#Cw child abuse mention

[wisteriasymphony]

back to wax pondering. oopsies

[disventurecamptakes]

I’m just going to say this, Ashley’s double standards piss me off. So she can forgive Ellie for shit talking about her for money but holds a grudge against Fiore for “we lost all of our challenges because of you”? The biggest reason why Purple Team were on a losing streak was because the team was disfuncional as hell:

1. Ashley told Will to go get the others during capture the flag and if it wasn’t for Fiore’s quick thinking they would’ve lost.

2. Instead of sticking with Will who has a phobia problem, she leaves him alone with a six year old.

3. Nick was the biggest liability and was lazy in the episode he was eliminated in, Fiore didn’t even participate in the second part of the challenge.

4. The episode where both Lil and Ashley were eliminated in, no one on the team knew how to cook(not as good as Miriam at least) and it was Gabby who voted for Ashley in the first place.

5. The only time the Purple Team won a challenge was because they did the one thing that the Magenta Team refused to do: Be patient with the child and get her involved without making her a liability.

Case in point, the Fiore abuse in All Star was super annoying, her elimination was anticlimactic as hell, and Ashley became my least favorite character because her petty ass wanted to celebrate VOTING A CHILD OFF THE SHOW FOR OUTSMARTING HER in the last season.

.

[coldflasher]

still thinking about my post from the other day about eobard making barry the flash about a decade earlier, when he's still a teenager, so he'd be easier to manipulate. and then obviously i started thinking about where len would be in this scenario because i'm unwell and i have permanent leonard snart brainrot :)

assuming barry's 13 in this AU and we're sticking with the same age gap, len would be around 30... so then i started thinking about how different the dynamic would be, with a lonely barry who's being increasingly isolated by eobard, right in the thick of the most tumultous time in his relationship with joe, because he's always sneaking off and coming back all busted up and lying his head off and acting all cagey and exploding with temper every five minutes---except while joe thinks he's just a traumatized kid acting out and having a hard time at school, really he's off every night being "trained" by eobard and then being pitted against fully grown adult metas... though i do think i'd make at least some of them the same age as barry if only because imagine the ANGST of barry getting his powers, thinking he finally has one up on his bullies, and then the other kids at school start turning into metas as well.

i'm thinking specifically of tony woodward—all the pain and frustration and humiliation that twenty-five-year-old barry felt facing up against his childhood bully, now with powers... imagine that, except he's still at school, still stuck in the thick of it with this kid who's made his life hell, except now his bully has superpowers, and so any fantasies barry might have had about kicking his ass now he's the flash and is more powerful than any of the kids at school could imagine? well, forget it, because tony's STILL bigger and stronger than him and now he's now kicking barry's ass outside of school too

anyway i'm getting sidetracked. my point is i was thinking about moody teenage barry and an older len who's faced up against the flash, thinking there's a new player in town, only to discover that the flash is some scrawny punk kid with no one in his corner, and all the adults in his life are failing him, ESPECIALLY this creep eobard thawne who's "mentoring" him. len takes a very dim view of anyone who's getting a kid mixed up in the criminal world, considering his own father did it to him, AND he's just getting skeevy vibes off eobard anyway because he's an adult and better equipped to see through eobard's manipulations, unlike barry, who's doing the infuriating teenage thing of thinking he's sooo mature for his age and knows what he's doing and is not gonna listen to anyone who's trying to warn him that this whole thing is super sketchy and he's falling victim to a predator, but unfortunately he's not gonna realize it until he's a decade or so older and his frontal lobe develops---

and so we have this (platonic bc barry's like 13/14, though barry probably has a lil unrequited crush) coldflash dynamic with them kinda being friends bc len's somehow inadvertently ended up a mentor/support system for this fucked up, scrappy, little meta kid because god knows no one else is looking out for him, and anyway here's a small snippet of what my brain's doing (unedited but whatever we're just having fun and god knows i can't start another insane sprawling AU right now as much as i've been violently chewing on this idea all day, soooo)

Barry picked at the splintered wood on the table. “Eobard makes me feel kinda weird sometimes.”

Len watched him out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t like the sound of that. “Weird how?”

Barry shrugged his birdlike shoulders.

For a moment, Len focused on the map laid out in front of him, considering his next move. When it came to locks, carefully getting them to open up was his specialty. When it came to people, not so much.

He decided to be blunt. “He touch you?”

Barry’s mouth popped open, outrage and disgust mingling together. “No!” he protested, his voice cracking a little. Immediately, his mouth snapped shut, jaw jutting out mulishly, and he glared at Len. “Not like that.”

Len scrutinized him. He was pretty satisfied it was an honest answer. The kid wasn’t a bad liar, given time to prepare, but he sucked at improv; put him on the spot and he crumbled in seconds.

“He’s just… intense, that’s all. About my powers.”

Somehow Len doubted that was all he was intense about. Clearly something about this Eobard creep was making the kid’s spidey senses tingle, and probably for good reason. Len knew his type—there were plenty like him in prison, doing time for their proclivities. And plenty more on the outside who were better at hiding it. Just because the guy hadn’t put his hands on the kid so far didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about it.

“You thought about talking to someone?” Len asked. “An adult?”

Barry gave him a withering look like only a teenager could, then looked him insolently up and down, like he was missing something very obvious. Len gave him a similarly derisive look right back, one with over a decade of extra power behind it, just to show him how it was done. “I meant an authority figure.”

“You mean like a shrink?” Barry scoffed—which was pretty similar to what Len’s response would have been if anyone had made that suggestion to him. “Pretty sure Joe’s insurance wouldn’t cover another one. And we’d have to go out of state. I’ve seen every shrink in the city and they all think I’m crazy.”

“Your Dad, then.” Not that Len believed a guy who murdered his wife was exactly a stellar role model, and clearly Henry Allen was no stranger to manipulation himself, to have the kid so staunchly convinced he hadn’t done it when it had happened right in front of him—but having a father in prison had its perks. Len’s own father wasn’t exactly father of the year, but even he’d have called in a few favours from Iron Heights if he caught wind of some creep sniffing around his kid, if only on principle.

“I’m not allowed to see him,” Barry muttered.

