom. Some being targeted right along side their captors. Others savaged by the ACTUAL animals they had been working with, the one's Galacticly deemed too dangerous for effort like this. Someone or something had set EVERYONE free. A simultaneous attack on all fronts that our captors could not put down or escape.

The Yanderens were out there.

Oh god. Please let them be okay. They wer-

My thoughts ground to a halt as M-32 LAUNCHED his tiny body onto the screen of one of the security feeds I was desperately looking through. F-6 had figured out how to get us a backdoor to them a long time ago. M-32 was just a kid. A small, soft, cuddly little thing that loved to lean against me and crawl into my lap. All cherubic cheeks and cute little curls. Shy!

Yet I watched... in mounting horror... as like a lion on some unfortunate animal, he landed on a gaurds back. Small arms going around his body in a mockery of a hug. Head tilting so he could BITE at the back of the man's neck, small hands clawing and ripping at weak points in his armor, as he screamed. Thrashed. Tried desperately to get M-32 OFF of him.

There was so much blood.

My hands were shaking. So much, I accidentally hit the next screen button. Jerked my thumb back. But... but oh god. There was F-26. Using the butt of a rifle to slam down against the head of a scientist. Again and again and again. Long after the begging and thrashing stopped. I flipped again. M-4? No... please not M-4. Not the soft spoken and wise...

I watched as he grinned, a cold thing, and shot out another joint. His foot on the chest of the head scientist who had moved him to a different group. In the background, his supervisor lay dead. They had not died quickly. The head scientist was begging. A mess of tears and pain. M-4 shot another joint, pressing his foot down harder.

I wanted to be sick.

I flipped again. And again. And AGAIN.

H...Had I known them at ALL? Like demons wearing the faces of those I'd known. People I'd trusted. Not a SINGLE ONE was... oh... oh god. F-6. Had she been too? Would I have ever known? Was THIS what all those warnings meant? I couldn't think. Couldn't breath. Had... Had never had a panic attack but... BUT-!

I wheezed.

Shook.

"Oh, Clever giiiirl~" A familiar voice sang, before a blood splattered face flickered into being on the screen in my hands. "Where aaaare yoooou~?"

M-17. He'd somehow managed to take over the security cameras. That or the communication feed. His eyes were bright. A grin on his face like I'd never seen from him. ALIVE in a way I'd never seen him. The excitement transformed his face. No longer softly doll like, but something DANGEROUS. Unhinged. His eyes dilated and deadly teeth on display.

"Come out, come out wherever you aaaare~. I have so much to TELL you! We have so much to DO! I'm going to make you MINE sweetheart! No one else can have you. So come out. I won't hurt you much, I promise! Just gotta make you mine then we can leave okay~?"

Furious snarls echoed through the halls. Male and female alike. Old and young. I... I recognized each of those voices. What was HAPPENING?

"Aaaah? Did you TRASH really think you DESERVED her? Ha! Please." M-17 grin was cruel. Mocking. "You don't have a chance in hell of taking what's MINE."

His eyes seems to shift away from unseen enemies and back, somehow, to me. Warming to something euphoric. Resting his head on his hand as if to consider me. His fingers spread, stroking his own face, as if the desire to TOUCH was simply too great. As if what he was imagining was bleeding over into the real world.

"Oh clever girl~ my clever, clever girl~♡ I can't wait til it's just you and ME. Start think of where you want to go first, okay? We're going to get married. Have that child you wanted me for. All the things you ever dreamed~♡ I'm going to have you all to myself. No more annoying others. Ah~ can't wait to find you soon!"

"But first?"

"May the best of us Win."

86 notes · View notes