#CW: Fictional Abuse

[desultory-novice]

You said the Mechalor/Crowned Marx AU wouldn't have much impact, but could you not extend the format to some other villains? Taranza hunting down Star Dream to try bring Sectonia to her senses, only to make things worse. Susie, trapped and contorted by the Dimension Mirror, now just trying to find her father after her accident.

This is the first ask Mechalor Anon sent me, btw!

I'm half putting this up for interested readers, because it was a fun read, but also for Anon themselves, as I included some fresh commentary on their ideas as well!!

...

>Not much impact

You know, I sometimes forget how popular my little AU ideas can get! (Hmm. Can I claim the title "CEO of Kirby AUs?" Is that one taken?)

ATM these asks ended up leading to the formation of the Permadeath Swap, which I'm working on the second half right now, but there's a lot good here too I don't want to leave on the table!

>Taranza + Star Dream

Ohoho... the fact that Taranza might seek out a DIFFERENT cursed Ancient Artifact to try to undo what the previous cursed Ancient Artifact he got did is so broken in a very delightful way! (And I hate to say it, but it feels very in character for Taranza ^^; )

And that Susie story...feels very much like what may have happened to Parallel Susie! Although, given how she no longer has the hair accessory her father gave her, I think it didn't end so well...

>Permanent changes for Taranza...

Is it sad the first thing that came to mind is "Sectonia actually does real permanent damage to him?" Like...physical abuse? Maybe, since she's losing her mind due to Star Dream eating up her memories and the last traces of "Joronia", she sees Taranza and tries to erm, force HIM to evolve to become more "like her." Doing things like destroying four of his hands, breaking his mandible/horns and blinding him in all but two of his eyes. Like, at this point, she can't even recognize / remember what caused the changes in herself so she just thinks that by breaking him she's helping him to "evolve." Of course, he never seems to "get there" so she just keeps going...

Oooh, god, wouldn't that would be awful...? The other awful thing of course is that by this point, Taranza might just accept all the horrible things she's doing to him with a smile because he wants them to be the same too (inside, he knows this is wrong, but he can't speak up about it because it means accepting how BAD things have gotten.)

Keep smiling, Taranza. Joronia used to say your smile was beautiful. If you stop smiling...what body part will she take next?

-

PS: I actually forgot while writing this that she wouldn’t be her BEE self because it would just be the star and not the mirror (so much for god reading comprehension…) but uh… just go with it. >.<

(Btw, I’m reminded just how dark this AU can get. I don’t know what it is about the BossSwap that brings out the worst in me….!)

>Max's Eternal Search

Something I really like about the thing with Max is that when Star Dream began messing with him, became obsessed with money - to the point that it was the only thing he thought about. Everything he has is expensive. Everything in framed in terms of how much ludicrous amounts of money it costs in his own fictional currency. ("Company store" indeed.) Everything is covered in gold + gemstones. Greed incarnate. But...

...This Max would probably become obsessed with looking through the mirror instead. If he stops looking for even a moment, he might miss catching a rare trace of Susanna. And so he uses his technology to expand the mirror's reach and makes sure EVERYTHING he owns is absolutely covered in mirrors/mirror-dimension feeds. (Take THAT, Versailles!) You can't see his eyes, as they're always covered in visors projecting the mirror. He doesn't even LOOK at you when he's talking down to you because he is still looking for Susanna...

>Daroach + Hyness Swap

"None of these are great?"

WHAT?! I love this idea?! A Daroach + Hyness swap?! This is going on the to-draw list for sure! And by draw, I mean I now need to see the Mage Sisters dressed up as a pack of 1920s-esque lady thieves! The Jamba cult in a wacky heist story is too good.

No, really, this one is galaxy-brained! Multiverse-brained, even!

Plus, Squidward I mean Hyness and Dark Nebula just...they'd be so cute together?! (...Don't look at me that way... >.> ) Also, Dark Hyness would probably look like some kind of skrunkly cthuhlu (Nebula's arms sticking out from under his hood/veil) and that's just great?!

Fun fact: It is not a Squeak who steals Kirby's cake but WADDLE DEE (the traitor!!) And yet, I can totally see Flamberge in the role of starting things off this time. 

Zan: "Is everyone ready?" 

Berge: "Hold on, I gotta finish this."

"...Berge? Where did you get that?" 

"Huh? I grabbed it along the way. Figured you'd start complaining if I made us stop to eat in the middle of the mission! Smart, huh?" 

"Are you telling me...you found a slice of cake...just lying on the side of the road?" 

"No way! That'd be silly, Zan!" 

"I'm trying to ask, who did you take it FROM?" 

"Dunno. Didn't ask their name! Haha!"

"...BERGE...!"

-

My weak attempts at writing the sisters aside, you're right about Daroach and the Squeaks being quite easy to fit into this plot. After all, Daroach already expressed interest in the Jamba Heart! Given it's probably close to the galaxy's "largest jewel" in size, he might already have his heart set on stealing it! Perhaps he finds it but it has lost its glow. (The Heart Spears are still restraining Void Termina, after all.)

He uses what little magic he has to try and restore the gem's sheen, but just as it does, the Jamba Heart splinters and cracks. So he sends Spinni, Storo, and Doc out to gather the missing pieces, breaking up the cohesion of the close-as-family group as he stays behind to make sure... it's, you know, that it's safe... All the while, the Heart takes up more and more of Daroach's thoughts...

Also seeing the Squeaks all dressed in black... Yeah, I like this swap...!

>Various Elfilis Swaps

I think the funniest thing about swapping the two geminis and Zero/Zero 2 is that you would either have Gooey playing the role of your "Elfilin" figure... or Dark Matter Blade!!

And something about the perpetually friendless, socially awkward Blade attempting to assist or (...god...) give commentary on what's going on is just very fun to imagine.

Let's ignore the fact that Dark Matter would almost certainly play the role of brainwashed Dedede in that situation and just go with it!

Lastly, while I really, really, really like the Daroach + Hyness swap (it's probably my favorite just because I'm still having the time of my life imagining the super serious Hyness and the Sisters in the madcap "Wacky Races" plotline that is Squeak Squad) but I like this possibility too! Especially if you have it so it's an unexpected consequence of the botched summoning. (Although it WAS secretly effective! This is just what happens when you touch the mind of a dimensional rift opening psychic from across time!)

[ilynpilled]

it frankly pisses me off that what is essentially “rapists and abusers should be depicted as monstrous caricatures because humanizing them is inappropriate” is considered a very moral and enlightened position to have on art by so many people. a rapist can feel pain, have moments of vulnerability, be amiable and charming, express remorse and compassion at times, be a victim themselves, and so on in real life. they are even capable of doing good things. they can have different sides to them and have individuals in their lives that they are kind to or have a decent relationship with. they will be a human being, and that fact encompasses a lot. conflating that with the claim that they are entitled to and deserve forgiveness or absolution is an issue. nurturing a mindset that believes they need to be one note and uncomplicated to be a correct and tasteful depiction of a rapist inadvertently falls in line with the logic of “how could they have possibly raped you? they are so normal and kind to me. they did all these good things here and there.” ok that doesn’t change that they are a rapist.

[arill-b-r]

"The incest in RGU makes me uncomfortable" That's the point! It's supposed to make you uncomfortable! Same goes for the other kinds of abuse portrayed in the show: It feels wrong because it is wrong and just because the characters don't turn to the camera and say it is bad doesn't mean the show condones it

[oblisker]

shitty and dangerous friend vs literal eldritch god physically and psychologically abusing his ex-worshipper to the brink of complete insanity

[stardustdiiving]

Me explaining in terms of strictly how I read canon I think Nahida not severely punishing the Sages is just meant to convey that Nahida, even when wronged, is not a very vengeful or harsh person and makes the choice to be kind instead, but in my mind I have this idea of a Nahida interpretation which elaborates on that where her self punishing tendencies extend to her being someone who internally downplays her own experiences constantly, and as a result has a hard time feeling she’s allowed or justified in placing a lot of blame on the Sages for what they did to her So while she is following her own philosophies regarding teaching lessons/wisdom/etc in how to handle the Sages and genuinely doesn’t want to be really angry or punishing because of who she is as a person, her decision is also influenced by the fact she’s basically blocked herself out of grappling with how to handle people who hurt her by blaming herself for said hurt instead as a coping mechanism. And like this is all just me being insane about Nahida Trauma and not something explicitly implied in canon but also I really do think this isn’t a far stretch from her canon characterization especially when my vision isn’t to conclude that Nahida needs to be angry and vengeful but she should extend the kindness she shows others to herself and also every day I get tormented thinking about she was the mental equivalent of an average human child when the Sages found her and how they basically specifically discarded her for being a child and the idea of how Nahida would pick up on + internalize that and eventually need time to unlearn it

[cry-ptidd]

Always been a bit confused on Laura past, you hint here and there, something about a nunnery and how that made despise God and the church. So, what exactly happened to her to make the way she did. Also was Hans the one who bit her or some other werewolf?

Alright, I do realize most people might not be aware of her story considering I never really made a post about it and I deleted the fic of her backstory bc I didn't like it, so I'll summarize it here!

And no, she wasn't bitten by Hans. She is older than him by half a century or so

Laura's backstory/timeline masterpost

⚠️⚠️ TW for: sexual assault, religious abuse, victim blaming, emotional abuse, and VERY long babbling

1735 - Human life:

Laura is the eldest daughter of Jean Chastel and Anne Charbonnier. She was born in Gévaudan (now in the department of Haute-Loire) on the 24th of December 1735.

She was her father's favorite child, due to her and her mother surviving a difficult birth. This also led to her mother putting her a bit aside considering her father doted on her "like a son", taught her to read and write, and allowed her to not marry due to her disinterest in men (they both just thought she was chaste because of religion) and work with him in the fields, at the inn and other places. She learned French and Occitan.

Laura was brought up catholic, as most people in 18th century France, but she was particularly devout and religious. She was teased as a child for it, spending a lot of time in church and confessionals, which didn't help because her father didn't have the best reputation (he was nicknamed "de la masca", Occitan for "of the witch".) She started to pick up on Latin, though it was extremely rudimentary. Her overly religious attitude annoyed her own family sometimes, and their lack of emotional support led her to become a bit naive and confide a lot in religious authority figures.

She was an extremely diligent girl, always making sure her chores were finished and her work wasn't interrupted. That led to her sometimes putting her own health at risk in harsh winters, or disregarding people's warnings.

1758 - Bite:

Early spring of 1758; Laura was 22 when she was herding cattle near a clearing. She ignored the warning of the other villagers of wolf sightings, because the attacks were rare and she had a cattledog with her anyway. However, it turns out the villagers were right - safe for a few details.

Laura was attacked by a feral werewolf that scratched her stomach and bit her on the forearm after she put it up to not let it tear her throat out. A few of the village men were alerted by the commotion of her yells, the dog and cattle, and they managed to drive the werewolf off before it could devour her.

Sadly, she was now infected, and it showed, when in the next two weeks she was writhing in agony at the transformation that somehow healed her wounds and left big, ugly scars. People were starting to be afraid, wondering what the hell was going on. Her father was running around trying to find doctors with what money he had. Most locals dismissed the idea of a werewolf and thought she just had rabies, but the symptoms picked up by the doctors didn't support that hypothesis. Laura herself was going through it, spending hours upon hours of praying and reciting scripture and reading the Bible in hopes of a cure. The locals started to treat it as something you shouldn't talk about, considering how odd and ugly the details were, and people were avoiding the building where she was kept.