The dark look in his eye told Len that there was little use in suggesting he told Joe. Clearly, they still weren’t getting along.

[ginsbergsunflowers]

it is interesting how in a lot of childrens media that portrays abuse, it is almost never by the biological parents but some other, more removed adults. a few examples off the top of my head are a series of unfortunate events, james and the giant peach, cinderella, h*rry p*tt*r (hp stans go away, this post aint for you, jk rowling can suck my trans dick), and more. its always wicked aunts and uncles, evil step mother and step sisters, adopted family, etc. but never the birth parents. idk i find the trend in portrayal interesting is all considering in real life it is more often than not the birth parents hands by which a child experiences abuse from

[swifty-fox]

I have a question about the kitchen sink AU, or maybe it’s a kink/bdsm question in general. I was confused why Gale would find John undeserving of being slapped/hit but yet something like degradation would’ve been ok. Is it ultimately a personal preference/opinion on Gale’s part?

I was WAITING for someone to ask this.

The surface level is Gale wants to get John into subspace (weird floaty place where ur not rlly thinking just feeling) and he wants to mess with his head and his expectations because keeping him guessing is going to keep him reliant on Gale. It's way more of a mindfuck for him to Not hit John than It would be for him to hit him because that's what John is expecting

It's not that he doesn't think John deserves to be hit (but also he's doing reward-based kink so John has already taken his punishment of the clamp, apologized and fixed his behavior. There's not need for further punishment in Gale's eyes) It's that he thinks it's gonna affect John way more strongly to be teased and denied. Which it does. Being hit wasn't gonna make John cry. Being tenderly praised would

On a deeper level, Gale is discovering something about himself. John is too out of it/doesn't know Gale enough to notice but he is Deeply Affected by John crying and about the whole scene of John being a Good Boy who doesn't deserve to be hit.

He kinda stumbles into recreating a scene/dynamic from his own childhood where his dad would hit him for being bad or a disappointment or what have you. With John he was able to recontextualize the memory/trauma into something good (and kinky) where he is Better Than His Dad. he's gonna take care of his boy and protect him and reward him because he's good and Gale gets to protect and take care of him. The long and short is, despite his hard limit at the beginning, Gale discovers he can and does enjoy daddy kink if it's something caring. It shocks him and sets him off balance enough that he does end up bringing John to orgasm and then fucking his throat. It's subtle but you can see Gale is very strongly affected in the bit where John is crying. This is where he's realizing 'oh fuck I'm discovering something about myself'

Because he is well adjusted in this au he's able to recognize whats going on, think about it and come to terms with it and proceed in a way that feels safe and responsible (daddies him a bit without making it a dynamic with names or endearments since it was previously not on the table)

Later on he'll broach the subject as something they can explore. If I were to write a second fic it would center around that

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Dear MagiSoWo

I'm a teen born to a vampire father and human mother. I live with my father, though. I show no vampiric traits yet, which upsets him occasionally and means he's extremely overprotective of me, so overprotective that I'm almost always stuck at home or I'm at school. He lets me go out with friends sometimes, but not as often as I would like. I just want to be able to have fun with someone who isn't him once in a while. He also wants me to be like him once I'm in my early 20s, but I don't know if I want that. It seems scary, and I'm just unsure of how to broach either of these topics with him. Any help would be awesome.

Thanks.

- A confused halfbreed(?)

Hello,

Thank you for writing to us. It sounds like you're in a very difficult situation. We can imagine why you feel confused.

From what you've written it seems like your father wants to protect you, but your wish to spend time with friends and your doubts about being turned are completely reasonable.

You are always welcome at any of our offices and community centers. Also outside of walk-in hours. But perhaps the solution to bridging the gap between you and your father lies in our local vampire community.

Fanged, Fledged and Future-proof is the biggest vampire-led nonprofit around and they offer peer-support groups of all kinds. There are support groups for half-vampires like yourself, but also for the parents of vampiric children. If your father is worried about your lack of vampiric traits (which is very common in your phase of existence), he might benefit from speaking to other vampire-parents in the community. And perhaps he will be more comfortable contacting a fully vampire focussed organisation like F3. Speaking to other (half) vampires about your situation, might help you both talk to each other as well.

Hopefully this is helpful to you. If it isn't, please don't hesitate to contact us again. We shall enclose our overview of local MagISoWo support numbers, in case you ever want to call or text.

~ the MagISoWo Team

[kittieshauntedourfantasy]

He's a petit monsieur... that's what he is...

[lemissingmask]

[ID: Sketch of Eve Baird standing in front of Jacob Stone, who is holding one arm and bleeding from that arm, the side of his face and his lip, and has an expression on the verge of crying. End ID]

-

Day 30: Mind games

Penultimate part of the vampire!Stone series. Ficlet below the cut (and really there’s no comfort at all in this one)

-

Being a vampire wasn’t so bad, as long as Jake kept himself mentally and physically occupied at all times so he didn’t have a chance to think about it.

And as long as he avoided mirrors or other reflective surfaces, which wasn’t exactly easy.

And as long as he pretended he didn’t have to drink at least half a litre of blood each day just to keep himself from fixating on those arteries close to the surface of his friends’ skin.

But he was still a librarian and things were still better than they had been before he became one. Right now it didn’t always feel that way, but he would learn to live - or not live - with it. In time he would be able to see his world now as still far happier than it had been back in Oklahoma.

And, until then, Jake was at least already well practiced in distracting himself from the reality of his situation.

Hours alone in his room at night as a child, mind absorbed in a text, just to make that uncertain waiting bearable. When his father was drunk, and Jake didn’t know whether his door would crash open at any moment, or he’d be yelled at to get downstairs because he had yet again done something to disappoint or anger his dad.

And the respite he could find in his studies afterwards. The peace and freedom, the stories and paintings and carvings of entirely different existences, far away from his home in Oklahoma.

When he was working on the pipeline, at home or anywhere else, letting his mind wander into the artists and poets and history he had recently been studying made the long days more bearable. And those times sitting at a bar with his friends, half listening to them, half writing his next academic paper in his head, never wholly present.

For decades he had hid in the things he loved to save him from reality.

Sure, he hadn’t had to do it for a while, but at least now he had more to hide in.

He had the library. He had access to every art portfolio in history, to manuscripts and tomes available nowhere else, to artifacts spoken of in legend and myth, and of course his work as a librarian and the company of people he liked and trusted and could be himself around.

It was easiest to still be himself, to pretend he was still human, when he was with them.

Alone he didn’t have to pretend nothing had changed, and sometimes he slipped.

Sometimes he felt the feral creature inside him, straining to escape, and he struggled to bury it.

He usually could.

He could return to studying or working on a paper or go find Eve or Flynn to train or play chess or something. He could watch a film with Ezekiel even though the films were always the worst, or he could listen to Cassandra try to explain some theorem that he would never understand.

Things felt like they might be bearable, and in time he might become desensitised to the more terrible parts of this existence.

And in any case, even if it never got better, his friends had worked hard to find a way for him to be able to go out in the sun. They had really tried to help him and he owed it to them not to give up, and never let his sadness show.

Jake expected things to stay the same or become more manageable. He didn’t anticipate things getting worse.

At first it was just an off feeling, stronger outside than within the familiarity of the library, but gradually seeping into every part of his life.

His head hurt constantly. It felt too crowded, like there was some oppressive, sharp thing clawing to get a better hold.

Jake ignored it as much as he could. He would learn to deal with it and keep going without any of his friends knowing and starting to worry.

And he could have. Jake was sure he could have if it had just stayed at that.

But it didn’t. It kept getting worse.

The ding of an elevator or footsteps on a hard floor in places where there was no elevator, was no other person, where the floor was carpeted. The feeling of heavy, cold chains around his wrists, the sensation of his own blood, warm, spattered on his skin.

For a second, Jake was back there, before he realised he was not. He had been rescued and he was on a job with the other librarians. He would look around, seek out the source of the noise or sensation, but there was never a cause.

Once or twice, he was noticed. A concerned look or quiet question, but he shrugged it off.

“Jus’ not used to havin’ better eye sight,” or “Thought I heard somethin’.”

They shouldn’t worry. It was fine.

But the headaches were getting worse and it was getting harder to distract himself from that sensation in his head.

-

“Stand back and let the master work,” Ezekiel grinned as he pulled out his lock picks so they could break into the apartment the clippings book had sent them to.

The man who lived there had a string of impossible good luck while the rest of his town suffered increasingly ill fortune. Now they were at his brand new fancy apartment, and he wasn’t answering.

As the thief got to work on the lock, and Cassie mused over the possible magical causes for good luck she knew, Jake’s mind drifted. Something stronger tugged at it.

He heard a door open, close, somewhere down the hall and shifted so the person wouldn’t be able to see Ezekiel breaking in.

They walked away without sparing the librarians more than a glance.

Jake turned to watch Ezekiel.

But the footsteps were back.

Familiar footfalls, getting closer.

Jake tensed, a stab of fear piercing him.

He knew that footstep well and he knew what followed.

Spinning quickly, he turned to face the vampire, to put himself between it and his friends.

But the hallway was empty.

Completely devoid of anyone but them.

Turning back he met the confused expressions of Ezekiel and Cassandra, and realised they must have said something.

His throat was raw, but he found he could just about get out a hoarse, “Sorry. Thought I heard…”

He broke off, looking back at the empty passage.

Still nothing. No vampire in his cliche leather coat.

Just them and the door.

The door they wanted him to kick down because there was a deadbolt inside the door that Ezekiel couldn’t shift.

“Sure,” Jake stepped up to kick down the door, very keen for getting the hell out of that hallway, and the tricks it was playing on his mind.

But what they found inside the apartment was worse.

The man was dead. Not just dead. Bloody and dead.

He was laying on a coffee table, a knife embedded in his chest, but it was his slit throat that had killed him.

It hadn’t happened long ago either. Jake could smell the blood, still wet, the body not even fully cool yet.

He froze in the door, for once wishing the magic carved into his body didn’t keep him from the whole ‘have to be invited in’ part of vampire lore.

“Explains why he wasn’t answering...” Ezekiel murmured, grimacing at the body.

“Stay here,” Jake pulled his gaze from the blood dripping steadily from the table to the carpet, “I’m gonna check we’re alone.  Door was dead bolted from the inside an’ we’re fifteen floors up.”

Searching the place got him out of that room too. There was only one door leading from there to the office, bedroom and bathroom, so Jake systematically searched each for any sign of something or someone, wishing a window was open or the aircon on so he could get some respite from the smell of all that blood.

“He’s dead, you realise,” a familiar voice spoke clearly, but from no direction, “He doesn’t need ‘all that blood’ anymore.”

Jake stopped, his hand on the handle to the wardrobe, and forced himself to remain calm.

He opened it.

Empty, just like the hall, just like the room.

It was his imagination. His mind was messing with him. The vampire who had held him in that cell, fed on him, smiled when he tried to resist…he was either still back there or he had been killed in the rescue. But he definitely wasn’t here. He wasn’t here and the words he spoke were just twisted manifestations or Jake’s own vampiric nature that he would never give in to.

“It would be a waste to leave it all there, coagulating, getting cold.”

“You’re not real,” Jake whispered, shutting the wardrobe door.

But the voice had a point.

Jake needed blood and if he just drew a little of what was left in that man’s body…it was only going to end up being washed away.

“It’s clear,” Jake said, returning to the main room and avoiding looking at the body.

“You wanna wait this one out, mate?” Ezekiel asked, nodding unnecessarily to the corpse, “We can video call you if there’s anything arty to see.”

“Or just video call you anyway. Show you what we see while you wait outside, away from all this?”

Jake shook his head and forced a smile, “It’s fine. I got this.”

-

He didn’t hear the voice again for weeks. Long enough to think he had just been having a bad day and it was a one-off incident, and therefore long enough for him to let his guard down.

Battling a seven foot tall creature that had emerged from a bog was messy and exhausting, made more difficult by the presence of the terrified woman who had accidentally summoned it, and who once the fight was over and the creature defeated, ran and threw herself at Jake.

She was scared, and he had saved her, as far as she had seen, even though Cassandra and Ezekiel had actually done the work to destroy the thing. Jake had just played decoy to buy them time.