After about a month of very painful confusion, after her condition started to appear more supernatural than medical, Jean decided 'fuck it' and stuffed her in a carriage with a couple other men, before bringing her to a remote abbey.

1758 - The abbey:

Laura was brought to a remote Benedictine monastery, where 12 monks resided. She was welcomed at first, with suspicion of demonic possession, and given a room in the sub-level of the abbey.

Exorcism and purification rituals were routine, as well as the already implemented practices of the abbey. Laura was very willing to go with all of it, putting her trust in them, especially considering her awful mental state at that point.

However, about six months in, one of the men there went to her room at night and assaulted her. The others were alerted because of the commotion during imposed hours of silence. When they were found out, though, she was the one blamed for "seducing" the monk, because he was one of the "most devout" of them. A small scuffle ensued, and the abbot decided to give them both a "pardon" as long as they did a bit more service as penance, since they were "both in the wrong". After this, her relationship with the monks soured more and more.

The exorcisms stopped after a year in or so, since they saw no signs of improvement (and judged her no threat). She was however to stay at the monastery for the safety of others. Laura felt terribly alone, considering not only the fact that the abuse continued in secret but also that she was treated as basically a feral dog to be wary of, and just being a lost young woman surrounded by men that started to look at her with contempt. She considered escaping several times in her stay; however, each time she was either caught trying to sneak out or was too scared to go with it, fearing judgement from God for disobedience.

The abuse became well known some years in, but once again no one did anything, either being told by the abbot to keep it down and not talk about filth within the house of God, or spoken about by a handful of the men who took advantage of her fear and silence to vent out their frustrations. Their initial duty towards her was basically brushed aside and discarded, and they kept her around and subjugated for fear of her condition. Her lack of menstruation and fertility (because of the lycanthropy) were also attributed to her being a "wicked creature", that she needed to stay in here to be forgiven by God, or else her resistance to holy cleansing would be noticed by the Lord.

This went on for years. 6 years, 5 months and 13 days to be exact, of Laura begging for God's help and mercy, which at first was her begging for a cure to her condition so she'd be in His graces again, to her wanting it just so she could escape the abbey, to eventually praying for the monks not to hurt her anymore or at least lose interest, to her just begging to die because she was so afraid and hungry from not getting any of the meat that her body demanded (of course, she couldn't die of starvation or sickness, thanks to regeneration). Her biggest fear was that she was beginning to doubt God. Her faith in the monks was completely dead by the fifth year, but she was also starting to doubt anyone would save her. She also started to despise her father for bringing her here in the first place.

This all culminated to one night, after the monastery doors were closed, when one of the monks had just finished his little "escapade" in her room. He was about to get out and she got up, barely dressed and dirty, and started to call him out. He slapped and started to berate her, but she didn't listen, and jumped at him. His screams and pleas were ignored, because the others learned not to mind them. She devoured him, and all her pent up rage and fear turned into bloodlust, as she mauled each one of them and devoured them like cattle. Nothing but scraps of bone were left by the morning. This is when she got enough strength for her first transformation. By now, her fear of God turned into sheer resentment, spite and hatred, and she felt no apprehension at disobeying Him- in fact, she was going to do it on purpose, because He can go fuck Himself for not helping a helpless, desperate girl that was suffering right under His nose by His own men, especially when Laura had been such a devout Christian for so long.

1765 - Escape, start of the killings:

Laura broke out of the abbey in her wolf form, embracing her anger completely (for lack of any other emotion that served any purpose other than wanting to let herself die). She ventured out until she found civilization (eating a few travelers on the way), and found a young girl, Marie-Jeanne Valet, herding cows. She wanted to be discreet, but the reminder of her own human self (that she came to despise), and lunged at her. However Laura was driven off by the girl who managed to wound her with a homemade spear she was carrying to defend herself from the other wolf stalking the area (the same one that bit Laura). This drove Laura off, and what officially sparked the start of the hysteria.

Laura never transformed back into a human form for the duration of the terror. About a hundred deaths were attributed to her, but she killed way more in actuality.

In September 1765, Marie-Jeanne's recount of the attack and the subsequent hysteria reached the ears of the king, who sent one of his hunters, François Antoine, to kill the beast with his soldiers. However, they only killed the other werewolf in the area, which left Laura without a rival for food and did not stop the slaughter.

Battues and hunts were routine by now. Laura relished in outsmarting/overpowering each faction sent after her, starting to kill out of spite rather than food, picking off the weak and vulnerable and taunting the hunters by shrugging off their bullets like it was nothing, and her skin was starting to go from toughened to just impenetrable. Some preachers were talking about how the beast was a sign of the end of times, or how it's a punishment sent by God, and it made her so mad to be affiliated to Him that she ate those guys in broad daylight.

1767 - end of the terror:

This continued until the 19th of June 1767, when Jean Chastel took the head of a hunt for the beast, accompanied by a few men and their hounds.

It was three days of stalking and tracing, with a few bodies the beast left uneaten specifically to taunt them, until they stumbled on her in a clearing.

Laura mauled two of the hunters accompanying Chastel. Jean, however, had noted that normal weapons didn't seem to do much damage to it. So, a week prior, he had melted a silver medallion of the Virgin Mary into a mullet for his rifle. While the beast prepared to turn around and attack him, he cocked his rifle, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The bullet went through its left shoulder and out the chest; its howl resonated through the forest when it fell, and the hunting hounds were quick to attack as it limped off. Jean got a good look in the beast's eyes when he shot it, and familiarity washed over him- a feeling that would haunt him on his deathbed.

Laura, on the other hand, limped off into the forest and turned back into a woman for the first time in a couple years. Her heart had been shot out by the silver, and she was severely wounded; by all accounts she should've died, since silver is the one thing werewolves are weak to.

But somehow, she didn't, either out of sheer spite and stubbornness or because of a twisted joke by the universe.

Records of a "Laura Chastel" were scrapped from the archives on Jean's own request, likely out of guilt, and the more supernatural elements of the attacks were dismissed as rumors of scared, superstitious crowds.

1769 to 1995 - pre-Hellsing:

It took Laura over a year to properly recover her strength. This attack had not only done her body grievous damage, but also her psyche, at seeing her own father be the one to attempt and kill her- she already resented him, but it added a whole new layer of damage.

This also knocked her anger and arrogance down a couple of pegs. She had grown too greedy and reckless, and retaliation had been inevitable, which is a lesson she learned from that.

So, she grew more discreet and learned to be a proper wild animal - stay out of sight, snatch your prey, leave the area, stalk the shadows.

During the French Revolution, she recovered a lot of strength, due to eating and stealing the dumped bodies of those executed by the revolutionaries. She didn't care for the ideology or the impact on civilization at all, considering she grew to dislike humans and see them as her natural enemies/predators, but she did enjoy the chaos because it took any attention off her.

Her early years were more of her staying in the wilderness, only approaching humans either to eat, or to take her boredom off by seducing women - which she got better at doing overtime.

Late 19th and early 20th century she had started to come closer to civilization. She picked up a penchant for drinking, despite not being able to get drunk, and was often seen as a strange, shady homeless woman. In towns, she would pretend to be passed out in lone alleys to attract men and get a quick snack. She would also sometimes seduce women just to use their showers for warm water or get some clothes.

In ww2, she didn't do much out of her routine. During the invasion of France, she didn't care much for what was happening, but grew quite annoyed with the invading forces. She ate quite a lot of nazis, especially those camping in forest areas or those that came to bother her when she was in town, and made sure to avoid getting attention drawn to her. Most of the deaths were attributed to local resistance.

1995 - Battle against Alucard and invitation to Hellsing:

in the early spring of 1995, Laura had made the mistake of leaving the corpses of two British hikers in a place where they could be found, and another one of killing a Protestant pastor. The affair reached Hellsing, who saw the hints of possible supernatural threat in the case.

Alucard was sent to the town where the pastor had been killed, to investigate. Laura sensed the danger from miles away (a bit of a given, he has a freaky aura), and tried to lose him in the crowd. After failing and seeing him keep up the trial, she lured him out into the woods where they wouldn't be disturbed.

The fight started at around 11pm, in the middle of the woods. Laura knew he wasn't a normal person at first sight of course, but she didn't know the extent of Alucard's powers or of Hellsing at all. She had dealt with a few vampires that infringed on her territory already, but they were easy game, so she just opted to tear his head off and be done with it. Alucard, being the asshole gentleman he is, humored her and let her tear him to shreds to give her false hope and then reform as if nothing had happened. Laura was kinda freaked out by this when he did, but the shock quickly wore off because it just began to piss her off.

The real fight started when he pulled out the Casull. Laura knows silver is her weakness, and even if she grew somewhat of a mild resistance over the years she's not one to experiment. Alucard was starting to get interested after the first thirty minutes of her holding her own against him. He taunted her the entire time of course, but he grew more and more intrigued because of how fun she was to fight, and her abilities were obviously above any average werewolf. When she transformed, it was double the excitement because now he gets to brawl with a kaiju.

The fight went on for hours. Dawn was approaching when they were both starting to tire, and Alucard decided to end it. After many efforts, he aligned the gun and shot her straight in the heart, making her fall mid-attack and transform back into a human.

She was writhing in agony on the floor, literally clinging to life with teeth and nails, and Alucard started to approach her. He admitted to a good fight, and did his whole speech thing after he beats an opponent he likes, but his bravado was interrupted when she grabbed onto his leg to hoist herself up. He was surprised into silence for a moment, seeing the fire in her eyes, not only that but seeing her alive, because she's not going to get killed by this asshole, not now, not ever, and God help her if she allows him to harm her like this-

Alucard caught her when she lost consciousness, seeing her still not die despite the gaping hole where her heart should be. He pauses, and decides this is just too interesting an opportunity to pass up.

1995-1999 - pre-canon:

Laura woke up three days after in one of the guest bedrooms in the mansion, cleaned, tended and dressed in one of Alucard's shirts. Speaking of, he was sitting in the room waiting for her to wake up, like he did with Seras.

Laura was confused out of her mind, and thought she actually died because no fucking way. A brief verbal scuffle ensued (mostly on Laura's end), before he left the room to report to Integra, and also to tell her he drank Laura's blood to access her memories, just to make sure she wasn't affiliated with Millenium or anything related, considering the last time he saw a werewolf was the Captain, and instead found a goldmine of information on werewolves and the mystery of the beast of Gévaudan, and considered it would be a great new addition to Hellsing's arsenal. He had left Laura in the room alone, assuming she was too weak to do anything.

She wasn't, apparently, because Walter came in a dozen minutes later to say he had to wire her up after she tried to escape again and almost mauled one of the guards (but ultimately left no injury).

Integra was pissed, so she went to have a little chat. Laura said she'd comply if Walter and Alucard left, leaving them face to face.

Integra explained her situation, who she was and what was going to happen. Basically, Laura had two choices: either she joins and swears her civility in the organization, or Alucard finishes her off after they gather what information they need from her body. Laura was kind of pissed at being put between a rock and a hard place, but Integra also promised, if she were to choose the former and be obedient, to ensure her safety and protection, as well as feeding and clothing her. The added bonus that her bodily autonomy would be respected and that their rival is the Catholic Church is what tipped the scales.