But this woman was there, pressed against him now, and the vampire’s voice whispered in his mind, “Doesn’t she look delicious? She’s flustered, heart racing…you wouldn’t even have to work for it. You could simply puncture one vein and let the blood be pumped right to you.”

Jake swallowed, feeling cold and hoarse and raw, and his eyes followed a path from her flushed cheeks, down to the exposed left side of her neck.

The smallest movement and his teeth could sink deep into that flesh. Within seconds. She wouldn’t have time to even start to get away.

“No,” Jake whispered, pulling free and stumbling back.

She looked confused, hurt, and started to speak, but Cassandra cut in, smiling and saying something that seemed to make it a bit better, but Jake wasn’t listening.

The desire was there. He wanted to drink now and that thought wasn’t going away. He still could, it would be harder but it was still possible.

“Hey!”

Ezekiel’s voice snapped him out of his mind.

“You okay?”

Jake nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, just…I-I need a minute.”

“Swamp thing’s gone,” Ezekiel shrugged, still looking at him with concern, “Why don’t you go ahead back to the library?”

Jake didn’t want to. That would be giving in and admitting he was struggling, and his mind was faltering. But that woman wasn’t safe until he was gone.

He nodded.

Ezekiel clapped him on the shoulder, forcing a smile, “See you later, mate.”

Jake left, walked the fifteen minutes in the drizzling rain back to the ruined church where Jenkins made the back door earlier, in a secluded part of that private field.

A few minutes of unease, awkward explanations. Yes they defeated the swamp beast. Yes Flynn’s proposed incantation worked. Yes everyone was fine.

Everyone was fine.

Except him, and he knew they could all see it.

He retired to his room, took a long hot shower, and willed the water to make him feel warm again. It didn’t and he knew it never would.

His head was pounding and his throat was dry, and as he stepped onto the tiled floor he heard footsteps that were not his own.

But the vampire wasn’t here.

He couldn’t be here, and yet there was that voice again, “They’re talking about you, you know. Having one of their gossips.”

“Shut up.”

The voice didn’t.

There were periods of respite but they got increasingly rare as the days went by. And it wasn’t only taunting and attempts to make him do what Jake knew vampires were meant to do. The voice mocked his friends, whispering cruel comments that made Jake feel guilty to have inside his mind at all. And twice it offered helpful information that helped them with their research. Jake didn’t want to say it but when they exhausted everything else he did and it helped.

And the vampire was pleased.

Sometimes it reminded Jake of those days he had spent in the basement, chained to the wall and fed upon by other vampires, speaking of that time like some friendly shared past.

All of that and Jake tried to hide it. He couldn’t admit it, but even to himself. It meant his mind was falling apart, and his mind was his most important thing. Without it he had nothing to offer.

But he couldn’t keep going.

-

Jake was back in that fancy apartment with the dead man they had broken into. The blood still fresh on the coffee table and floor. He was standing in the bedroom where he had searched and where they found the clue that led them to the artifact responsible, and he was looking straight back at the body.

“Before it coagulates,” the vampire murmured, “You could drink a few days worth. Save a blood bank the inconvenience of being robbed.”

Jake took two steps forward.

“He doesn’t need it. The crime scene cleaners won’t want it,” the vampire pursued him as he walked slowly closer, closer enough that his boots stepped onto the stained carpet and closer still.

Jake felt a pressure on the back of his neck, pressing him down towards the bloody throat, closer and closer until he could practically taste the rich liquid in the air between them.

But he couldn’t smell it.

He smelt mango.

And coconut.

Cassandra’s shampoo.

Jake stumbled back, the pressure suddenly released from his neck. He fell hard against the wall.

This was Cassandra’s room.

She was sleeping soundly, completely unaware that Jake had been…that he had been inches from her throat, close enough to have felt the warmth radiating from her.

He hadn’t been here. He had been in his room.

Jake forced himself shakily to his feet and staggered back out the door.

He had been seconds away from feeding on one of his friends, maybe killing her.

He hadn’t. He hadn’t done it but it was close and that voice was still at the edge of his mind. He could feel it. He could feel the vampire’s presence or his memory or some messed up trick of his own failing mind.

Whatever it was, Jake couldn’t stay.

He got dressed in the first thing he could find, threw on a coat, set the back door, and left.

-

“It’s cold, isn’t it, Jake?”

Jake clenched his jaw and walked faster, ignoring that voice in his head. It had been talking more since he left the library, three days ago now. He thought he set the door for a forest in Alaska, somewhere that he could minimise the chance of meeting people, but within a day of walking he had reached a town. And that town led to a city and there were people everywhere.

He had barely stopped walking, as if he could stop the onslaught on his mind if he just kept moving long enough.

“Do you know why you’re so cold all of the time?”

Jake glared ahead, “Pretty sure you’re about to tell me.”

“It’s because you insist on drinking that vial processed concoction. You need real blood, fresh from the vein.”

Jake turned down another street, walking directly into the wind. Biting and sharp and painful.

“You’ll never be warm again until you learn to feed properly.”

“Maybe I like bein’ cold.”

The laugh in his head made his steps falter.

Jake hated that laugh. It was tied to that prison, the chains, the blood being drawn from his body.

It had been warm, his blood, as it touched his skin. So much warmer than he was now.

If he could just get that warmth. Just for a moment…

Jake hadn’t realised his feet had stopped moving.

He had stopped in the shadows a few feet from a couple holding hands, looking into a brightly lit window.

They couldn’t see him.

They didn’t know he was there.

One of them laughed, cheeks flushed pink, and the other turned towards them. They hadn’t turned their collar up despite the wind. Jake could see the vein right there, accentuated by the bright light from the shop.

Jake pressed back towards the wall as they began to walk closer to his position.

In a few seconds they would be within reach.

But then the one with the flushed cheeks grabbed the other’s hand and tugged them back to the shop and inside.

A growl startled him.

His growl.

Jake hadn’t realised he had tensed his muscles, ready to move, that his fangs were already bared to bite into that soft skin.

Jake ran.

He had to get somewhere without people, without lives he could take. Or no human lives. Maybe other animals would do, just to keep him from being a danger to people. Or he could find somewhere and lock himself in, away from anyone and anything, and let himself slip into a coma by not feeding at all.

He just has to run. Get away.

He ran until his legs gave out, a misstep sending him crashing to the ground hard, and his body too exhausted to get him back up.

But he hasn’t gone far enough.

Someone came, grabbed his arm, angrily yelling that he couldn’t sleep here. He was so close and so alive, warm and angry and the vein in his neck was standing out so prominently.

Jake yanked his arm free, twisted to get his hand in the man’s hair and pulled him closer.

Then, finally, his fangs pierced through real human flesh.

-

Jake had slipped. He knew he had slipped. He was trying and he kept trying but he kept finding himself with new blood on his clothes and under his nails, and feeling awake and alert and warm and craving more.

He kept trying to get away from people but without the back door he couldn’t go far quickly, and he couldn’t escape it. There was always someone. He could avoid towns but that wasn’t enough. In a forest there were hikers, farmland was worked by people, abandoned buildings were shelters for those with nowhere else to go or teenagers looking to get high.

Jake tried.

But it wasn’t working.

There was one other option.

D.O.S.A.

If he found them he could get them to lock him up or kill him.

He just needed to get a phone. They had to have a number.

He’d call them and get them to get rid of him.

The phone he had wasn’t his. It had belonged to someone with five missed calls from ‘Jim’, and a background photo of a sunset over Boston. Jake could only presume it had been one of his victims’.

It was unlocked, and he searched for a number. Got through to D.O.S.A much faster than any government agency had answered to his knowledge.

“There’s a vampire,” Jake said before they had managed to do more than announce themselves.

“A vampire? Where?”

Jake looked at the sign in front of the empty parking lot, and repeated what it said verbatim.

Somewhere in Portland.

How did he get to Portland?

“You better be quick. He’s already killed a lot of people,” Jake continued, talking deliberately, forcing the words out, after they had confirmed the address, “And he won’t stop.”

He hung up and walked into the concrete structure to wait.

Time had lost all real meaning days ago, but even still it seemed an incredibly short amount of it had passed before he heard footsteps.

Not the vampire. He had fallen silent since Jake made his first kill.

Also not the multiple sets of military boots Jake had expected from D.O.S.A.

Just one set of boots.

He stood up and turned to face whoever had been sent to take him out, faltering at what he saw.

Eve.

Their Eve. Their guardian.

Was she working for D.O.S.A? Had Ezekiel hacked something and found out where he was from them? Had the clippings book sent her?

But where were the others? Jake couldn’t hear anyone else.

None of these questions made it to his lips before Eve had raised her gun and fired.

Two shots, deliberate and direct.

The bullets tore through his left shoulder.

And that made no sense.

Eve had good aim. If she wanted to kill him or just to stop him long enough to get his head off, she should have gone for his heart or his head.

She hadn’t.

The gunshot wounds hurt.

They hurt like hell but neither was lethal. This wasn’t going to stop him.

He stumbled back as she walked closer.

He was bleeding, his thirst growing. She had to know this was dangerous. More for her than for him.

He didn’t make it far, backing into a wall.

Eve grabbed over the gunshot wounds tightly and spun him, elbowed the back of his head far harder than he could’ve imagined, slamming his face into the wall. He instinctively tried to push back, but she held him with impossible force, then tugged up his left arm, struck at the elbow.

Jake felt the joint snap. He might have heard it too if the sound hadn’t been drowned out by his own scream as he dropped to his knees.

But she kept her grip on that arm, yanked him roughly back to his feet.

The agony was unbearable, but it was lost in the rapidly fading clarity of his mind. The pain and the despair and the anger were all riling up the feral creature inside him.

Eve shouldn’t have pulled him back to his feet. She shouldn’t have given him the opening.

He thrust his right hand at her throat, catching in a tight grip, a grip that would have bruised, crushed…except something was wrong.

She was cold.

Eve was deathly cold.

It didn’t make sense. Unless…

Unless he had already killed her. Unless Jake had turned her, she had been one of his victims. He had done this to her and now she was taking her revenge.

But it wasn’t possible.

She couldn’t be a vampire.

Flynn wouldn’t have let it happen. The library wouldn’t have let it happen.

But her throat was beneath his fingers, and she was as cold as he was. No warm blood tempting him, calling to him.

Jake released his hold and stumbled back.

Eve just stood and glared. Cold and hateful and…and suddenly not there.

She dissipated in a burst of sparks and ashes as a sword sliced cleanly through her neck.

-

[rhondafromhr]

Chapter 3 of the nerds corruption au

Update: this is still consuming my life and I’m not even mad about it. I’m just straight up having a good time.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

“We’re Gonna Become the Bullies” - Chapter 3: Hold Me Closer Than Before

Peter can’t believe he’s actually doing this. He’s going to go confront Brad Callahan. Not only that, he has Max goddamn Jägerman psyching him up to do it. The same Max Jägerman that was beating him up for trying to talk to Steph not even a week ago. If Max still objected to it now, he probably would’ve said something about them holding hands, so it looks like they have his blessing. Pete’s really glad Steph joined them. It’s both endearing and kind of hot how fired up she is to defend him.

They finally track Brad down in the hallway and corner him. Max takes the lead, shoving him up against a locker and snarling, “Did I not make myself clear that Spankoffski is off-limits now? Who the fuck do you think you are that you get to talk to him like that? The order of things here at Hatchetfield High has changed and there’s nothing your weak ass can do about it, so you’re going to show him some goddamn respect from now on.”

“Oh, what, just because I called him one little name? He’s suddenly too cool for ‘Micro-Peter’ just ‘cause you said so?” Brad fires back.

“What are you, new here? Yes he fucking is, that’s how it works! Don’t forget, I’m your god,” Max says, staring him down with unbridled fury in his eyes “And now, so are these two. So we’re going to make sure the message gets through your thick skull this time. Steph, I believe you mentioned something you’ve always dreamed of doing.” Max restrains him while Stephanie raises her arm and backhands him hard, her other one still gripping Pete’s. How’s that for learning to multitask, Miss Tessburger? she thinks smugly. God, that was fucking cathartic.