Laura accepted to join, and a few weeks later she was assigned the role of a maid. Integra had to report her existence to her superiors, of course, but decided to keep her a secret from her enemies, so she gave her a seemingly inconspicuous position. It also helped because Laura, due to her trauma in the abbey, has trouble staying inside or being stuck in rooms without doing anything, and it occupies her because she's already pretty good at cooking and cleaning from helping her father out at his inn some two centuries ago. Integra had given her a small silver cross to wear, an artifact made by Van Helsing from melted medallions of St. Patrick, that acted as a much weaker version of Alucard's seals.

This was the start of her life at Hellsing, that she actually grew to somewhat appreciate because of not having to worry for survival every day. She started out as cold and hostile, but eventually allowed Integra and Walter to come a bit closer to her. She sees Walter as a pretty alright man since he knows not to push her and is very respectful, and she grew more and more intrigued by Integra as a person, which resulted in (quite unhealthy) romantic feelings towards her for the simple reason that Integra treats her as a living thing. The cross also became more of a decoration than anything over time.

She mostly takes care of the mansion, but sometimes can go out and decimate some ghouls for enrichment. Anyone that tries to break in and manages to get past the guards also finds themselves face to face with her.

By now she is only loyal to Integra (not even the organization, only because Integra is there) and obeys her because of her own willingness and feelings, and Walter is maybe her favorite coworker. She sees Alucard as a bothersome fellow fucked up creature, and still hasn't forgiven him for drinking her blood without her consent but overall tolerates him most of the time. Seras is a new addition; Laura sees her as a very naive and inexperienced girl, and maybe underestimates and infantilizes her a bit, but overall doesn't mind her presence. She despises the Iscariot with no exception, and Millenium by default.

That brings her to the current timeline, let's hope nothing bad happens.

[zeroducks-2]

This is quite random sorry but has Dick ever acknowledge (or as close to it) that a lot of things that Bruce did to him are abusive? (this is for a fic I’m trying to write)

Yes and no!

Dick knows Bruce is an assholes and WILL yell at him to stop being an asshole, or at least he used to. Dick would call him out on his BS and wouldn't let him get away with a lot of things, but this was once upon a time, before they rebooted everything and erased decades of character development. The closest he gets to that post reboot is after Forever Evil - everyone thinks Dick is dead, and Bruce wants people to keep thinking that, hence he forces Dick to join Spiral and become Agent 37.

Dick is, as you can imagine, not thrilled. He yells and fights and Bruce beats the everloving shit out of him in a very upsetting sequence, where Dick is half naked and Bruce is wearing most of his gear while he keeps hitting him to the point of leaving him bleeding on the floor of the Batcave.

Dick begs and tries to appeal to everything he can including the "things can never be the same between us after this", to which Bruce essentially replies that it's a sacrifice he's willing to make. Ha. I say that this is especially upsetting because Dick went through a horribly traumatic experience during the events of Forever Evil, in which among other things he was tortured by Thomas Wayne Jr AKA Owlman, who wanted to turn Dick into his own sidekick after losing his Talon. The way Bruce beats and humiliates Dick is drawn in a way which creates a clear parallel between Thomas and Bruce's actions towards Dick, in a way that suggests they're "not that different after all", but this narratively goes nowhere and I don't get why they fuck they even came up with that. But anyway.

All of this gets forgotten soon enough. Despite his own warnings Dick forgives Bruce after a very short time, pines for home and tries to communicate with Bruce in any way he can because he "misses his dad", which to be honest made my guts churn and my bile rise after Bruce nearly beat him comatose. Essentially the story forgets Bruce did all of that and so does Dick, but for the brief time Dick was allowed to be aware of it and angry about it, he was indeed aware that he was being abused even if he never used the word abuse.

This is the case for lots of stories in which similar instances happen, as I mentioned before especially pre-reboot. Dick does call Bruce out on his bullshit - especially if Bruce is being an abusive asshole to someone else, since Dick is way more prone to defend other people than he is to defend himself, like here

or here

But despite being obviously aware that there are issues in the way Bruce does things, to put it mildly, he never uses the word "abuse" (which is sort of a prohibited word for DC standards, kind of like "rape". They're way more likely to say non consensual than rape because it's a less upsetting word apparently).

There is an instance of this post reboot, and it's during a conversation Dick has with Tim. I believe it happens in the Pride comics of 2022, but I don't have the panels on hand at the moment. Basically Tim asks for advice on how to please Bruce, being the man demanding and prone to bad moods, and Dick flat out replies "I spent a very big part of my life trying to please him, and I left when I realized it was impossible" which to me is so interesting since it's the textbook reaction of a former Golden Child who fell from grace and became a Scapegoat (please note that tumblr's definition of Golden Child is completely arbitrary; golden child doesn't mean "good kid", it means a child who the parent holds to the highest standards, on which there are the biggest expectations and the strongest pressure regarding everything the child does. Sometimes a parent lives vicariously through them and perceives them as an extension of themselves, but not necessarily. If you watched Encanto, Isabella is the Golden Child of the family).

Something similar happens during Nightwing's run from the 90s.

Dick lives in Bludhaven and at this point he's gone essentially no-contact with Bruce. Tim, being the new Golden Child, is trying to reel Dick back into the toxic dynamic because he genuinely thinks it's going to be good for both Dick and Bruce.

I'm pointing this out not to fault Tim in any way, he's just a kid what does he know, but to show you that indeed yes, Dick is aware that he's been abused otherwise he wouldn't have left, he wouldn't be on a no talking basis with his parental figure, and he wouldn't reply to Tim that he spent so much time of his life deluding himself into thinking that Batman actually needed him. Of course this also goes nowhere and their relationship isn't allowed to grow or heal (things are just conveniently forgotten after a while), but as I mentioned, Dick knows what's up.

That being said, I believe it's also worth noting that many many times Bruce abuses the fuck out of Dick and Dick doesn't really acknowledge it, just takes it. Sometimes he doesn't have the spoons to fight back, sometimes he thinks he deserves it, sometimes he just doesn't know how to react because Bruce strikes like an unprovoked viper (this happens especially when Dick was still a kid but already a Titan). A very good example of this is what happens after Jason's death.

Bruce doesn't tell Dick that Jason died. When Alfred offers to let him know, Bruce says "I will handle it", and he doesn't. Then there's Jason's funeral and Bruce doesn't tell Dick about it, again Alfred offers to inform him, Bruce says he will handle it. He doesn't.

Eventually Dick finds out for collateral reasons and has an emotional breakdown in front of the other Titans, which are powerless to help him. For reference, this is how he reacts when he has definitive proof that the boy is undoubtedly gone, if there was any doubt that Dick did care about Jason.

So Dick goes to the grave with Kory but then decided to confront Bruce alone, and Bruce, in the abusive feat of the century, blames Dick for not having showed up to Jason's funeral, despite having refused to 1: tell him about Jason's death AT ALL, and 2: refused TWICE when Alfred very gently suggested to inform Dick.

Dick of course argues that he didn't know anything, and so Bruce reacts by gaslighting him, telling him they he never cared about Jason and in fact he was angry that Bruce adopted Jason and not him. Which is not true, Dick just wanted to know WHY Bruce adopted Jason and hot him. Oh and also punches him in the face when Dick tries to argue that Jason was an untrained kid. Please note that when all of this happens, Dick is hurt and can barely stand on his feet, having one of his legs in a cast.

Cherry on top, Bruce explicitly saying that he never should have had a partner and never will again, essentially "our partnership up to this point meant nothing".

In this instance Dick is too neck-deep in his own self guilt to see that he's been through a sequence of extremely abusive behavior, and never really faults Bruce for that, using the easy-coming rationalization that Bruce was in pain, suffering for Jason's death, couldn't see reason etc etc (quick PSA: someone suffering isn't entitled to abuse and gaslight anyone. And even if we really want to enable Bruce cut Bruce some slack because he was grieving, it doesn't make his behavior any less abusive. Regardless of the reasons why, the way he acts here is very damaging towards Dick who in turn did nothing to deserve it, and is grieving Jason too).

See, the problem with Dick and Bruce is the sysyphean nature of comicbooks. Dick is doomed to be the original Golden Child who falls from grace, becomes the Scapegoat, but ultimately can never be completely free of the clutches of the relationship he has and had with Bruce, for better or worse. And since he can't ever truly get out and can't ever completely be independent, the abuse end up getting downplayed. If Dick never truly gets away from Bruce it's because it's not that bad, isn't it? Nay, it's because Dick cant. He is quite literally not allowed to, same as Bruce is not allowed to truly grow from his mistakes and learn to treat his former partner, sort-of-child and dear friend with the respect and love he actually feels for him, because despite all of this and because this is fiction, Bruce does love Dick more than it can be put into words and would set the world on fire for him. But, alas, he also is doomed to keep treating Dick like shit and never really learn from his mistakes.

So again, the answer to your question is yes and no. Dick is aware of how much of a difficult person Bruce is. He's aware of the domineering aspects of his personality. But he will ultimately brush it off in the name of the good that there is and there was between them, and he will keep answering Batman's call every time, because he's not allowed to ever truly grow apart from him. It doesn't matter how much he gets angry and how much Bruce hurts him, they're indissolubly tied in this dynamic and unless there is a huge shift in the way DC execs handle things, I don't see how this dynamic can change in the foreseeable future. Sadly enough, because I'd really like to see something new.

[coockie8]

so would you consider plasmius to be abusive?

I mean, by humans standards, for sure. Absolutely. This thing will claw your face off when angry if you get too close, regardless of who you are.

But it's not a human, so human standards don't really apply here.

A relationship with Plasmius is a lot more like trying to bond with a terrified, wild animal. Sure you might be able to gain it's trust for a time, as long as you remain calm, but it's still a terrified, wild animal; it will lash out when backed into a corner, because at that point there is no "friend" or "foe", there's only "danger", and it will do whatever it feels it needs to do to protect itself from said danger.

[daflangstlairde-art]

"Extremophile" 1/4

Part 3 of ocean depths

Summary:

You drown every minute, every second, with every breath you take. You haven’t breathed for so, so long. The icy waters are inside you, deep, deep inside you. All you could ever feel is cold and colder. You haven’t seen the sun in... so... long. It was so far away from you that you couldn’t even picture it anymore. And here was the sun himself. Here was that gasp of air that burned. You’ve been so cold for so long, the warmth feels like death. — Alt summary: It's not easy but boy do I drag Killer (and everyone around him) kicking and screaming towards a healing arc

Chapter 1: "catabolic seed" 4351 words

Credits, warnings and additional info on ao3.

—

It's funny. The moth never did fly away. Maybe its wings were too burned up. Or, maybe, it didn't want to. 

It was the flame that was put out first. But with the lethal heat went away the entrancing shine that drew the lowly insect in, too. 

—

“Get out.” Killer didn't even bother with asking. 

“It's a letter,” Dream said instead, standing at the other side of the Final Corridor, across the path with his back to the large windows. Once, it would've made him glow with golden light. But it’s been dark for a long time. A very long time. Dream’s voice echoed throughout the ruins of the hallway.

He was holding said letter out towards Killer. If he wanted to take it, Killer would have to get up from where he sat leaned against one of the many ruined pillars.

Everything was ruined around here. Fitting, for this place’s one inhabitant. It was his own doing, anyway. Home sweet home, huh?