Max turns his attention to Peter, Brad still in his grip. “Okay, Pete, you’re up! Throw a punch, show me what you’ve got!”

Peter reluctantly lets go of Stephanie’s hand and begins winding up his fist. He has no idea what he’s doing. The closest he’s ever gotten to a fight was that one time he tried to stand up to Max and that didn’t exactly work out in his favor. Or maybe it did? It was the catalyst for the Waylon place incident, which is the whole reason he’s in Max’s good graces. But, he realizes, if he wants to stay there, it would do him some good to impress Max and not throw a weak, half-assed punch right now. To motivate himself, he thinks back to the pantsing incident, growing angrier and angrier as he remembers how small and humiliated and helpless Brad made him feel. Suddenly, punching Brad square in the face as hard as he can stops being an obligation to hesitantly fulfill and becomes a long-overdue opportunity he absolutely relishes. As Pete’s fist slams into his face, Brad tries to play it off like it doesn’t hurt, but the pained groan he lets out is unmistakable. Holy cow, Pete realizes, he gave him a black eye!

“Good job! That was actually really good for a first try. I could feel the righteous fury just radiating off of you. Chills. I’ve got chills right now,” Max says encouragingly.

“Oh, um, thanks. That’s what I was going for,” Pete replies, a little dazed.

“You, too, Steph. The form on that slap? Absolutely impeccable. You might even be able to teach me a few things.”

“Well, I have been training for this. At this point I’ve probably done like ten thousand practice runs of this scenario in my head,” Stephanie deadpans.

“Well, team, this has been fun, but we’ve gotta get to class now, so this trash’ll just have to deposit itself into the nearest receptacle!” Max releases Brad, who books it to get away from them. Looks like their message sunk in.

Later that day, Peter sits in Calc and as hard as he tries to focus, his mind keeps wandering back to the incident with Brad. Even if he didn’t do it alone, he can’t believe he actually beat somebody up. He feels like he should feel at least a little bit guilty, but he doesn’t, and he feels a little guilty for that. Then again, why should he? When has Brad been anything but a complete asshole to him? Still, it kind of concerns him how good it felt to be the one in control for once. Before he can dwell on it too much, a stern, clear voice over the intercom interrupts his internal debate.

“Would Stephanie Lauter, Peter Spankoffski and Max Jägerman please report to the principal’s office immediately? I repeat, Stephanie Lauter, Peter Spankoffski and Max Jägerman to the principal’s office.” Well, there’s a sentence he never thought he’d hear. Even just “Peter Spankoffski to the principal’s office” would be unusual. He really should’ve been prepared for this, but the possibility didn’t even cross his mind. Somehow, it felt like being with Max would give him some sort of immunity. He packs his things and stands up to leave, hyper-aware of his classmates’ curious gazes burning into him.

When he arrives outside of Principal Blim’s office, Steph and Max are already there waiting for him. Stephanie slouches in the cheap, blue plastic chair and seems more bored than anything. Much to her father’s dismay, this is a pretty familiar scene for her. Max just looks confused and possibly a little nervous. Peter supposes that makes sense; there’s a good chance he’s never been here, either. Max has been doing stuff like this for years and hasn’t gotten in trouble once. The school cares way more about keeping their star quarterback on the field and beating Clivesdale than they do about bullying. Principal Blim cracks open the door and pokes his head out.

“Oh, good, you’re all here. Take a minute to collect yourselves if you need and come on in. Let’s start a dialogue,” he says.

Stephanie notices how tense the boys both look. She can’t help but crack a smile. It goes without saying that Pete is adorable, but the sight of literal monster Max Jägerman dropping his tough-guy persona and acting like a scared little kid about getting a scolding from their (honestly pretty chill and understanding) principal is pretty entertaining, too. She squeezes Pete’s hand and gives Max a little pat on his shoulder.

“It’ll be alright,” she whispers as they all head in. It seems to relax them a little bit.

Principal Blim’s office is surprisingly cramped. Or maybe it just feels that way due to almost every inch of wall being covered in cheesy motivational posters, many of which feature adorable cats in ridiculous situations. Peter thinks maybe it’s supposed to brighten up the room and make it feel less intimidating, but to be honest it’s having the opposite effect on him right now. What is it that Max always says about intent versus impact?

“Well, I assume you all know why I called you here today,” he says gently. Stephanie shakes her head and gives him the most puzzled look she can manage. Max and Pete follow her lead.

“You know, owning up to our mistakes is the first step towards doing better. But you don’t seem quite ready to do that, so I’ll spell it out for you. You’re here because the three of you attacked Brad Callahan this afternoon. Quite frankly, this is, as the kids say, ‘out of pocket’ for all three of you, but especially you, Mr. Spankoffski.” How is this in any way out of pocket for Max? Peter always assumed the school administration chose to look the other way on his behavior, but maybe they really are oblivious to it. “Now, I can’t let this slide without issuing some sort of punishment, but I’m willing to hear you out before I make any decisions. You’re all good kids, why did you lash out at Brad like that?”

“He was, um, he was picking on Hannah Foster again!” Stephanie exclaims “We all saw! He’s always making fun of her for stuff she can’t even help and he won’t stop no matter what we say to him! We had to do something, but we just felt so powerless. Believe me, we didn’t want to resort to violence but we just didn’t know what else to do.” Man, being able to cry on command would be awesome right now. Maybe Ruth knows some theater kids that can teach her.

“Yeah,” Peter adds “we couldn’t just stand by and let him pick on a defenseless freshman! Being a bystander is just as bad as bullying. You said so yourself at the anti-bullying assembly!”

“I did say that,” Principal Blim admits “And this isn't the first I’ve heard about Brad giving Hannah trouble. I can see where you’re coming from. Standing up to bullying is always admirable, although your execution was less than ideal. I’ll let you kids off with a warning for today, but if you see Brad bothering Hannah again please just come to me with your concerns instead of escalating things to the point of physical violence.”

“We will! Thanks, Principal Blim! Go Nighthawks!” says Max cheerfully.

“Mm-hmm. Go Nighthawks, fuck Clivesdale. Stay out of trouble, you three.” On that note, he ushers them out of his office.

Once they’re safely back in the hallway and out of earshot, Max holds one hand out to each of them for a fist bump, which they awkwardly return.

“Good thinking back there,” he tells them “you guys are so smart!”

“We learned it from watching you,” Pete points out “using anti-bullying rhetoric to perpetuate bullying is kind of your signature move. I hate to admit it, but it’s pretty clever. And it clearly works.”

“Yeah, it really came in clutch today. If my dad got a call from the school about this, he’d hold my phone hostage even longer. You’re kind of genius for coming up with it,” Stephanie adds.

Max sniffles. “Thanks. That’s, like, the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Wow,” says Stephanie, feeling a sense of déjà vu “that’s really sad.”

“I guess it is.” Max chuckles. “It’s just, I don’t feel smart most of the time. I have horrible grades in most of my classes, even remedial algebra. My dad’s always on my ass about it, too. Says I’m lucky I can throw a football because I don’t even have two brain cells to rub together.”

“Well, what the fuck does he know, anyway?” Stephanie spits, suddenly furious at this man she’s never met. This hits way too close to home for her. “Grades aren’t everything. Look at me, my grades are abysmal, but read my takes on Twitter sometime. Some say I’m the voice of a generation.” She hopes her encouragement makes him feel a little better, at least, but she knows all too well that it’s not enough to heal years of having a shitty dad who loathes your existence and devalues you at every opportunity. She thinks of the striking parallel to her own father’s favorite jab: “I want to have an intelligent conversation with you. In other words, shut up.”

“I concur,” says Pete “Ruth and Richie both have really good grades and they’re absolute disasters sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, I love ‘em both, but it’s true. Even they’d probably agree with me. Ruth’s an anomaly, I’ll never understand how somebody who regularly blows off homework to write erotic Star Wars fanfiction keeps her GPA so- You know what, I’m getting a little off-topic, but the point is you’re smarter than you think you are, Max.”

A lump forms in Max’s throat and his eyes water. “Thanks, guys. That, uh, that means a lot.” He pulls them into a group hug more gently than either of them would have thought possible for him. They hug him back tightly and after a solid thirty seconds they reluctantly let go. Honestly, all three of them could stand to be hugged more.

[anonymous-gambito]

This sort of dissonance I feel with both certain canon scenes in RGU and as well as fan works where the characters have the same feel as if you saw a little kid trying on their parents clothes and shoes and they're small and clumsy with it and it's adorable, but then you see them like, for instance, tell the child who's playing the baby in the game "finish your plate or I'll give you a beating you stupid whore" and you realize oh they really ARE trying on their parents shoes! And you feel so sick but still terribly baffled by some part of you that still finds them endearing in those big ass shoes

[kaibasupremacy]

I find Seto’s relationship with the childlike to be very interesting. On one hand he has such deep respect for it, as early as the early manga, when Gozaburo had died only a few months before but KaibaCorp is already known as a gaming company, he is idolized by young people, even younger than him. KaibaCorp produces products that are mostly directed towards children, Seto framed his triumph over Gozaburo as the triumph of the young over the old, there is KaibaLand, so much of Seto’s dream has been centered around children and their happiness and most importantly on building a world where they feel less alone.

Games were Seto’s form of communication and he hoped to create a world where other children who felt that way would have a way to speak.

But at the same time he seems to revile it. Many of Seto’s insults in canon center around the idea that being like a child is bad. And with the way he dresses, explicitly to hide his youthful frame and seem more adult and the way he acts, to conceal any youthful traits and give off the illusion that he is an adult (many fans for example did not even know he was the same age as Yugi & co especially upon first seeing him). He probably knows a lot of his trauma comes from being a child in an adult world, his relatives were able to financially exploit him, the orphanage was hellish, Gozaburo abused him in the name of education and he saw how ugly families can be so it makes sense that he would hide that aspect of himself to be taken seriously, which is a life or death matter (especially because he also has Mokuba in his charge).

But he seems to have actually internalized being ashamed of childishness. And I think it is very relatable to many people’s experiences of growing up, to want to assert the dignity of one’s passions and interests that are maybe ridiculed by the adults around you, while stressing that you are not a child, a dependent, a target, and must not be treated as one (esp if one’s experiences of being a child included only the negative aspects of it and none of the positives).

[eclaire-went-bam]

i'm THIS close to just making my pronouns he/it, or just it/its, bcs istg ppl see "prefers it/it but also ok with he/they" & think it's a good excuse to not call me by my "weird" pronouns

people hardly ever use "he" either, bcs i don't pass

like. it/it's my preferred pronouns. he/they is tolerable but over time i'm just going to get annoyed. wait till they hear abt my super secret neopronouns

[disventurecamptakes]

can we just have disventure camp horror AUs without including Fiore being abused

like is it rlly necessary

.

[wisteriasymphony]

comfort snapshot for @asukiess ignore whatever the other one's name is queen she's not important just crtl+f mari onto it no biggie

---

The lock looked simple, and like it had been forced upon before in the past. Claudia fought with the doorhandle for a moment, but it wouldn't open.

Jesus, calm down. You know he gets a bit of a fuse sometimes, hearing you try to break a door down isn't gonna fucking help you much.

She sighed, speaking softly.

"Adrien, I'm going to try and open the door," Claudia whispered, "And then I am going to step inside. I am not going to hurt you. I won't even come close if you don't want me to. Okay?"

Three minutes of dead silence. And so, she slipped her fingernail into the lock's middle slot, the lightest force enough to spring it open. She tread carefully into the bathroom, finding Adrien in the corner. He had ransacked every cabinet in the room and stolen all the towels and washcloths and even the bathroom rug; And in that corner, he had curled up in a ball and covered himself with them, until his silhouette was more of a shifting mass of fabric than a boy.

He didn’t bother to look at Claudia, only muttering “I’m disgusting” under his breath like it was a curse.

“Hey, people say things they don’t mean all the time.” Claudia slowly knelt down onto the floor, watching Adrien with a concerned gaze.

“I promise I didn’t mean it. I don’t– I wouldn’t want—“

“Shh. It’s fine, okay? I’m not mad over it or anything,” she said, crawling over to him. ���…I’m going to put my hand on your head. Is that alright?”