(He had nothing but Nightmare. He had nothing. Nowhere to go.

And now Nightmare was gone.)

He couldn't be bothered with any Dreamtale bullshit today.

“He–”

“Get out.” Killer snarled, eyes dripping with the same violent intent that dripped from his tone. 

“I’lll leave it here,” Dream calmly placed the letter on the ground. It was a dark purple, with a golden wax seal of a crescent moon. 

As soon as Dream was gone, Killer hurled as much magic was needed at the damn thing until there wasn't even dust left of it.

—

It was a big deal. A very, very, very big deal, when the Corrupted Nightmare’s soul was finally released, and he returned to his personhood. All the events leading up to it were so dramatic, and when it happened, the whole Multiverse cheered and celebrated. Probably. 

(Everyone but one.)

After years upon years of struggle and suffering, the balance of Positivity and Negativity was, at last, restored. No longer heavily tipped in the direction of darkness. 

Probably. 

Killer didn't particularly care.

Nightmare was gone. 

That... thing, the one that stared at his back sadly and couldn't look him in the eye? The one whose touch didn't burn? The one who said pathetic things like “sorry”?

That was not Nightmare.

And so back to emptiness Killer went. 

Here, in his familiar hell. Here, in this decrepit hallway. His own coffin. 

His original universe. Or what remained of it, at least.

There was nothing to do. There was no point to him. He didn't even have the agony anymore, the one that made him feel alive. 

It was gone. 

Killer had no purchase. No purpose. Nothing.

Nothing upon nothing upon nothing. 

His breaths were too shallow to even echo. The birds stopped singing forever ago. The weeds overtook the patches of decay. 

Killer had never felt colder. 

—

“Did... did you read the previous one?” Dream asked tentatively. Fidgeting with the new purple letter in his hands. 

You stare at him. Eyes empty and dead. A grinning corpse. 

You're so, so empty. If you were a monster, you probably would've Fallen Down a long time ago. 

But you're not.

You place a hand on the pillar behind your back. Slowly, lumbering, you push yourself to your feet. Dream watches your movements with pinched brow ridges. 

You start chuckling quietly. 

It takes a single movement for you to hurl the knife at Dream, so fast he yelps and barely dodges. The blade had enough force that half its length embeds itself into the solid rock. 

There is liquid despair-hate-determination leaking down your face. In a flash you are next to Dream, swinging a newly summoned knife and he dodges right into a third summoned knife. He sucks in a breath but you're already summoning the next attack. 

Dream is far stronger than he looks. He must be feeling better than ever, really, what with that thing that ate his brother now gone. 

But this place is a wreckage. 

Killer attacked mercilessly, relentlessly, again and again and again. You don't feel exhaustion. You don't feel pain. You don't feel anything. 

It's a mindless screaming of violence, the only thing holding your particles together. All sharpened to a point until Dream finally. Fucking. Flees. 

He leaves the letter with you. 

You destroy it in lieu of destroying its sender. 

—

He sat in a single spot. 

He slept to pass the time. 

It all blurred together.

There was nothing left for him. 

—

“Horror asked me to bring you this,” Dream said, holding two large tupperware containers in his hands. With food inside. You don't care what type of food. You don't care who sent it. You don't care.

“How many times,” you speak, low, reverberating with hateful intent, “do I have to tell you to leave?” 

“I’m not giving up on you,” Dream states, determination clear on his face. 

You would start laughing hysterically. You would attack him again. You've attacked him about a dozen times on these visits, now. So overtaken by violence you don't even really remember it. 

You're just... 

...too tired for it. 

“Okay,” even though it wasn’t, nothing is, it never was and it never will be, “then can do you something for me?” 

It's hilarious the way Dream’s eye sockets widened at that. It's pathetic the way his face brightened. So desperate. So foolish.

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “Yes, anything! Of course!” 

“Tell that thing dirtying Nightmare’s name,” Killer’s grin stretched, “to let go of my soul.” 

Dream blinked, thrown off. 

“He– what? He still holds power over your soul?” he asked, incredulous, maybe angry, or maybe just crushed. 

You spit a laugh. “Of course.” 

“I’ll speak to him,” Dream nodded, serious. He lifted the tupperware containers a little, “I’ll just... leave these here?” 

He did.

Killer destroyed them. 

—

You wonder why this world still stands. You wish you could tear it apart with your own hands.

—

“...I’m sorry,” Dream said, standing sheepishly in the same spot across the width of the corridor. Another damned letter in his hands. Face twisted in upset. 

Killer barked a laugh. Him and Nightmare were twins, huh? He could see the resemblance.

(“I’m so sorry, I– I can't even describe– Killer, what I– he– it– the way you suffered was so wrong–” “Nightmare” had stammered.

Killer laughed in his face. 

“Oh it was!” he revelled, “That's what I liked about it,” he mocked.)

“Of course you are,” Killer muttered.

“Just...” Dream took a breath, “We're worried that if Night isn't... keeping a hold of your soul, that you might–” 

“Yup,” you pop the word brightly. “End this torture for good? That's the plan, sunshine boy,” 

Dream always looks devastated when you speak like that. It's hilarious. What a bleeding heart. It makes you want to slam him to the ground until he's really bleeding. 

“...Killer–”

“Don't worry,” you laugh, “The determination will probably force me to keep at it instead, what a joy,” you shrug. You're doomed to suffer. You can't escape it, not even in death. 

“We can try something else–” Dream begs.

“Night, huh?” Killer interrupted him, coldly uncaring. Venomously mocking. “Is that what he’s calling himself these days? How cute. Very harmless and gentle. You should tell him it really fixes all the lives he’s ruined,”

Dream’s expression flitted to something angry. Immediately he took a breath, held it, and let it out. Ohoo, so he’s not letting you get to him? You start laughing. That’s a challenge if you’ve ever seen one.

“He’s trying–” 

“I can see that,” Killer nodded at the purple letter that Dream still held. “How cutesy. Did he, by any chance, put a time machine in there?” 

“He’s working hard to change.” Dream was resolute. “He’s helping people.”

“Atoning for his sins, huh? Veery saintly. Someone better get some nails and call Cross,” Killer joked, and surprisingly, Dream had to smother a snort.

“He wasn’t himself when he did those things. It wasn’t his fault.” Dream insisted, calm, but sure of it. Seems he really believed that. How... humanitarian. 

Killer leaned further back. Tilted his head at the dreamboy. 

“So what?”

“...What?”

“You’re here to deliver a beautiful final speech?” Killer was grinning, mocking. “Tell me how everyone deserves a second chance? How everyone can change, if they really wanted to? For the better, even? Hit me with that ‘Killer, I believe in you’ maybe?” he chuckled flatly. 

Dream’s mouth was twisted flatly, brow ridges pinched together again. 

“...I do,” Dream said quietly. In the silence of the corridor, it echoed loudly enough. “I do believe that.” 

Killer let out a breathy laugh, letting his head thunk back against the pillar. How absurd. Dream was trying so very hard to make something out of nothing. It’s you. You are the nothing.

“...In every universe I know,” you start. “The character that holds that stand is the one who dies oh so tragically. Pretty early on, even,” you lament, eyes dark, darker. It’s all hopeless. There hasn’t been light at the end of the tunnel for... so, so very long now. It’s just the vast ocean depths.

A red scarf in the snow. You were upset about it, the first many times. Then you started taking it in stride. Then you were numb to it.

“Either that, or, well,” you shrug, “Or they’re forced to change said stand. So where does that put you, sunshine?” 

Quiet. It’s always so quiet. Sometimes you’d rather Dream take the matter in his own hands and just kill you already. You’ll never understand why he still bothers. How he still has the energy to bother. 

“...I’m still alive.” is Dream’s quiet argument. You bark a laugh. You suppose that’s true. Some people are just lucky like that. 

Dream leaves the letter with you. You rip it in half and watch it burn. 

—

“Hey,” 

It was almost startling, and immediately Killer’s eyes snapped open from his tired dozing. 

“Dust??” 

And– dammit. That... there was a flash of an emotion from Dust’s unexpected presence here, but as Killer tried to pinpoint it now, it was already gone. He couldn’t decipher what it’d been.

“Heyo,” Dust wiggled his fingers in a greeting. His appearance hadn’t changed much — still with the hood up, still with that red scarf. But there was no longer radioactivity in the lights of his eyes. He didn’t have, well, dust clinging to him anymore. He seemed... more stable. More present. Good for him, Killer thought, neutrally, not particularly caring.

...Good for him.

He stood where Dream usually did, but he shuffled to walk to Killer’s side, unafraid. Sat down slumped with his back at the pillar Killer always sat against. 

“Not worried I’ll go Stage Three on you?” Killer teased. That was the highest stage, as opposed to his usual ‘Stage One’ — his regular soul, with two red circles and a white one between them, like a target. As far as he knew, there were only three variations it could shape itself. There's been... a lot of Two and even Three these days.

“Go ahead, I’ll kick your ass anyday,” Dust shrugged, grinning. “Just like old times, huh?”

Just like old times. Huh. 

(Memories of staying awake at ungodly hours and chatting to keep the whispers of silence at bay. Memories of competing for how much EXP they could gain without outright killing anybody. Memories of just the two of them in a room, after Horror wasn’t with ‘em anymore.

...But it’s not Killer who left.)

Cold. Icy. Black and bitter. Hands clenched. A fuzz around the edges of your vision at the memory of emptiness. Of endless, looming, silent walls. The feeling dissipates, leaving only dark stains against your psyche. Maybe you will go Stage Three on him. 

“Right.” you don’t look at him. Your voice remains neutral and unbothered. It always does. “Soo. Which one sent you?” 

“Neither,” Dust shrugs, paying no mind to your aura. “I just used them as a bridge to get here. I wanted to see you,” 

That... what?

You snort. “Why?” 

“Just wanted to. Haven’t in a while. I told you you could visit at any time,” Dust reminded. “But you never did,”

“Sure I did,” Killer argued. 

“Yeah, like two times in the beginning,” Dust elbowed him, teasing. “And when Nightmare turned, you could’ve come and stayed with me and Red, not here,”

That’s not Killer’s place. This is Killer’s place. 

“You’re my friend,” Dust said quietly, smile gaining some other tinge. “I would’ve welcomed you,”

You’re my friend.

Killer exhaled through his nose, shaky with amusement. 

You’re my friend.

He started chuckling. He started laughing. It was cracking out from his ribcage. He couldn’t pin down the feeling it mimicked. Amusement? Incredulity? Absurdity? Irony? 

“No I’m not,” you kindly inform through your laughter. “I think you’re forgetting I couldn’t feel less about you,” it’s hilarious. It’s bonkers. Dust really is fucking insane.

Dust didn’t let it get to him, just rolled his eye lights. “Sure buddy, whatever helps you sleep at night,” he teases, but you know he knows what you’re truly like. He knows you’re not lying. Which begs the question: how did that delusion still manage to take root? 

Hah. 

“I mean it though,” Dust rolls his shoulders, stretching his arms idly. “You’re welcome at any time. We could go right now,”

Killer snorted. “Yeah, I’ll take you up on that offer when I need some free EXP,” 

Dust paused. Huh. Funny reaction. He really cared about those from the ‘fell verse, huh? 

“...No, you won’t,” Dust said, tone reserved to himself. “But that’s fine. Mind if I stay with you instead?”