He nodded, and so Claudia started to stroke his hair again. Adrien still couldn’t bear to look at her… but the feeling was nice. Even if it only led to more tears. It was insane to think that she’d still really love him after that. Was he even worth it? She had to have known that he wasn’t.

"Why do you stay?" Adrien finally asked. "You seem to make it so clear that I don't mean anything to you. Like one of these days you're going to discard me at the drop of a hat." He stared her down with dull, watery eyes, for the first time in a long while. "Why do you even stick around?"

It was clear that there was a very specific answer he was looking for. One that validated all of his worst fears, one that reminded him that even the person he loved most in the world would only ever see him as one thing. But Claudia was tired of lying. Even when it meant she said things people weren't expecting to hear.

"Because I don't know what I'd do without you." Claudia slipped her jacket off her shoulders, placing it in Adrien's lap as another thing to cover himself with. "Because I like hearing you talk, and I like your laugh, and I like that none of your fancy photos ever show the dimple on your left cheek but I get to see it everyday." Claudia laughed to herself, admitting "..It's very faint, but it's there."

Adrien shifted closer to Claudia, leaning on her a little more. He was still crying, sure, but the tears were slowing down. She was doing something right for once.

"What else... I like listening to you play piano. I think you're the best in the whole world."

"Th... that's not true..."

"Psch! To me, it is. Beethoven can suck my left nut for all I care, he's probably terrible compared to you."

This time she got a laugh back. Another shift closer. Adrien had finally reached a hand out to cling onto her.

"..So you do love me?"

"Mhm." Claudia planted a kiss on his forehead. "I love you, I love you, I love you, and I mean it even more every time I say it. I don't care what you look like, what you say to me, even who you are. 'Cause I don't love Chat Errant, or Chat Noir, or even Adrien Agresté." She placed her pointer finger on his chest, leaning in to let their foreheads touch. "I just love you."

He broke out into sobs again, his face contorting into something scrunched and unsightly. "Y-you won't let me be cold anymore, right? I was s-so cold— I-" Adrien let his head fall to her shoulder, heaving and blubbering into it. "And the lights and they'd— The way she touched me in- I-in— It lasted for so long and- There's pictures of all of it and— A-all I can remember is that I was so cold-"

He stopped when he felt her hand hover over the towels draped on his shoulder—stopped talking, stopped breathing, probably stopped blinking too. Claudia could feel he had the most terrible fever, was probably only going to kill himself with all these layers... but she moved her hand to his head, ruffling his hair.

"No, I won't let you be cold," she said, taking off her shirt, then her bra: giving him the former but setting the latter on the floor. "Here. I'll warm you up."

When Adrien went to hug her, a few of the towels fell off his shoulders. Claudia swore she'd never been hugged this hard in her life—maybe that even most people would never been hugged this hard. He seemed to wrap his body around her, clinging on by every means he could, shaking and heaving and yet still holding on however he could. But Claudia was stable, and her skin felt like dew-kissed stones in a riverbank. Not cold, but just.. a little less warm. The good kind.

"D-do you ever feel like you want your mom," he asked, the words breaking against his tears, "...But you— But you know that she'd only make it worse?"

Claudia knew that if Adrien's mother had still been alive, this would have been the moment Claudia planned to kill her.

"...Every day, Eddí," she said, shifting to kiss the top of his head. "Every day."

[kantocamping]

you would be the type to get a tattoo, wouldn't you? i feel sorry for your parents raising such a disrespectful child

It is 2024. Get over yourself. I'm allowed to do what I wish with my own body.

My parents were abusive and now they're dead. They don't care, and I certainly wouldn't care if they were upset by it.

What are you going to do about it? Give me a dirty look on the train? I think you would be too scared that I may be dangerous to even do that much in person.

あなたは正しいでしょう. 私は時々危険な男です. 口に気をつけてください.

[the-bar-sinister]

12 for the ask game!! I wanna hear the karl soldat army rant!!

12) aren’t you tired of being nice? this is an excuse to rant.

A continuation of this post where I mention people asking "why did Karl build the army instead of killing Miranda some other way". The following was originally written as an answer to a post asking that very question-- despite mostly being rhetorical, I kinda went off about it.

Why does Heisenberg bother with the robot army instead of just killing Mother Miranda in some other way?

So there’s two reasons for this, actually.

Miranda’s actual power, and Miranda’s perceived power.

For the first one, Miranda’s actual power, funny as it is to call her “just some stuck up old lady”, we can see from her fight with Ethan at the end of the game that that’s simply not true. Miranda has quite a bit of viral/supernatural power, shape shifting, mental fog, all kinds of strength, regeneration, and nasty attacks.

And this is when she’s in a weakened state, due to the ritual to bring back her daughter.

Second, is Miranda’s perceived power.

What you need to remember is that every person in the village has grown up isolated and indoctrinated into a cult, the central tenet of which is that Mother Miranda is all powerful. This includes your man, Karl.

Now Karl obviously doesn’t believe that she’s all powerful, but here we have to peel back the second layer of Miranda’s perceived power over him.

Karl didn’t start this relationship as an adult man. Karl was a child.

Miranda raised him as a son, AND as part of her cult.

To Heisenberg, Miranda is an abusive parent.

And speaking as a victim of child abuse, one of the key elements of an abusive parent is raising your child with the perception that your power is absolute, and unshakable.

Whether or not Heisenberg could kill her some other way is irrelevant, because at the end of the day, Karl is scared of her. He fears exactly what she’ll do to him if he tries to kill her, and messes it up. He isn’t going to GET another shot. The plan has to be perfect, foolproof.

This is what Heisenberg sees every time he thinks about killing Miranda.

(image transcript: a meme of a baseball mascot with mother Miranda’s face pasted over it. The text reads “What are you gonna do with that big bat? Gonna hit me? Better make it count. Better make it hurt. Better kill me in one shot.”)

And that’s why the robot army. That’s why the insane amount of planning, and preparation, and secrecy.

Heisenberg is afraid of his abusive mother Miranda, knows he has exactly one shot to kill her, and is terrified of what will happen if he misses that shot.

f/o ask game to rile you up