Killer huffed in mirth. “...I couldn’t care less,” he said, like it was an inside joke between them.

Dust chuckled. And stayed with him. 

(It...

...It was so much better than the emptiness.)

—

You wish it was as easy as sleeping all the time, but that’s not exactly possible. Instead, when you’re awake, you’re in a sleep-like haze. 

Time passing far too slowly and yet all at once. You blink and it’s been hours. Probably because those hours are all the same, they feel like a single unchanging moment, playing on loop. The rise and fall of your chest. The faint change of light outside those grand, cracked, dusty windows.

It’s...

It’s agony. 

It’s a constant, unyielding numbness. An empty existence. A corpse with awareness.

The hours are all the same. None of it feels real, because there’s nothing to differentiate it at all. Fantasy and dreams and reality, it’s all the same, always unchanging, horrible. It’s like being so deeply starved that you stop feeling even the pains from hunger. Everything always the same, and always horrible, until none of it matters.

It’s just a soul-deep craving. 

For something. Anything. Whether it be your own blades faintly cracking along your bones, the back of your skull repeatedly slammed against the pillar, something, something. You’d raze the entire fucking Multiverse to ashes and launch your body into its fires if it let you feel something. 

Your soul... 

...Metaphysically, it’s here, with you. At the center of your chest, bare and vulnerable like an open wound. When you hold it, the red and white circlets glow against your sickly bones. It’s been more unstable than ever, messy and erratic. 

The red glow is fitting against the knife in your hand. 

The pain is horrible. It’s something that feels mildly real, it’s all you have. Until it bleeds and bleeds and bleeds and you are screaming just for there to be a sound. 

It’s all pointless anyway. You bring it into the decimals, shaking and burning with your own self-inflicted violence, but it doesn’t break apart. DETERMINATION holds back just as tightly. 

Hah. Haha. 

Horror and Dust never had quite the same arrangement with Nightmare that you did. And that fucker, that poor excuse of an existence that insists he is Nightmare now still hasn’t let your cursed, rotten soul go. Not fully. 

Dream implied it’s because he knows you want nothing more than to destroy it. 

You hope it’s because he is selfish, because he wants you hurt and ruined like always, because he wants you. You wish you could bludgeon him until the pitying expressions he gives you are unrecognizable. 

You wish he’d go back to how he was before.

—

“Hey,” Dream appeared once again. Just like always, right across the hallway’s width at the other row of pillars. Or, well, what remained of them, which wasn't much. 

He seemed to be appearing at similar times of the day, even. Not that Killer cared to track. For him, the moments when he wasn't alone weren't even real, and then suddenly, here's the Dream Boy. 

It was funny to call the centuries old Guardian ‘boy’. It always felt unfitting that someone who seemed so weak was so... not that.

Killer didn't care to reply to him either. He was tired. He didn't care about anything. Why bother? 

“It's not a letter this time,” Dream informed, smiling politely as always. You really do believe him when he says he believes in the good in people and that he cares. You just don't care. 

Dream produced a couple stapled papers. “I thought about what you said,” he started, “And we did some research. Turns out, actually, statistically,” he held out the papers to Killer, “It's Papyrus — his archetype — that has the highest track record of turning Players away from the Genocide route,” he was grinning. 

...Huh. 

That's... mildly interesting, actually. You suppose he does have the resources for something like this at his disposal. 

“Also,” Dream continued, pulling out a bar of chocolate. “Night sends you this,” 

...Damn. Damn. So he was switching up tactics, huh? Curse his knowledge of Killer. He was a fan of chocolate. Something about the cocoa and the sugar giving you a mild artificial high, the strong flavor. Or maybe whatever remained of Chara in him, hah. 

Killer couldn't be bothered to push himself up. “Toss it,”

Dream tossed him the chocolate bar and Killer caught it. It wasn't the cheap kind. Maybe there were some upsides to having a sorry little insult like ‘Night’ feeling, well, sorry for you. Killer could abuse this. 

“Stop giving me that expression,” he told Dream, who was beaming. Eyes sparkling like sunshine glitter on the surface of the ocean. “Before I peel it off of you.” 

Dream, the nuisance that he was, just laughed brightly. 

“Want the research too?” he waved the papers at Killer.

Killer sighed, stashing the chocolate in his inventory. 

Reading about Papyrus-es in the Geno runs? That could hurt, hopefully. Nice. Or he’d feel nothing, but he always felt nothing. Plus, he supposed just reading anything at all would fill in the emptiness.

Or he’d just use it as kindling, haha. 

“Sure. Leave me alone now.” 

—

Another chocolate, of a different kind this time but no less high quality. Hah! They thought they were being smart. They thought they had a foot in the door with him. Hilarious. He was just using them for his own personal gain. 

Well, if they wanted to be used so badly, Killer sure wasn't going to stop them!

“Dust has been asking for you,” Dream said as he tossed over the chocolate. “Told me to remind you. He didn't specify remind you what though, so I just assumed you'd know,”

Who appointed Dream to be everyone’s messenger to Killer? They could haul their ass over here too. Killer held zero warmth for Dream. Negative warmth, even. Night could transport anyone here too; same went for Ink, yada yada. But whatever. Not like Killer cared. It would've been more fun if it was someone fun that kept visiting him, though. Maybe Dust himself, and they could hurl bullets at each other and trade insult-quips. Or Horror, or someone. 

“Yeah, I know,” Killer stated plainly, stashing this chocolate in his inventory too. He had actually eaten the other one. It was... nice, actually. He enjoyed it. 

“You know what?” Killer placed a hand on the dilapidated pillar he always sat leaned against. Pushing himself to his feet. Tired. “Sure.” 

Dream blinked.

“Sure?”

“Yeah,” Killer shrugged, grinning mean (aka his go-to). “Take me to Dust and his bitey puppies, why not? Can't be worse than this,” 

It would be something. It would be people and sounds and sensations and it won't be empty. Killer could even score some EXP no one would miss. 

“Oh. Oh!” Dream beamed again. It's hilarious, the way he thought hope still existed for Killer. “Yes, I’ll take you there! But first. Can I ask for a favor?” he gained a look in his eyes. Hopeful, mischievous? Opportunistic maybe. 

Killer raised his brow ridges. “Very transactional of you, Mister Selfless,” he teased. 

Dream rolled his eyes. “I’ll still take you there if you refuse,” he reasoned. Always so reasonable. What a diplomat, hah. 

“Well, if you insist,” Killer said in a low voice, grin stretching. He was in a mood to be entertained by cheery fools, why not? 

“How about... a hug?” Dream opened his arms. Calm. The very opposite of pushy about it. 

Killer blinked at him, and promptly burst out into laughter. 

“And they call me a maniac!” he gasped, slapping his knee. Oh this was golden. A hug? From Killer? How Papyrus of him!

“Oh, oh, or have you finally gone on a mean streak?” Killer kept laughing. To his credit, Dream wasn't faltering, just waited out his fit calmly. “Gonna dunk on me? Finally finish me off, Peaceful Pea?” Killer kept mocking, his voice echoing throughout the empty Judgement Hall. It was rare that he raised it these days. 

“No,” Dream replied timidly. “I just want a hug, from you,” he said like that was normal. Like they were besties who embraced all the time! Like Killer wouldn't take the first opportunity to stab him in the back, literally! 

“Sure buddy, bring it in!” Killer accepted cheerfully, opening his arms. If the idiot wanted to get dunked on so badly, who was Killer to rain on his parade? In this world, it's dunk or get dunked on!

Insane, the way Dream stepped forward with a warm smile for an embrace. This sucker didn't know the oldest tricks in the book apparently. Because as soon as Killer’s hands wrapped around him, past Dream’s vision, he was summoning a sharp, sharp knife. 

And then–

And–

They hugged. 

...The thing about the Corrupted Nightmare’s aura — and touch — is that they were concentrated negativity. Negativity completely out of balance, off the rocker. He could turn the mood of everyone in an AU abysmal simply by going there. He could kill you with a touch if he didn’t actively keep it reigned in, because physical contact, being the closest you can get to him, was also the most intense. 

When he turned Passive, that disappeared. Or so Killer had assumed. 

Because Dream was–

He was–

He... was... warm.

Not just ‘body heat’ warm. Not ‘nervous’ warm. Warm like healing magic, like eating soup with your friends, like– like sunshine. Like happiness and excitement and hope and–

Like Nightmare’s icy fire but with none of the lethality, just light and warm warm warm–

“Killer–?” 

You’ve been buried in the depths of the ocean for so, so, so very long. 

You are a shipwreck. 

Your construction is frail and jagged and rotten. Even the concept of ever moving from where you’re stuck died long ago.

You drown every minute, every second, with every breath you take. You haven’t breathed for so, so long. The icy waters are inside you, deep, deep inside you. All you could ever feel is cold and colder. You haven’t seen the sun in... so... long. It was so far away from you that you couldn’t even picture it anymore. 

And here was the sun himself. 

Here was that gasp of air that burned. 

You’ve been so cold for so long, the warmth feels like death.

(...all this time...

...Dream had an aura too?)

Dream cries out as your blade sinks into his back. You planned to keep him in the embrace to hurt him, but you only twist the knife deeper once before you’re wrenching yourself away from– from–

“Killer–!” the idiot extends a hand towards you like you didn’t just fucking stab him– “Wait–”

“SHUT UP.” you snarl, and you’re not angry, not really, you can’t feel anything, you haven’t felt anything in what feels like centuries. An eternity. 

(Warm like sunshine and happiness and excitement and hope–)

“You’re LEAVING if you know what’s GOOD for you.” you inform him kindly, violent intent thrumming through your bones, your soul, echoing off the grand walls. Surrounding and unstable. 

“I'm not leaving you,” Dream refused adamantly, and you’re laughing as you attack. You're ruthless as you attack. You hurl a barrage of violence at him, cheap hacks and traps to ensure the numbers tick down, bit by bit. You wreak destruction on this already rundown hallway. It's what you do. You are destruction. 

You want to be alone. You want to snuff him out. You need to snuff him out. You need it existentially. 

It was an irrevocable truth: this light, this warmth, it doesn't exist. And even if others claimed it does, it does not for you, not for you. It never has. It never will. It's not that it’s too far out of your reach — it doesn't. Exist. 

...Except.

Except, here it is. Expertly doing its best to dodge the onslaught of your hateful violence. 

You need it gone, because if it's real...

“I hate you,” you snarl when you're up close, hands almost shaking with the effort you're putting in stabbing Dream. But he holds his block. “I hate you so, so much.” you spit black hatred like venom. 

Maybe it's the sheer intensity of your negativity that finally gets him to relent. Maybe he just gives up on you as he should've ages ago. 

You stand among the ruins of your life, the echoes of your harsh breaths. Blood dripping from your blade like the despair from your face. 

Alone.

[yeehawpim]

There was once a girl who was hungry

A Coraline fan comic about the/a bedlam I've had kicking around in my head.

To be continued

Part 1

Next >>

[oneangstymotherfucker]

Tw for vague csa/abuse mention

Sometimes, yeah, I "get off to" the fics I write. And I definately like hearing that other people enjoy them, because I think everyone deserves things they enjoy and it truly makes me happy to provide a little of that for others.

But the reason I write what I write is so my brain has a place to spin out scenarios to try to make it okay. And by that I don't mean the things that happened to me. By that I mean the fact that I exist as someone who those things happened to. The fact that I live every day with the rammifications of one man's evil decision, wrapping themselves up and weaving themselves into every aspect of my life. And when I write I come at it from all angles- including sexual because I was a prematurely-sexually-awakened kid and that can make a person's relationship with sex a little confusing to say the least- to try to figure out how to live with it.

Fic writers don't write to normalize abuse. We write to normalize suvival. And survival isn't always pure and pretty and fluffy. I was not healed by a wholesome loving relationship, I was not healed by friendship or forgiveness or by trying to banish all darkness from my life and mind. I am healing myself by looking it in the eye. By getting elbows-deep in the darkness, letting it coat my skin again now that I am grown and safe. By forgiving myself for the tracks it left in my mind and body, accepting that it is part of my story and trusting myself to keep me safe.

That's what I'm trying to normalize. That it's good you survived, and it's okay to be "messed up by it". You are normal, and your existence isn't bad or tainted or dirty or wrong. You are good and innocent. You deserve to be here and you deserve a full, satisfying life with all the things you enjoy in it.

[pan-magi]

Happy Mother's Day!

(for those who celebrate and for the countries it's celebrated in. I know that not everybody does).

The mothers of Magi are great. I don't necessarily mean all good. The quality (how good they are as mothers) ranges largely from amazing to Gyokuen. That, in itself, is amazing. I like to see parents that aren't the same note, whether good or bad. It's also nice with the variety of mothers especially.

I want to take the time on focusing on one of them, and my conclusion that the most interesting character study in this regard is Scheherazade.

She is a deeply flawed person in this regard. She's a shit mother for the majority of the time with Titus. However, I do not believe it is intentional on her part, or something that she even recognizes right away.

I want to make clear before I get too deep into this that I still love Scheherazade as a character, and this isn't an attack against her but more so an examination of how her motherhood compares to being decent and how it doesn't.

The root of the problem is Scheherazade is the parent who just expects her children to be like her. So much so that she ignores all the agency that they have to be their own person, which will determine that they have different things to give a shit about, ones that do not align with hers.

This makes sense as she makes them as clones, to do something she cannot or else the main one to keep her youth. They are her in the most literal sense. Titus has had self-awareness sustained to where he develops his own thoughts and perspectives. Then Scheherazade doesn't recognize it right away. Eventually, but not right away.

The second flaw for Scheherazade being a good mother is that she loves Reim and the nation she fostered to a fault.

Again, this is something that she recognizes and relents to after being confronted with it. That the love of the country she helped foster and built is actually fucked in some ways. That maybe, quite possibly, being an imperialist slave-trading/owning state is fucked. No shit. How does this impact on how she's a mother to Titus? She uses him as a rally to her troops when invading Magnoshutatt. Scheherazade acts as if he was kidnapped, and that a goal of taking Magnoshutatt is to take him back and bring him to safety. Since it is a message given to the whole battlefield, Titus does hear it and recognizes the bullshit, not that any of the Reim soldiers can see him.

That is messed up to use your authority over a child (or anyone dependent on you) as a reason to harm anyone else and acting like the child endorses the behavior. If someone is fighting for someone else, with the knowledge and consent of that person, yeah, that's cool. If it's defending someone else, like someone standing in between one party and danger, yup, checks out. Using someone else and their perceived safety to actively attack someone, when you know explicitly that goes against their wishes. Nope, not cool.

Some precise examples outside the broad strokes:

When Titus is reporting to Scheherazade, He goes off topic since he is a child who is finally able to be out and about in the vibrancy of the world. That is what he focuses on. She dismisses him and tell Titus to get to the point. It is understandable from her position, but it is unnecessarily harsh. For Titus, he is talking to his mother and hoping to get positive affirmation with sharing his experience. The best case I can describe Scheherazade is she treats him more like an employee. Not an inaccurate descriptor, but Titus is clearly distraught and thrown off guard from the dismissal and Scheherazade shows nothing in addressing it.

That's an awful look for her. However, when meeting up again she tells Titus he should go back to Marga after telling him their lifespan is almost out. He seems taken aback that Scheherazade remembered her. She paid attention to some degree and could guess what he would want to do at the end of his life.

The second is when she overrides her rukh with his to stop Titus from Falling. It is an emergency situation, and her safety is as at risk as much as his. That said completely ignoring his bodily autonomy is uncalled for. Scheherazade does not leave it at that. She takes the opportunity to threaten Mogamett and his country while possessing a child's body. Same as above when I mentioned her using Titus as a reason to be an imperial bitch, this time manipulating Titus quite literally.

All that said, I do see Scheherazade as a decent mother. Why? I think what separates her from say Gyokuen, or Aum Madura, is that she is ignorant on Titus being his own person. She's not used to her clones to have the degree of autonomy that Titus has. She treats him as an employee and extension of herself but despite it all I have never felt malicious intent. It doesn't excuse her, but it is understandable. Unlike the latter two, who fully know they are destroying children's lives for their benefit and have no compassion for them.

Scheherazade lets him go. She apologies to Titus, and he does not have to forgive her. He does because he's precious, and he sees her as someone who was his anchor and who told him about how wonderful the world was before he could see it. Titus was so hurt by her coldness because he believed she cared. She shows she does. Scheherazade is heartbroken and furious when she realizes that Titus died and used the last of his energy to try to save Mogamett.

What she does, at the end of the day, is give up her prolonged life as a reborn magi. She has lived long enough and recognized her flaws in being conservative and stuck in her ways while passionately loving the country she fostered. None of that matters though because her goal and final desire is to give her child life. The cost is meaningless. And of course Ugo listens. It is the same promise he fulfilled for Sheba with Aladdin. Kids are all right. And they deserve to live.

I think Scheherazade is one of the most interesting characters in Magi. I wanted the opportunity to talk about this part of her. Once more I need to mention how I love the mothers in Magi. A lot of the time, there's a crapload of breakdowns and devotions on how father's can differ, especially in a male targeted demographic like shounen. Not that there isn't the same for the father's in Magi (honestly there's more to pick at for father's in Sinbad no Bouken imo). The best in the main series is Sinbad and Alibaba. And I'm okay with that. Don't think I will have the time to have a similar breakdown by Father's Day. Maybe another time then.

[the-bar-sinister]

I've already talked about my headcanons and speculation about Kristoph and Klavier's parents and upbringing based on their behavior in the game. Extremely abusive, neglectful, and concerned primarily with appearances.

I'm going to go a step further and say specifically that Kristoph bit his nails as a child and was punished in a severe and memorable way for it, giving him a complex about it in particular.

"First rate in all things. Accept nothing less." -- Kristoph Gavin, parroting his father.

[loosesodamarble]

how would nacht react or what would he do if he found out that his crush or s/o came from an abusive family.

Sorry for the wait, Anon. Hopefully the headcanons I share now make up for it.

Content warning(s): abuse in Reader's backstory; as such, there will be brief depictions of abuse (specifically emotional abuse/neglect)

..........

Nacht believed there was plenty about you to admire. You treated everyone with kindness. Or at least civility. Your smile was warm and beautiful. You spoke fondly of your loved ones and passions. When he spent time with you, he felt like a normal man.

He believed you were one of the few, rare, people that was good right from the start.

He fell in love with how you were good in the simplest but best ways.

One day, Nacht decided to express his admiration for you, possibly even confess. He called you "an amazingly kind person."

You stopped short and looked at him, brows furrowed and lips curled into a frown. "Nah, you've got it all wrong. I'm nothing special."

Nacht was confused but when you pulled away from the conversation, he knew it wouldn't be right to press you right away. But the seeds of worry were planted that day.

That worry grew when one day, when he tried to ask about your latest creative project, you brushed him off. And your kindness started to feel more strained. And you acted more restless, anxious even.

Nacht tried to approach you, but you brushed him off over and over. Eventually, he took you by the shoulders, looked you dead in the eyes, and begged, "Please, tell me if something is wrong."

You broke down in tears and through your sobs you explained how you'd visited your family and how unpleasant it was.

You had tried to explain your recent project to your parents but they brushed you off saying "okay, so are you doing anything that's productive?"

When you talked to your sibling about your job, they remarked that you could've "been doing better."

You were hysterical and ended up venting. About how they never had time for you. How you could never impress them. How invisible you felt at times.

"They were right when they said I haven't changed at all since they last saw me," you sobbed to Nacht.

Nacht let you vent. Let you cry on his shoulder. Hold onto him for stability. The intimacy he wanted with you had been achieved, but possibly in the worst circumstances.

Once you'd cried yourself dry, Nacht put an arm around you and whispered, "I'm sorry that your family has treated you in such a way. To think that the people who should've supported you treated you coldly, you don't deserve it."

Nacht now understood why you'd reacted the way you did earlier on, because you'd been led to believe that you weren't worth notice.

"I know this doesn't make up for your family's treatment, but I want you to know that you're wonderful and deserving of love."

His words were so soft and while somewhat unsure, there was a power to them that moved you to tears again.

After that conversation, Nacht would you rebuild your confidence. Small affirmations daily. Reminding you that he wants to hear about your life, even if it seems mundane. Stopping you from being too critical of yourself.

He wouldn't go overboard with praising you. He would've tried and realized it actually made you more self-conscious. But Nacht definitely lets you know that your efforts aren't wasted.

He would do his best to make himself emotionally available to you. When you need to vent negativity or ramble about good things, he'd be there to listen to you.

Nacht might be a little overly cautious and would ask you not to visit your family. Not for a loooooooong time. He doesn't want them to break your spirits all over again.

A proper confession would wait for another day. He does want to love you, openly. But you loving yourself comes first.

[faded-mage]

Isathe

The fucking Evanuris. Isathe felt her breath catch in her throat. A physical body felt like torture. It was disgustingly heavy and required so many small, uninteresting tasks to survive - let alone thrive. And then there was the pain. Why did the physical body feel this horrible sensation if one did not remember to eat, or to sleep. Isathe never required rest before this form, why did she require it now?

If she had known the specifics of the decision she would have remained a spirit. Daern’thal was the one to lure her to stand as humans did. His words were so pretty and tempting. The man called to her nature with soft promises and coaxed her from where she was happiest. He also had the prettiest eyes, she remembered. They drew her in and she found it hard to look away. You float in the Sky and watch us. Join us, do you wish to see more? You will be able to experience more of the world if you joined us. He spoke like a song. He promised that her curiosity would be rewarded and satisfied by the group of elves that now sat in a circle at the center of the dark room. But all they did was bicker about the Evanuris.

Daern’thal had been twisted and corrupted from his intended nature. They all had. Isathe barely remembered what her purpose was before that point. It felt like a fog that sat in the back of her mind and muddled her memories of when she was happiest. Curiosity. Right, that was it. She wanted to know and to feel, that is how he trapped her and now she just… wanted. It felt insatiable, like a constant need and a hunger. It drove her in a way she hated but it felt like she was losing a constant battle at the core of herself.

Isathe resented them for it but she found that she struggled to place blame on Daern’thal himself. He was the one to lure her, right? Why did she feel beholden to him. Besotted by the way he spoke to her, why did she feel like she could not refuse his requests? Gritting her teeth, the conflicting natures within her felt like they were about to bubble over and erupt. A screaming in her head at all times as they were at war within her. Why couldn’t they have just left her alone?

Now she knelt silently next to Daern’thal as those around her spoke. Every single one of them wore a long black robe with a hood to cover their features. It was safest that way, the Evanuris were actively working against them. Trying to wipe out the darker reminders of what the elves could become. That twisted purpose that could not walk in the light. On each of their faces was a mask that hid their visage, the mask representing what they had become.

Anaris, she knew. He spent nights with Daern’thal speaking of war and death. What he wished to see in the world without the Evanuris at the helm. He wore a mask fashioned from a skull of a deer. The antlers were tall and proud, like a crown. Daern’thal wore a mask made of wood, shaped to appear as the skull of a raven. He was known at the one who brings nightmares. Maybe once he brought dreams too? Her own dreams were ravaged with pain and uncertainty. It twisted her even more.

The others she did not know who belonged to what mask. Masks of various animals she had never seen before adorned their faces as well. One was a fox, she knew that one. But what were the others… she wanted to know. There, a little spark of her old self. She was curious to see what the animals were before they were killed and used for decoration. Were they covered in fur or feathers? Did they fly or swim or run?

Anyone who walked those halls wore a mask. Though those without status held plain ones that only disguised their faces. No grand design paying homage to an animal dead. She was a servant in most ways. Daern’thal never let her stand beside anyone but himself. She was his and he reminded her of that fact despite being a powerful mage in her own right. Isathe just had the poor luck to be bound to someone cruel, using her curiosity against her. But again, that want bubbled inside of her. That thirst for more, always more. He chose her mask for her. Sharp fangs that extended from the skull added a distinctly dangerous edge to her that she did not enjoy. It was a cat, he said. A creature that was known for its curiosity. Right, curiosity. That was what she was before all of this. Before the thirst to experience became a thirst to have. If she could keep reminding herself of her purpose, maybe she could go back. It was the only thing she held left of herself.

The graceful movements of a cat are associated with desire, Isathe. As you are mine. He told her that once, that was why he chose it for her. Because he helped twist her into what she did not want to be. He controlled every aspect of her being. The elf chose the specifics of her form, chose what she wore. How she interacted with the others. Everything. Her curiosity was stifled and hidden away. He wanted a pet. He called her a wife but it felt like no partnership she had seen before. But if you listened closely, they all spoke of the Evanuris as if they were worse. What torment did they bring upon their people, if this existence was peace?

Everyone in the room tensed as one more person walked through the silver arches. Arlathan was covered in gold and cream. It reflected the sun. The light. Out of spite alone the elves in the circle chose the opposite. The entire room built with stone as black as night, vermeil caused a blue hue from the firelight to reflect on all those who sat. Dark shadows on everyone’s mask. Obscuring them even more. The last one to walk in was not one she recognized. He wore a mask too but walked proudly through the room, not hiding from those who gazed in his direction. Isathe recognized the skull, it was one she had seen. A wolf. The long snout and sharp teeth gave it away. Anaris was the first to greet the new arrival, “Fen’harel, you join us this night? After all you promised us? I did not expect you to show yourself here.” What was in his voice? She knew the sound of it. Ah, anger. Anaris was angry at the man who walked into the room. The man she had never seen before.

The name is what caught her curiosity however. She knew that name. Isathe heard it whispered amongst Daern’thal and whoever he allowed in the room with her. There was a fear there when they said his name mixed with admiration. He was one of the Evanuris but did not walk with them in the light. Before this Fen’harel said anything at all, Daern’thal turned toward her and roughly grasped her chin, pulling her gaze to him. He did not want her looking at the man in the wolf’s mask. Isathe peered into his eyes, the ones she thought were so pretty before now mirrored her own. He chose them for her, like everything else. It felt like a cruel joke. She had fallen for his words, curious about his eyes and then he gave her them. A reminder of what she gave up for a form she did not want. Isathe felt the gaze of Fen’harel settle on her, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. What was that feeling? Fear? A knot formed in her stomach. Why did a physical form have to hurt so much?

Daern’thal spoke to her. She could hear the forceful anger in his tone as his grip on her chin tightened because her gaze dared move toward the man in the center of the room. “No, you will look at me, ara’lan.” The man spoke to her through gritted teeth and she felt the need to grovel for his forgiveness. She should not have angered him. “Prepare my evening ritual, this will not take long. Go now.” His hand released her and she felt her head fall forward from the force, the man had almost lifted her off her knees when he grabbed at her. Isathe knew to keep her voice silent, pushing herself up off the floor. Curiosity once again filled her, she wanted to know. Allowing herself a quick glance in the direction of the one named Fen’harel, she found his eyes were trained on her specifically. That is why Daern’thal dismissed her. He did not like others to look at what was his. Isathe felt her eyes grow glassy under the piercing stare of the man, a knot in her throat formed. If he continued to look at her, she would be reminded why Daern’thal was called the one who brought nightmares. She bowed her head quickly, tearing her eyes from the man so she could exit the room as quickly as her shaking legs allowed.

Bitter. She felt so bitter by what she had become. There was that want again, that thirst. The need to have more, gain more. Why did it rip her apart so? She reminded herself often of what Daern’thal said to her. So the words could bring her comfort and remove the bitterness that sat in her chest. He was only trying to protect her from those who would take advantage of her curiosity. That was why he wanted her to join him. He was the safest. The Evanuris would remove her spirit entirely, not just change it. They were the ones who pretended to stand in the light while simultaneously stepped upon their own people. Her people didn’t do that. Right? She just had to show him she could follow his order and then she could have more room to breathe. To return to her purpose. Then maybe that thirst would go away. The want. Yes, that was it. The fucking Evanuris, they were the ones she should fear and focus her wrath upon. If it was not for them she could have remained a spirit of curiosity. I could have been free.

- - -

It ached. Every part of her form hurt and screamed at her to move away but she could not. They were all gone. The moment happened so quickly she barely understood what went wrong. Daern’thal sent her away to prepare his chambers for his nightly ritual while that Evanuris, that Fen’harel spoke to them. She was not important, they did not need her in the room while they discussed war. But he tricked them somehow, he lured them into the abyss and locked them tightly inside. After the war with the Titans, why did they care so much about them? Why did the Evanuris want to hunt those like her, that were forced into this existence? Right, it was the darkness. She had it too. Perverted from her purpose. They looked down on that, as if they stayed wholly true to their own natures. Bitterness rose within her and she became sick on the black stone floor. Isathe felt disconnected from herself, what was this barrier that pushed against her skin. It diluted her magic and oh, by the sun and moon did it hurt. Her spirit slowly ripping in half as this veil settled into place and severed her from the Sky.

Gasping breaths, she forgot she had to breathe. How long had it been? The room was in chaos. The ceiling above her began to crumble. She needed to get out of there. But where could she go? Was anywhere safe? There was that desire though, to survive. The need rose again. At least this perversion held some purpose. Maybe if she embraced it, it would feel so much less painful. If she became what they made her then she would not feel so at odds with herself. She could forget that curiosity that felt like a bright light under her skin and allow it to fade, leave it behind in the room of Daern’thal.

Yes. Focus on that feeling. Isathe still had the mask on her face as she ran through the building. There were dead servants everywhere. Anyone close to the meeting chamber had been crushed by the force of whatever happened there. There was no time to mourn. Not that she really knew any of them intimately. Daern’thal never let her leave his side unless she was tasked with something in particular. A part of her chest ached, did she miss him? Yes, he was all she knew in this form. He was kind in the beginning. Maybe his darkness was caused by the Evanuris too. Yes, that had to be it. The woman tried to explain away the years of abuses by the hand of the one she called savior. What would the Evanuris have done to a spirit of Curiosity such as herself?

A thrumming in her head indicated she was hurt. A sharp pain at the back of her skull. Pulling the hood from her head, her fingers gingerly ran through her hair, pulling away to see blood sitting on her skin. Her blood. Bodies could be hurt, she remembered that now. The pain should have reminded her but her heartbeat was too loud in her ears to think of anything else.

Oh, she remembered. There were hidden rooms throughout their home. Hideaways that could not be found by normal means. But she knew how to get there. Daern’thal took her everywhere. She knew the trick, the magic required to open it was one she could replicate. If she could get to one of them, she would rest and figure out where to go next. The elves in Arlathan would not take her. Could they see her darkness if she stood beside them? Probably, that was why she was safest with her own people. Were there others like her left? Did they sunder and hurt like she did when this barrier was placed around them all? She did not know. But first, she needed to find a safe place to recover.

Her hands shook as she mimicked the movements she had seen Daern’thal do countless times. The magic tasted familiar, albeit faint. He rarely let her use her own power but even then this felt different. The magic that used to come so readily, that came to her as easily as existing, was stubborn. She had to pull harder and it took so much energy to replicate the intricate magic of the lock. Why did the magic hurt to pull? Why did it resist her call? Finally the sound of stone scraping against stone. Yes, it opened. Crawling inside, Isathe exhaled deeply and pulled the mask from her face. Able to sit in her thoughts for the first time since everything happened. If she could just rest, regain her strength she could find a way to survive. Her head hurt, her soul ached. Just a little sleep, then she would figure it all out. Laying on the cold stone floor, she felt the familiar creep of darkness enter her mind. Maybe for once her dreams would not end in nightmares.

[thlayli-ra]

Can i request whump ficlet prompt ‘missing’ with CM Punk, Baron Corbin, and Bo Dallas set in Valetverse please? The idea is that Punk confronts Baron after finding out that Bo’s been missing for awhile and thinks he did something to him only to change his mind when he sees how depressed Baron is about the whole thing

Always happy to accept a Valetverse request from you 😁

And this is also the final request I'm doing for Thlayli's Trick or Treat! It's back to business as usual now (and yes, don't panic, I'm still doing a follow up for that Experiment AU fic). Love ya! 😘

Trick - 'Missing'

Characters - Baron Corbin, CM Punk, Bo Dallas (mentioned), Bron Breakker, Wolfgang Corbin (OC)

Rating - Teen and Up

Warning Tags - Mentions of previous domestic abuse

Grabbing up his bags and the keys to his rental, Baron Corbin got ready to leave the venue. Bidding a quick goodbye to the other wrestlers in the dominant's locker room, he left through the door and made his way through the corridors until he found the back exit to the building that lead to the secure parking lot.

Night had well and truly fallen. He zipped up his jacket to fend off the chill in the air and ventured out into the lot to find his rental. There weren't many lights in this area and, in his typical fashion, he had parked right at the edge of the lot where there were none at all so he had to fish out his phone and switch on the torch to light the way. Passing by each car in turn, he finally found the one he was searching for and almost jumped clean out of his boots.

There was a figure waiting, leaning against the side of his rental with his hands in his pockets and a bright red cap drawn low over his face. Corbin immediately realised who it was, knew it as soon as he spotted the familiar Blackhawks logo on the front of the cap.

'Calaway?' he asked aloud, stopping several feet away from the other man and refusing to take another step.

The head lifted and the shadows dispersed revealing the valet's face. Phil was growing gracefully into middle age, with the deeper lines in his face and patches of distinguished grey in his beard. But age had done nothing to dampen the fire in his sharp hazel eyes. Even through the gloom, Corbin trembled at the sight.

'Corbin,' Phil replied, his voice rumbling into the pit of Corbin's stomach like an omen of doom.

'I heard you were back.'

'Yeah. I am.'

The dominant nodded his head awkwardly. 'H-how have you been?' Corbin tried to keep his voice light but his nerves were showing through. After all, this man had once barricaded them both into a storage closet and beaten him so bad he'd spent several weeks in the hospital. Of course it could be argued that Corbin deserved it. Phil had only acted that way after he'd found out about-

'A lot of things have changed around here,' Phil noted, looking out across the dark, empty parking lot. 'Vince and Bischoff are gone, Hunter's now in charge, Reigns and Rollins both lead the locker rooms...'

Corbin stayed still, considering turning tail and running back to the safety of the building but stayed put, rooted to the spot.

'..and that's not all,' Phil went on, ''cause I got word that apparently Bo Dallas hasn't been seen in months, considered 'missing'.' He pushed himself off the car onto his feet. Corbin took note of his left hand which he kept hidden behind him, possibly concealing a weapon. 'Imagine my complete lack of surprise.'

'Look, I know what you're thinking, Punk,' Corbin dropped his bags in order to put his hands up, backing away.

'That's 'Mr Punk' to you.'

'Ok, M-Mr Punk. Please believe me, I had nothing to do with-'

'Now, see,' Phil raised his chin, catching a manic glint in his eye, 'why don't I believe you.'

'I swear! It's the truth! The cops even-'

'The cops?' Phil snorted ruefully. 'Cops don't give a shit about valets, Corbin! They don't even see us as people. We're just possessions that belong to our dominants, and they can do whatever they want with us. That's the law. But then, you knew that already, didn't you, Corbin?'

'Please, Punk - I mean, Mr Punk, I-'

Phil took another step closer, his hand still hidden behind him.

'I saw what you did to that poor kid,' the valet's voice went raspy with threat. 'I remember all the bruises on his face and how his own guts just about fell out of him, all because of you.'

Corbin felt sick to his stomach, remembering back to that time when he had been so cold and cruel. 'I'm a changed man-'

'Dominants like you never change!' Phil snarled. 'I don't care what the cops, the press, what anybody else says, I know you had something to do with Bo's disappearance and I want answers.' Finally he pulled his left hand forward and Corbin gulped, his fear spiking when he saw the implement in the valet's fist. 'And you're gonna give me them,' Phil brandished the crowbar menacingly.

'P-please don't hurt me...'

'Oh, I'm not gonna hurt you, Corbin,' Phil sneered, testing the weight of the crowbar in his other palm. Both of his fists were taped, just like they had been that fateful day. Ready for a fight. 'After what happened at AEW, I've been well warned by the powers-that-be here at WWE. I'm on my last chance, one wrong move and I'll be kicked out the door before you could say 'cry me a river'.'

Nervously, Corbin glanced down at the crowbar, wondering what he intended to do if not assault him with it. The sweat beading on his forehead was sliding down his face now, in spite of the cold.

'See, everybody believed all that shit they spouted online,' Phil continued his monologue, the crowbar an ever-present threat in his hands. 'Thinking I got upset over a little broken glass? Fucking lies. It wasn't the glass I was worried about (although it's a fucking stupid way of messing up your body for life).' He paused to rest a hand on the roof of Corbin's car. 'It was the fact the car they wanted to use for the spot was a rental.

'AEW was a company founded by valets. Most of the roster were valets, the majority of which were just starting out. I mean, only about five of us had our own bank accounts. The rest of them had fucking nothing, not two cents to rub together. And if those bozos went and trashed a rental car, what did they think would happen? I'll tell ya! The rental companies would get wind of it and when they see any wrestlers - valet wrestlers especially - come knocking they'll either hike up the prices to a premium or flat out refuse them. This was people's livelihoods we were talking about! These kids were trying to save up enough money to be able to have some independence from dominants. How was it fair to fuck that up for everybody?'

Phil sighed, thumping his fist against the roof of the car.

'Yet somehow, again, I come off as the bad guy.'

Corbin didn't understand. To him, this was all the frantic ramblings of a desperate, insane man and he felt even more terrified than ever.

'But your rental on the other hand,' Phil went on, his voice so low it sounded like a growl in his throat. 'Dominants like you don't need to worry about all that shit, do they? Especially not you WWE dominants with your massive pay checks and a boss that protects you for every shitty thing you do to us!'

It all happened so quickly! In a flash, Punk took a step back, raised his arm and swung the crowbar down with a thunderous whack. Corbin let out a yell as the side-mirror of his rental was torn off and smashed against the ground.

'Oops, that'll cost you a pretty penny,' Phil smirked viciously. 'What should I go for next? The window?'

'No! Wait!'

Phil raised his arm again, holding it on the brink of the next blow. 'Then tell me what happened to Bo.'

'I don't know! He just vanished and-'

Phil unleashed his arm, the crowbar smacking against the driver's side window. A huge spiral of cracks like a spiderweb stretched out across the glass. 'The truth, Corbin!'

'I swear! I've been trying to find him too!'

Smash! The second blow destroyed the window entirely and it crumpled into a thousand shards at Phil's feet. Corbin grabbed at his head in anguish. 'I'm gonna cave in your windscreen next,' Phil warned, twirling the crowbar like a baton in his fist. 'Unless you tell me what you did to your husband.'

In reply, Corbin sunk to his knees, tears blurring his vision. 'Please, Punk, I'm telling you the truth. Please believe me that I have no idea where-'

'STOP FUCKING LYING TO-'

'Dad?'

The two men froze at the sound of a young voice through the gloom. Corbin let out a stuttered gasp and even Phil stepped back, dropping the crowbar to his waist as a boy walked towards them with another dominant at his side.

'Hey,' the large-set dominant pushed the kid back by a palm at his chest and took a careful step towards the carnage, 'what the hell is going on?'

Corbin quickly wiped his face with his sleeve, hiding his distraught from the newcomers. 'Nothing, Bron. Everything's alright.'

'Your car's all smashed up,' Bron Breakker noted, arching a brow at the wreck then at Phil, who had hidden the crowbar behind his back.

'Uh yeah, some vandals got into the parking lot,' Corbin uttered, stumbling up to his feet. 'Punk here came and told me.'

'Huh,' Bron eyed Phil warily, clearly not believing his friend's tale. 'Sorry to barge in. When you didn't come round the front to pick us up, I was worried something had happened.'

'Well, yeah, you were right,' Corbin gave a pathetic laugh, trying to cover up the adrenaline rushing through his veins. 'I'll need to make a few phone calls, maybe organise another rental or a hotel room for tonight or something. Can you do me a favour and take Wolfgang back inside?'

'Aww, Dad,' the kid whined. 'I'm not a fucking baby.'

'Hey!' Bron warned him. 'Mind the language.'

'It's ok, Bron,' Corbin reassured him, his voice softer. 'I know you're not, Wolfie, I just need to sort out a couple things then I'll be right in. You could play your new game if you want?'

'The wi-fi in there is shit!' Wolfgang complained.

'Language!' Bron barked again.

'I'm sorry...' Corbin couldn't offer anything else and just stood there, lost, until Bron lead the kid away to the back exit of the building. As they left, both Corbin and Phil clearly heard Wolfgang say 'I hate being on the road. I wanna go home.'

The pair went inside, slamming the door shut and the silence suddenly became very loud. Neither Phil or Corbin moved a muscle, awkwardly fumbling with what to do next.

'You have a kid?' It was Phil who took the lead.

'Yeah. Mine and Bo's.'

'How old is he?'

'Twelve, coming into the tricky years now,' Corbin scrubbed his hands over his face.

'My son's nine,' Phil said.

'Oh, I didn't know you and Taker had a son,' Corbin replied. Phil pursed his lips tightly and briefly looked away. 'What's his name?'

'Frankie,' Phil answered.

Corbin nodded his head. 'They change everything, don't they?'

'Biggest mind-fuck in the world,' Phil agreed.

'But worth it,' Corbin piped up. 'I don't know what I would do without Wolfie - although he hates it when I call him that!' Corbin lowered his head. 'He misses his Mom.' Phil lifted his gaze, eyeing the dominant, guiltily. 'He's been acting out every since he disappeared. Getting into fights at school, the attitude... he blames me for his Mom going missing too.'

Phil began to shuffle his feet, tapping the crowbar against his leg. 'I'm... sorry...'

Corbin gave a sniff and wiped at his eye quickly. 'I get it. I would have come to the same conclusion as you too. After the way I treated Bo in the beginning. I started him down that path, I pushed him into the darkness.'

'You don't have any idea where he could be?' Phil tried one last time.

Corbin bent down to pick up his bags. 'I'll tell you the same thing I told the cops,' he turned towards Phil, valet and dominant locking eyes. 'Bo's been acting funny every since his brother came back.'

'Bray Wyatt?' Phil narrowed his eyes. 'But isn't he-?'

'He used to come by and pick Bo up and take him out places,' Corbin explained. 'Far as I knew they were just reconnecting after all those years apart. I never thought there was anything sinister in it but then Bo started acting... weird...'

'Weird, how?'

'Just... getting distant,' Corbin continued, his face turning somber. 'From me, but also from Wolfgang which is why I found it strange. Bo loved his son so much, but it was like he was, I don't know, drifting apart from him. Like he was closing in on himself. Once or twice, right before he disappeared, he got really aggressive with me. One time, he pulled a knife on me and threatened to stab my eyes out.'

Punk paled. 'That doesn't sound like Bo!' The kid he'd known back then was all wide-eyed innocence and sweetness. But then, Seth had been that way once too. Time, and the many terrible things it inflicts, can change a person.

'It wasn't. Not at the end.' Corbin shouldered his bag and went to fish his phone out of his pocket. 'I've tried to find him. I want to help him. But now I think I'm realising that he doesn't want to be helped.'

'We can't stop trying though,' Phil protested.

Corbin lifted his head, catching the valet's eye. There was a glimmer of hope in them, tiny, but there all the same. 'I hope not,' Corbin gave a weak smile. 'Look, Mr Punk, I really need to make some phone calls.'

'Yeah, I get it,' Punk waved the dominant off. 'And hey, just send me the bill for this, will you?'

Corbin looked over the wreckage with a sigh. 'No,' he shook his head. 'I'll take the hit and we'll call this even?' He took a timid step towards the valet and stretched out his hand. Phil studied it suspiciously.

'Even,' he said, finally accepting Corbin's hand and they shook. 'Hope things get better between you and Wolfgang.'

'Heh, we'll see,' Corbin shrugged his shoulders. 'I've heard horror stories from other parents about their kids becoming teenagers.'

Punk huffed a laugh. 'I feel like I'm already there with Frankie. Kid's nine going on fifteen! Stubborn as hell; he never, ever backs down from a fight.'

Corbin smiled warmly. 'Sounds like his Mom.'

'Yeah, well,' Phil said, scratching the back of his neck. 'Maybe we are a bit alike. Don't know if that's a good thing.'

'He'll grow up tough,' Corbin stated. 'Take no crap from anybody. I think that's important for a valet these days.'

'Wish it didn't have to be,' Phil sighed.

'I'm sure one day it won't,' Corbin said with encouragement. 'Just keep fighting the good fight.'

'Sure. Night Corbin.'

'Good night, Mr Punk.'

Phil rolled his eyes and gave another small laugh. Looking back at the damage he inflicted on the rental car, he heaved a sigh and took off his cap to ruffle a hand through his short, greying hair. 'Fuck...,' he muttered to himself.

Fighting the good fight was a nice sentiment and all, but Phil feared he was fighting the wrong one.